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Delayed Arrival (reprise)
Tommy I can handle, but Vincent could be another thing entirely...
10-5 (first published 7.22.01)
- The first thing she noticed when she ducked her head out of the hatch on the airplane was how uncomfortably bright it was. Not so much hot, like the oppressive blanket that had accompanied her when she had boarded the plane in Houston, but more of a glaring brightness that came from a sun that wasn't hindered by the smoky breath of urban exhaust, worry, and manipulation. It was like the people here didn't fear being in the light, didn't need the filters that cities provided. Here, everyone could be what they wanted to be...
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- Having cleared customs and baggage claim, Sylvia Catchenson stood in the foyer of the Henry E. Rohlsen International Airport in St. Croix with a cell phone balanced against her cheek.
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- Quiet metallic ringing was followed up by a series of quiet beeps and clicks. A moment later, there was a gristled voice on the line asking what she wanted.
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- "I'm here." She said breathlessly, as if talking to a close friend or relative.
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- "How was your flight?"
"Long." she grumbled. "There were holdups in Puerto Rico because of weather, or revolution, or chickens, or something..."
"Come now," the phone smiled, "There's no such thing as a bad day in the Caribbean. Just think of where you could have ended up. Get yourself a rum drink, listen to some reggae... try to lighten up, for Pete's sake."
"Are you serious?" She asked, a bit surprised at this sort of suggestion from an Associate Director.
"There's always time for amending your personal constitution." He said.
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- A moment passed in silence, the words getting heavier with each second.
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- The voice returned. "I trust you to know where to draw the lines."
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- It felt like a thank you was being asked for, but she didn't supply one.
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- "Have you been contacted yet?"
"No, not yet." She said, taking a quick look around. "But I just got here. My flight was almost an hour late, they might have gotten tired of waiting or something."
"Understood."
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- There was a heavy pause, like he wanted to say something else, but wasn't sure if it was appropriate or not.
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- Any word from your.. other contact?"
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- Sylvia put her bag down next to her feet and switched the phone to her other ear.
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- "I'm supposed to meet her at a hotel bar later tonight."
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- There was another pause. Sylvia felt eyes watching her, but she couldn't figure out where they were coming from.
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- "You're taking a big risk on this girl, Sylvia. I'd hate to see you get caught sticking your neck out needlessly."
"She'll come through. I told you that."
"I just hope that your instincts are right this time...
-- We wouldn't want another fiasco like we had in Greenville"
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- There was no masking the doubt in his voice.
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"...She'll come through."
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what you've just read is an excerpt from a collaborative story started by a friend of mine named Chris Garisto. He came up with a great idea for a story about mobsters, revenge, and double crosses while running a livejournal under the screen name of elixir.
Eventually he opened the story up so anyone who wanted to could contribute to the tale, and for a short while there were four or five of us adding little snippets whenever we had the time. It was truly an honor to be the first person asked to contribute.
Fortunately for me, it wasn't so long ago that all my writing sounded like this, as I spent a number of my high school years aspiring to be the next Ian Fleming. Needless to say, the chance to return (even briefly) to cloak and dagger stories had me really excited.
I started tooling around with a few ideas during an otherwise uneventful July weekend, and those ideas eventually turned into this little Airport scene. It gives me a good chuckle to read back over this scene with all it's "Movie of the Week" ambiance, but even if the dialogue sounds canned, it was a hell of a lot of fun to write.thanks, buddy.
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