Page 95 of Full Contact

“Are there enough seats?” he asked. “For everybody coming down?”

“Nine verified coming,” I said. “Twelve held. I kept three spares in case Pickle brings someone he forgot to mention.”

“He will.”

Heath laughed and stood. At the door, he turned around.

“Mark, they’re paying their own way, most of them. Hog doesn’t even like flying.”

“I know. A week after the ceremony, the Ironhawks will send a contribution to the Storm.”

“Thanks.” He tapped the doorframe and went down the hall.

I closed Pickle’s form and was reaching for my phone when it buzzed.

Trier: Heath has walked past my stall three times and asked if I’ve seen the guest list. Did you show him the guest list?

Mark: Twice.

Trier: Show him a third time. He’s counting the seats.

I smiled at the screen. Then I picked up the phone and called Thunder Bay.

Pickle answered mid-sentence.

”—and I said that’s not a sport, that’s voluntary kidnapping, and Jake said it’s a team-building exercise. Then Evan said, quote, ‘it’s both.’ So now we have to do an escape room on Thursday. As a team. In public.”

“Pickle. It’s Mark Corley.”

“I know! Heath said you would call, and he’s the only other Chicago number that calls me.” Something crunched. He was definitely eating. “Also, I have news. Hog finished the scarf for Heath. Storm blue, Ironhawks red, alternating. He says it’s a statement about loyalty being complicated. Rhett says it looks like a candy cane with bruises. Biscuit’s been sleeping on it in the meantime, so it might arrive a little furry.”

“I’ll warn Heath to bring a lint roller.”

“He’ll cry. Heath cries when Hog makes him something. Don’t tell him I told you.”

“I need your flight number.”

“Right. Yes. Business.” More crunching. “Okay, so we’re flying on Porter. Six-fifty out of Thunder Bay. We connect through Toronto, the little island airport. Fifty minutes, which Adrian says is fine and I say is a coin flip. We land at Midway around ten, if the planes make it there. Also, Adrian’s not checking a bag.”

“Noted.”

“You didn’t ask why.”

“Why isn’t Adrian checking a bag?”

“Because he brings mostly camera stuff, and he won’t let it out of his sight. I told him the airline’s very good with bags, and he looked at me like I’d suggested putting a baby in the overhead bin.”

I wrote down Porter, six-fifty, Toronto, Midway ten-ish. “And the number?”

There was a short silence. “PD two-one-five-four,” a voice said in the background.

“Thank you, Adrian,” I said, loud enough for him to hear.

“Anytime.”

“Hog’s not on the plane anymore,” Pickle said. “He was going to tough it out. Then Rhett said if Hog was going to be miserable for four hours, he’d rather be miserable with him for twelve. So they’re driving.”

“Will they need parking at the hotel?”