It was a long ride to the National City area of greater San Diego and the address of the mysterious warehouse was in a bad section of that neighborhood, so James wound up paying tons of extra cash to the sour-faced cabbie just to get there. Worse, as the streets and storefronts became dingier and more dangerous, the driver started to lose his nerve. He was a meanspirited old hippie that had given up on peace and love in favor of booze and smokes. Who cared how much of both he could buy with what the crazy talking blonde bitch with the weird tattoo was paying him if he was dead? By the time they had left behind the failed businesses and boarded up buildings he had already made up his mind. He put James out on the sidewalk four blocks from the actual address.
"Hey!" James protested as the cabbie flung one of her bags down the sidewalk to get her away from the car. By the time she had recovered her bag he was throwing the others out of the cab, "You asshole! I paid you good money! I'll call your boss an' report you!"
"Suck my dick, Daisy May!" The cabbie gave James the finger as he clambered back into the driver seat, "You're gonna get yourself killed out here!"
With that the Cabbie sped off, pleased that he had demanded cash in advance.
James yelled one or two more profanities, but mostly to make herself feel better. There wasn't anything she could do to make the cab driver come back and it was more than a little disheartening to realize she couldn't even outfight a weasel-faced old hippie in his mid-fifties. Shouldering her bag, James started walking, trying to move assertively and simultaneously not attract attention to herself. This wasn't the kind of place you wanted to get stopped in, be it by police or the derelicts that made it their home.
James did notice some signs of more civilized occupancy than winos and squatters. There were more cars in the area than she had previously recalled and lots of new doors, windows, and locks and bars for those windows. There were also lots of new signs for various real estate companies that owned the various different buildings along the way. It looked like some enterprising soul was trying to gentrify the area.
Once a couple of pierced leather clad freaks on a par with Matt wandered by, but they seemed stoned or drunk and barely paid her any attention. She passed a wino sleeping just inside the mouth of an alley. Poor guy. She shuddered. She might not be in the right body or gender, but at least she wasn't completely lost and alone. A low-rider full of Mexicans cruised by way to slow for her liking. One of them whistled and made obscene kissy faces at her, but the car didn't stop and James breathed a sigh of relief when it suddenly zoomed away in a burst of roaring exhaust. James briefly wondered if she was supposed to be impressed and then felt herself blush as she recalled how much the Jill part of her loved crusiing around in Otis's souped up truck.
Suddenly, before even she had expected it, she was there. James was impressed by how good a time she had made on foot. Fear had put a little spring in her step. It was a big old building that had once been a storage space for goods brought in by the ships in the bay. Shipping and storage had moved to other more modern, more secure facilities, but the building remained. The massive loading doors that had once admitted trucks and trailers had long ago been bricked up. There was a buzzer by the heavy steel door. Not knowing what to expect James pushed the button with her thumb. As the buzzer made a cranky noise like a mechanical duck James noted with displeasure that she had chipped the polish on her nails.
"Yeah, who is it?" A male voice mumbled from a small speaker set in a metal cage mounted just above the doorway.
"Um," James dithered for a second, wondering how to play this, "This is Jill Dugan. Matt sent me. He said you had my stuff?"
"Matt?" The voice repeated dumbly, "Oh, Matt, right. C'mon in. Third floor."
There was another buzz and a loud click, the door unlocked. James pulled the door open and moved into the dark vestibule just beyond the door. There were some mailboxes set into the wall and a short hallway that led to an old freight elevator. The single bare bulb overhead flickered. James hated herself but she shivered just a little. Otis loved horror movies and was always making her watch them.
Getting into the elevator James pulled down the safety grate and hit the button for the third floor. The elevator began to shimmy and rattle its way into the darkness above.
