It's a slow night downtown... (Open to Anyone)

With a cool, rumbling purr the classic Shelby Mustang turned the corner and came to an easy stop outside of Low Places. Age had not been kind to the classic car and she was pock marked with spots of rust and bondo as well as a collection of dings and dents. In surprising contrast to its world weary exterior, the engine gave the deep, confident rumble of a well oiled machine. A moment after stopping, the vehicle fell silent and the headlights were dimmed.

The gentle twinkle of street lights off the rain slicked streets blurred the horizon separating the skyline and the pavement. The driver's side door of the vehicle opened and a lean man stepped onto the streets. His thin frame was almost consumed by a dully gray duster and the details of his face were obscured by a matching fedora. A single cigarette stuck out of his grim face, the meager light of its embers offering a glimpse at his stormy blue eyes and three day old beard.

He let out a sigh and took a hand from his pocket, looking up and down the road as he leaned against the car. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he let out a single bitter chuckle. Soon, the drunks would be spilling out of Low Places, looking for a ride home. He hoped this time things went better than last week, when he'd been forced to give some drunk punk a shot to the jewels and then keep him down with some improvised brass knuckles.

"Damn goons," he muttered to himself as he flicked the remaining of the still-burning cigarette into the street. It landed in a small puddle, going out with a sizzle. The man only hoped that someone, anyone would call him, now that he finally gotten his ad into the Bee. He was tired of hauling drunks home and he was definitely tired of scrubbing puke out of Nelly's upholstery. He patted the car softly, as if to offer the car a kind of preemptive apology for whatever the night brought.

Donovan sees a group of three women exit the club one is a red-head standing in her heals about five foot eight the other two appear to be twins with brunette hair standing about five foot three. The women are hanging all over each other the one in heels seems to be having a hard time standing up on her own.

Also exiting is a man with a crew cut and standing about six foot five he seems to be on his one and walking a swaggered line.

Aura walks, having gone out long ago, Darren working and it her off night from the Lily. She clicks down the street in heels, long blonde hair falling to her waist.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, shockingly lovely in the moonlight.

She finds herself not remembering how to get home, looking around at street signs.

Jonesy saw the usual creatures of the night starting to spill from Low Places and a couple of the other nearby dive bars and let a lop-sided grin slip onto his face. The Shelby might not be the best choice for a cab, with it being a fastback and only seating three passengers at most - but she was stylish and people appreciated that in this town.

He walked around the driver's side of the car to the pavement, now leaning against the passenger's side with a kind of detached air of calm about him. He glanced from the moose with the crew cut and his trio of lady friends and then to the drop dead doll face of a dame who looks entirely too lost to be in this part of town. He was always a sucker for a damsel in distress.

"Where you trying to get to, doll face?" he calls out to her in an even, polite voice marked by a touch of gravel.

"Home," she smiles, that smile like diamonds sparkling in her perfect face, impossibly lovely, not realizing she is halfway across the huge city in her wandering.

He mutters more to himself than to her, "Aren't we all?"

He shakes his head and smirks before turning his full attention to her. By God it was hard to resist someone so young and innocent. It brought back the good old days, the days that had long since slipped into memory. Sometimes he wondered if they'd ever been real at all. He tore himself from the past that he so regularly lived in and turned his attention back to the stranger.

"If you need a lift," his hand slipped into the interior breast pocket, and an instant later a tiny white card was tucked between his fingers, "the name's Donovan Jones, but everyone calls me 'Jonesy'. I run Jones Transportation Services."

He offered her a polite smile, trying to come across as charming, "Yeah, I know. Original ain't it?"

"I think Donovan is perhaps much more magnifique a name for a gentleman such as yourself," she smiles, her French accent incredibly alluring, she tosses long blond hair back over her shoulder so she can read his card better.

"Oui? Are you free now Monsieur Donovan?"

French.

Why did she have to be French?

He smiled, chuckling again to himself and flushing a slight shade of red, "Sure doll. You want a lift?"

He reached down, opening the passsanger's door to his Shelby and motioning with his free hand to the empty seat. Every time he took a fair, he couldn't help but hear the voice in the back of his head telling him that he was getting into the car with a complete stranger and that one day, he might end up with a bullet in his skull or a knife between his ribs. Still, he had to pay the bills.

"Oui, merci Donovan," she casts him one of those smiles, slipping into the Shelby, her little black dress that is nearly appropriate while standing, is definitely not while sitting.

She looks unapologetic, just tugging it lower as he shuts the door.

He closed the door and despite his best attempts, was unable to avoid gazing at her long, curvaceous legs as they practically slithered into his car.

He muttered to himself as he made his way around the hood and towards the driver's seat, "She's old enough to be your daughter." Never mind that Jonesy had never had any kids, he knew that half-hearted excuses weren't going to keep his libido from trying to cloud his judgment. Still, by the time he had the door open and slipped into the driver's seat he was almost composed.

He retrieved the keys from his coat pocket. They jingled slightly and twinkled in the streetlight. A single white rabbit's foot and a St. Christopher medal dangled from the keys. He gave her a smile as he turned the key and the engine rumbled to life, "I never got your name."

"Aurelie, but most just call me Aura..." she smiles, loving the sound of the engine, having started getting addicted to driving since Darren started teaching her.

He smiles as he sees her appreciation for the car shine through. He revs the engine once, then twice as his hand comes to rest on the gear shift. He holds on to it loosely and glances down at the gages that litter the dash. Then his eyes lift to the road and it seems as though the rest of the world drops away.

"You might want to hold on," he says, as if repeating rote.

In an instant, the machine surges forward with the high pitched battle cry of the rubber tearing into the pavement. In less than ten seconds, Jonesy is guiding the vehicle with zen-like lip focus. He takes each turn with simple ease, and the road seems to give itself to him. Lights turn green just when he needs them to, hard turns come at just the right angle. It's as though he dances across rain slicked streets as if he were some Spanish Toreador seducing his partner with the ebb and flow of a tango.

Finally, after a few minutes he relaxes. "Where's home, Aura?"

Her eyes go WIDE, having never RACED around in a car and still rather fresh out of torpor where the fastest thing anyone had was a horse drawn carraige.

"Good Heavens," she breathes, staring wide eyed at the street lights whipping by at high speed.

"You are quite the driver Donovan!" she smiles widely, telling him her cross streets.

He relaxes, a smirk of confidence painting his face. "It's what I do, darling. It's what I do."

He leans back, letting the cool comfort of the drive take over as all his thoughts and anxiety finally slips away. He took his hand off the gear shift and slipped it into his jacket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. He shifted the pack around in his hand for a moment until one of them popped up. He took it into his mouth and then held the pack out to her, "You mind if I smoke?"

"No not at all. My goodness, I must have walked all the way across the city," she says, watching the lights go by, quite calm and lovely, just sitting impassively in the seat, watching him drive to learn occasionally.

He returned the smokes into the pocket of his jacket as she gazed at the city passing them by. When his hand reappeared from the folds of his coat it held a tiny chrome lighter that sprang to life for only an instant. He took two brief draws from his cigarette, expelling them with a slow, relaxed sigh.

He reached up, turning the knob of the radio. A moment later, the low sounds of music served as a soundtrack to the city that passed them by. The soft strains of an acoustic, wordless Stairway to Heaven filled the cab.

After a few moments of silence, Jonesy finally broke the tension. "C'mon, Aura, what's the story? A girl like you? A place like Low? Alone? Something's outta sorts."

"I like to go on walks at night," she shrugs, totally relaxed despite being in the car with a total stranger, and having been walking around a slum.

He nodded. She was a terrible liar, but when you had looks that could mend shattered dreams, you could afford to be a terrible liar. Hell, Jonesy though, why do I care? He had always told himself it's better if you don't get involved. They get a ride. You get a fair. End of story. Besides, getting involved usually was how things got messy and Jonesy had come to Sacramento to leave a mess behind, not start a whole new one.

"Fair enough," he said politely. After a second or two of silence, he spoke up again. "Where's your place, Aura?"

She gives him the cross streets, it in the posh downtown area where the high rise apartments cost a considerable amount.

"You are available for calling when people need a ride mon ami? Not just at that particular street corner?" she asks, smiling gorgeously, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the dim light.

"Sweetheart, I live and breathe these streets. You ever need a ride, you let me know and I'll be glad to give you a spin to where ever the party's at." He flashed her a brief smile before striking a match against the metal of the steering wheel and touching it to the unlit cigarette he clenched in his teeth.

After a long draw, he let out a relaxed sigh and blew the smoke out the window. He took a moment to glance over at his passenger. For the first time he got a moment to develop a sense of the mysterious French seductress.

She seems to have a glow about her, something about her eyes not as young as that sinfully perfect body.

"Magnifique... I am glad to meet someone I can trust mon ami," she smiles widely.

He lets out a soft chuckle, taking the cigarette between his fingers and flicking a bit of ash into the tray. "I wouldn't go that far, Aura."

"Still," he took a fresh draw and continued to let himself relax, "I'm just a cab driver. Knowing the city and being available is what keeps me in business."

"Oui? I am glad...." she smiles one of *those* smiles again, "it is that building there," she points to the poshest high rise in the city.

The beaten old Shelby made a sharp turn and a hair pin swerve before coming to a perfect stop right in front of her apartment building. He threw the car into park with a jerk of his hand and then offered her a kind of impish smile.

He'd not seen a woman this lovely in quite some time, and he had to remind himself over and over as he looked at her angelic eyes and creamy skin that she was young enough to be his daughter and, in all likelihood just flirting with him to get out of her fare. Well, if that was the case, it had certainly worked.

He cast a brief glance at the building before turning back to her, "Here we are, young lady."

She smiles, reaching into her low cut top to find something in her bra, two things actually.

She pulls out a little keychain with an angel on it that Darren got her that is tiny, holding just the key to the apartment, and hands the man two $100 bills.

"Merci mon Donovan," she smiles, eyes glittering.

His eyes followed her hand before he realized exactly how much control she had over him. He was after all, only a man. As her fingers caressed the rise of her breast, he realized he was staring and tore his gaze away, looking up at her as she spoke. He barely saw the money out of the corner of her eye.

It wasn't until he reached for it that he saw the denomination on the thin green paper. "The fare's only fifty bucks, doll."

He paused, not about to refuse a tip twice offered. Still, he didn't want to take advantage of this foreign woman who might not quite be aware of how much money she was offering him.

"Non Donovan... A girl cannot trust many, and that you brought me home safe and unscathed is worth this," she smiles, handing him the crisp bills, waiting patiently for him to get out and open her door.

He gave her a kind of sardonic smirk before exiting his vehicle with a shrug. He made his way to the other side of the car with a pleasant whistle. By the time he opened her door, he seemed to be in quite a good mood. With a heavy click, he pulled the door open and offered his patron free range of the city street with an offered hand.

"Well," he said with a smile, "you can call me any time you need a ride, Aura. Any time."

She slides out, not bothering to tug down her dress as it rides up from the movement of those long legs.

"Merci," she smiles, thinking about what a nice snack he would make, too bad she wasnt hungry.

She clicks in those 5 inch heels to the entrance of the building and waves over her shoulder as she leaves.

He lets out a long, low whistle as the door closes to her building. Closing the passenger's side door to the Shelby, he looks down at the two crisp bills in his hand and just shakes his head.

As the Shelby disappears into the night the soft whistle of "Luck Be A Lady" can be heard over the rumble of the engine.