Page 9 of A Dead Man's B-Side
If I had to guess, he was in business. Most likely something in finance.
Despite having the upper hand, I found myself slightly disappointed that I didn’t find anything.
I let out a deep sigh of annoyance before slipping the gold credit card out of its respective pocket, some extra cash for good measure, and throwing the useless piece of leather back onto his unconscious body.
It took me a moment of watching the gold glimmer under the light overhead as I flipped it in my hand when I realized the man seemed to watch over his things meticulously. Folding his jacket perfectly over his seat, tucking the newspaper neatly to his side. He was put together and wouldn’t believe he mistakenly took out his wallet before falling asleep. Nor would he believe he had fallen asleep so promptly.
Nevertheless, what was done, was done.
There were about five hours left of this flight, and dinner hadn’t arrived yet. They would surely try to wake him.
Moving in haste despite all the time I knew I had, I shoved the wallet back into his pocket without recoiling and threw his jacket over his head.
They wouldn’t bother waking him looking like that, and I’d remove it before we landed. The only issue was, I'd better be gone before his eyes open.
If he were smart, his wallet would be the first thing he checks when waking up.
It suddenly occurred to me that I wouldn't have to go through all this trouble had I not drugged him to begin with;druggedbeing a dubious choice of vocabulary. But if I were to look at the positive side, I’m hundreds of euros richer with much more on the way if his credit card did its work.
A credulous mistake to keep so much cash on your person–especially when seated next to someone like me.
A glint of a pen poked from the inside flap of his jacket, practically begging for attention from my sticky fingers. I took that as well.
However, once I started, I couldn’t stop.
His watch was gone too. Every few moments, I’d turn back to his wallet and pull something else out.
Another credit card, his license, a card with a phone number on it.
The remaining hours that followed felt as though I were onlykilling time until my inevitable death.
The rational side of me argued that a man such as Evan, despite his threats and build, wasn’t to be compared to the monsters I’ve survived. Therefore, I felt I would also survive this recent bout of trouble.
I read a few articles that I found hard to follow and finished the Sudoku side of the sleeping man’s newspaper with the pen I’d taken. Leaving a cocky message and tucking the paper back into its rightful place.
When dinner rolled around, I found it easy to distract the attendants with howtiredEvan looked. Asking them to let him sleep it off, or else he’ll land less than happy.
They were almost too glad to oblige, perhaps not wanting to face the wrath of another first-class passenger.
All in all, despite the small, yet growing anxiety in my gut, I quite enjoyed my first time flying.
When I was finally able to fall back asleep, it was only for short naps that were interrupted by every shake of turbulence. In many ways, I liked it better that way. Each time I shook awake, a wave of calm washed over me at Evan’s continued state of sleep.
When the dreary sunrise began to shine through my window, I closed it, paranoid that even the smallest hint of morning light would rouse Evan’s mind from its muddled senses. I hadn’t even allowed myself to savour my first flight landing, too eager to be the first off the plane.
When we landed, I was the first out of my seat and gone beforeanyone could even notice the older man, still asleep. It wasn’t a rough landing, but even with all the noise and pressure, he remained unconscious. I became worried for another reason, but after checking his pulse, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Feeling the familiar tug of my bag’s straps against my shoulders, I closed the overhead bin and disappeared into the morning crowd of the Edinburgh airport.
With my hood up, I only made my face slightly visible when going through security checkpoints. Surprisingly, not a word about the legitimacy of my passport was mentioned.
Like smooth sailing.
I would have found it suspicious had I not been looking over my shoulder every moment for a tall, angry-looking man in a rumpled suit and a sleep-ridden face searching every teenage boy in his surroundings.
Had I been more aware of how I looked to others, I would have toned down my facial expressions. Maybe it was the thrill rather than the fear that made me so susceptible to plans of my own making. Placing myself in dangerous situations, searching forsomethingto thaw out my own eyes.
When I made it to the exit without a hassle, I smiled, searching for what the manila letter informed me would be waiting for me.
