Page 3 of A Dead Man's B-Side
The new man in charge didn’t give him his attention before regarding me with an annoyed scowl. “You’re one lucky kid.”
I didn’t know what he meant and only blinked in response before he decided to elaborate, “A call came in at the nick of time, making me drive down all the way from Washington.”
He sounded irked as he only slightly muttered the last part, and something told me that pointing out the correct phrase being “drive up” stunted my chances of getting out of here by at least half. So, I opted to stay silent.
This time, I couldn’t hide the confusion on my face as I tossed and turned his words over in my mind like a riddle ready to be deciphered. From the sound of it, this was the Commissioner of Customs and Border Protection, if the badge hanging off his breast pocket was to be believed, and he looked royally pissed to have been dragged out of the comfort of his home to handle a situation in a completely different city.
“Sir?” The officer, who’d looked almost smug only a few moments ago, searched his face to try and make sense of the situation.
Still, the commissioner didn’t so much as glance in his direction, instead turning to the officer he had come in with. “Get hisstuff. Where’s his gate?”
I wanted to be defensive, I really did. Watching an officer of any kind approach my bag, the very one filled with stolen goods, made my hands instinctively reach out to stop him, but I was quick to stop myself. If this was a way out, handed to me on a golden platter of opportunity, who was I to invite any form of debacle. It was all a blur afterwards, almost as if I was watching myself get escorted out from a stranger’s lens, the bustling noise of the airport filled my ears once again.
It was comforting in a way.
Relief wasn’t a feeling I’d ever gotten used to, but that only accentuated the sweetness of it. For reasons beyond my understanding, I was getting on that flight, leaving the slums of the States with a one-way ticket to Scotland. Though, I doubt that if it weren’t for the letter I’d gotten only days ago, a leisure trip to Scotland wouldn’t have changed the circumstances of my lifestyle.
I didn’t let out the breath I’d been holding until we reached my respective gate, the flight attendant alone to accommodate any late passengers. The two officers and the commissioner flanked my sides all the way there.
For the first time in a long time, I wanted to smile, only forcing it down for appearance’s sake.
“Sir, I only, respectively, wish to understand the situation.”
I was only half listening when the flight attendant smiled and held her hand out for what I’m assuming was my passport. I looked at her hand for a moment, thinking to reach into the pocket of thejeans that looked better on the mannequin when I’d decided to steal them, before my memory caught up to me. I turned to the officer who had it last, but he was busy fantasizing about me in an orange jumpsuit and a jail riot.
“It is not your job to understand anything above your pay grade… officer Harrison.” The commissioner’s eyes flickering to his name tag before plucking my poor excuse of a passport out of his hands and turning to the poor woman who was being rushed by her colleague to avoid a late departure, if the static voice coming out of her two-way radio was anything to go by. “No need to check with this one, get him on that flight.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but–” She went to argue before glancing at his tag and promptly falling silent.
He made a show of turning to walk away before seeming to remember something and turned back to face me. “Well then, I’ve been asked to personally see to you getting on that flight, so…”
When I made no move to start walking, standing in between the counter and the three men watching me, he lifted his arm and looked down at his watch impatiently, a scowl growing with every passing second. “Well… Get on with it, then.”
It wasn’t that I was eager for trouble, only that despite the cues hinting otherwise, I didn’t believe I would be let off with results like these. Whoever called a government official to oversee my getting on this flight may be a very powerful person, but no one I could recall being in such a position was indebted to me in any way. I didn’t exactly go around saving lives in between my time sleeping inunderpasses and partaking in petty crimes.
“Can I get my passport back?”
He seemed to be in a rush because he handed back fraudulent documents without a second thought, or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, my way out was secure, and I wasn’t going anywhere without at least some form of documentation, no matter how useless.
The warm and slightly textured cover was shoved into my hand like he couldn’t wait to get rid of it, the gold lettering glinting under the lights. I curled my hand around the stiff cover and shoved it into my pocket before taking a step back, still eyeing the trio watching me. Only two, however, sneered–both for different reasons.
The flight attendant, watching the scene unfold with less than discreet eyes, began to busy herself with packing the rest of her belongings before placing her lanyard around her neck and following me onto the bridge to the plane.
As if in a movie, I expected them to take a step towards me for every step I took away. Maybe the commissioner had gotten it wrong, and he’d realize I was truly meant to be out on the streets or locked up. Whichever one caused him less of a headache.
When I was one hundred percent sure this wasn’t a test of some sort, I glanced at Harrison with a loaded smirk, not able to let go of the arrogance in my gut. “I’ll have my dinner on the plane,” I called out.
His lips curled and parted, but I was already turning and walking away, passing the lost attendant whose gaze bounced from me to the officers in wary confusion. She smiled nonetheless as I slid past her,trying to put as much space between me and the life I was leaving behind.
Despite the growing distance, I could still hear Harrison’s protests.
“Sir, that passport is not valid; he shouldn’t be allowed to–”
He was effectively cut off, however, and that made me smile. The commissioner’s voice was rough from clear fatigue, and with a tone of finality, he said, “I drove in from Washington. You are the last to enlighten me on what should and shouldn’t be allowed.”
His voice turned accusingly, “A happy miracle he arrived early. God help you if he missed that plane.”
It wasn’t that I arrived early out of wary anticipation, but rather that there was nowhere else for me to go without purpose. I had a reason to be at the airport, and it was a warm building with security that would allow me a few hours of blissful sleep.
