by Alex Howell
Johnnie flatly replied, “I ground up one of my grandfather’s old bones just for this dish. According to Yanomami belief he is now a part of you.”
As he felt his stomach clench up and begin to churn, Mason looked over to Raina whose wide-eyed expression of shock expressed exactly what he felt. Benton seeking to calm the turbulent waters (both inside and outside Mason’s stomach), slapped Mason on the back as he shouted, “Welcome to the tribe brother!”
8
Heading Home
T HE FOLLOWING MORNING, ON A PLANE HEADED BACK TO THE UNITED STATES.
After their day of celebration with Johnny Yanomami and company, Mason was seated in a jetliner flying back home. Although not usually a class snob, this time Mason was sure to board first class for his trip.
Perhaps after being deprived of even the most basic necessities in a sweltering rain forest he felt like spoiling himself a bit. Or perhaps he just felt like he needed the privacy such a luxury plane provided, along with an endless supply of good stiff drinks.
A fact that Raina, sitting right next to him, couldn’t help but notice. Even before they left for their mission in the Amazon, she had been observing his drinking habits, and had grown concerned. He wasn’t that much of a drinker before, but now he seemed ready to kick back the booze whenever the opportunity was presented.
Raina couldn’t help but wonder, ‘What’s going on with him?’ as she watched Mason slurping down his second martini for the flight.
Even so, she didn’t quite feel it was yet her place to directly order him to curtail his alcohol consumption, so she opted to use a bit of humor to raise the issue instead. And with salt shaker from the nearby in-flight tray in hand, she sarcastically goaded him, “Would you like more salt for your margarita Mason?”
Mason laughed, “Margarita? It’s a martini! Big difference!”
Raina paying no mind, looked out across the aisle, and squinted at a stewardess handing out what looked like expensive brandy to another passage she remarked, “What’s going on here? Mid-flight jitters? I never knew you to drink like this on flights Mason—are you just trying to calm your nerves or what?”
Mason nodded, before taking another sip of his drink and admitted, “Yeah—guess I just felt like I needed a little something.”
Raina however, sensing that his angst was over a little more than mid-flight jitters, grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “Come on Mason—whatever it is we can talk about it.”
But Mason wasn’t one for much conversation at the moment. And when Mason’s distant gaze out the window of the plane was his only immediate response, Raina found herself growing more frustrated by the minute.
She insisted, “Mason—seriously. We’ve been seeing each other now for a few months, and I can already tell when you are in one of those moods —and you are in one of them now—please, can you tell me what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
Mason understanding her concern shook his head in the negative, before sighing, “No—no. It’s nothing to do with you Raina. It’s me.”
Raina held her breath as her anxiety began to grow. ‘Is he really going to give me the—It’s not you, it’s me—speech?’ She thought to herself. As was the common trope of any man or woman who wanted to make a hasty exit out of a relationship that they had lost interest in.
But this was not what Mason had intended. He wasn’t losing interest, or changing his mind about his feelings for Raina in the least, he was just having trouble with his prior commitment—a prior commitment to a woman that had died of breast cancer several years before.
His first wife Bree was everything to him and when she passed, she left a hole in Mason’s life that he could only fill by throwing himself into the care of their only child—their daughter Clara. But now that Clara was away in college and communication infrequent, even that precious bond often proved lacking when it came to satiating Mason’s loneliness.
Now that he was an empty nester with all the space and opportunity necessary for a newly committed relationship, he found himself hesitating however, lost in the memory of his first true love. Looking at Raina who had obvious affection for him and yet still seeing the image of his wife Bree superimposed on his mind’s eye, presented a torturously conflicted image for Mason.
As he attempted to explain, “I mean—there’s nothing you did Raina. I just keep thinking of Bree… I try to brush it away and stop thinking about her but I can’t.” Mason then looked apologetically at Raina and offered, “I’m sorry.”
Raina paused and thought about the situation for a moment. Most of the time a woman would be jealous when a man admitted to be in thrall with someone else—but was she really going to be envious of a dead woman? And one that had been Mason’s first wife and love? Could she really be that petty? No—she knew she couldn’t be like that.
And as such she gently stroked Mason’s hand and reassured him, “It’s alright Mason. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be alright.”
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND AT THE AIRPORT, TWO HOURS LATER. Mason and Raina had just disembarked from their plane. With carry-on bags in hand, they strolled through the common area of the airport actively searching for a place to unwind, recalibrate, and perhaps check their e-mail.
Raina believed she had found precisely what they were looking for when she announced, “Oh, Mason look! A Chic-phil-a! They have the beast honey mustard!”
Mason looked over at the little Chic-phil-a enclave in the corner with dozens of dazed and confused, disembarked passengers loading up on chicken strips and nuggets and laughed, “The best honey mustard?”
Raina chuckled, “Yeah—come on let’s get something to eat.”
After waiting in line for what to Mason seemed like a small eternity—it was actually 15 minutes—Mason and Raina grabbed their bag of chicken tenders and Raina’s extra helping of honey mustard and found a seat nearby to debrief themselves. After taking a napkin and cleaning off the greasy airport table, Mason rifled through his carry-on bag, quickly produced his laptop, and set it down before him.
He then signed onto the airport Wi-Fi, as he muttered, “Alright—finally get to check my e-mail.”
As Raina nibbled on some chicken tenders, he then worked his way to his message board for Onyx. And it was just a moment later that Mason declared, “Alright—I’ve got one from Luke!”
Raina scooting closer to him, peered over his shoulder at the screen as she asked, “What did he say?”
Mason reading the screen, summarized, “He says the mission in South America is complete.”
Raina pausing her piece of chicken in mid dunk, questioned, “Complete? Really?”
Mason nodded, “Yeah, he says that since we broke up the main cell, the whole system of drug lords over there fell apart. The others have already been hunted down—either killed or arrested by drug task force agents. It’s over.”
Mason knew full well that new drug lords would pop up again like weeds even after their contemporaries had been mowed down. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to contradict his marching orders, he quietly acknowledged, “It’s over—at least for now.”
Mason then went on to read the end of the message and couldn’t help but sarcastically mock Luke Simon’s words, as he relayed, “And he says that we did a really good job !”
Raina laughed at Mason’s mockery, chuckling, “Oh really? Do we get a gold star for the day?”
Mason laughed, “No probably not—more than likely when Marshal Oliver hears about it all, we’ll probably get a kick in the pants instead.”
Prompting Raina to ask, “Really, how so?”
Mason nodded, “Yeah, Marshal is always on my case about causing too much collateral damage and rough treatment of civilians.”
Raina muttered, “Nelson… Do you really think?”
Mason snorted, “That jerk… Even though we’re the ones that rescued him I wouldn’t be surprised that we find a civil lawsuit waiting for us as soon as we get back to the states.”
Raina didn’t think so and told him as much, “No—I highly doubt it. Besides he knows that he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.”
Mason knew she was right, someone like Nelson probably had too many shady dealings himself, and would be afraid to open up this particular can of worms even if he wanted to. The thought of worms made Mason think of the maggots that—last time he checked, were infesting the guy’s bullet riddled leg.
Mason coolly remarked, “I don’t even know how he would get that maggot infested leg past customs anyway.”
Raina swallowing her last bite of chicken as if it hurt, blanched, “Mason—I’m trying to eat here.”
Mason chuckled, “Sorry.”
Raina seeing a prime opportunity to change the subject then asked, “What else did Luke have to say?”
Mason read further down the message and reported back, “Oh—he says that he really misses being out in the field.”
Mason thought for a second before adding, “I guess all that time in the office is really beginning to grate on his nerves.”
Raina wadding up the remnants of her meal into a paper wrapper and tossing it into the nearby trash can offered, “Ahh—I miss working with him in the field.”
Mason acknowledged, “Yeah—I miss working with him too.”
Letting this wistful sentiment just hang in the air, Mason Walker exited his e-mail, quickly shutdown his laptop and shoved it into his briefcase, before impulsively announcing, “Alright let’s get the hell out of here.”
9
The Long Arm of Amigos dos Amigos
M EANWHILE IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. AT LAX AIRPORT.
As his plane arrived on the runway for a landing, Brian Nelson was starring out the window watching the pavement fly by underneath his feet. He had successfully landed back on his home turf. His life had taken so many twists and turns in recent months he never knew if he would ever see this moment again.
He was home. But since becoming estranged from his family, there would be no one to even meet him at the airport. He wasn’t even sure if his folks knew that he was missing, let alone to come pick him up. Just like Clara Walker, Nelson happened to be a Stanford student. And currently the only people he knew he could depend on were a few of his fellow peers at the university—including a young man Clara had just become acquainted with, by the name of Travis Jones.
He had of course lost contact with Travis since his troubles in Brazil had begun but Travis had told him just to call him up when he arrived and he would rush on over. Having a good friend that would drop everything to come be at your side meant a lot—and Travis was about the only person Brian Nelson knew he could count on. But Nelson was in pretty deep—deeper than he could admit even to a close friend.
As it turns out, Mason’s suspicions about him were correct. He was no mere innocent victim. In reality he was a junior partner of the drug lords—a junior partner who had been double crossed. He was helping them to smuggle cocaine from Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, back to the United States. For lack of a better word he was a drug mule, a kind of human-made pack animal, hauling drugs from overseas for profit.
But those days were behind him now. He had run afoul of his own South American benefactors, was subsequently betrayed by his handlers, and ultimately taken hostage. Apparently, his old associates had decided that he was more valuable for ransom than he was as a drug runner. They would be sadly disappointed however, since no one in Nelson’s estranged family would have paid a dime to gain his release, even if it came to that.
But the folks with Amigos dos Amigos didn’t even get that far in the process before Mason and his crew waylaid them. Nelson was then left to explain how it was that he ended up in their clutches in the first place. He knew Mason didn’t believe his story but he also knew that with most of the cartel members he was associated with either dead or on the run deep in the jungle, there was no way anyone would ever find out.
It was at least in this knowledge that Nelson felt confident and secure when he disembarked from his plane and followed all the other passengers out into the common area of the airport. His leg had been patched up at a Brazilian hospital just before leaving, and he still walked with a limp, but for the most part he blended in with the other passengers.
Now all he had to do was find someone with a cellphone so he could call up Travis to come get him. But little did Nelson know he was being closely watched ever since his arrival, and it was determined before he even stepped out of the plane that he wasn’t leaving that airport—at least not alive. As soon as he got off the plane, U.S. based members of Amigos dos Amigos were shadowing his every move.
And soon enough they found their opportunity to strike. Brian Nelson who had been previously half starved and severely dehydrated in the wilderness of the Amazon, gluttonously drank all the beer and soda that he could consume on the flight. This massive influx of beverages had taken their toll however, and so he was heading to the bathroom to relieve his bladder.
A member of Amigos Dos Amigos was sure to follow him to the bathroom stalls. Nelson noticed the man behind him, but when he sidled up at the urinal next to the one Nelson was using, he didn’t pay it any mind. He figured it was just another guy like him who needed to use the bathroom. But as Brian Nelson was minding his own business, relieving his own bladder, the man startled him by asking, “You have a nice flight?”
Nelson, like most of us would, didn’t take to kindly to small talk with strangers while he was trying to pee. But thinking maybe the man was just trying to be friendly he obliged him, “Yeah—it was alright.” The man then asked the odd question, “Are you happy to be home?”
For one thing, how did he even know that Brian Nelson was home? Not sure how to answer, Nelson shrugged, “I guess so…”
If Brian Nelson wasn’t staring down at the urinal in his attempt to finish emptying his bladder, he would have noticed that the guy standing next to him had pulled out a pistol with a long silencer attached. He put it right up to Nelson’s head as he remarked, “Well congratulations amigo—you now get the privilege to be buried in your homeland.”
Nelson finally turned his head to see the barrel of the gun pointed right at him. He shouted, “What? No!” right when the gunman pulled the trigger. These were his last words. His body would be found in an exceedingly awkward position crumpled up in front of the urinal by a fellow passenger just moments later.
As for the gunman, due to corrupt ties Amigos dos Amigos had obtained with airport security, he would walk out of that airport on his own volition, the same way he came in—right through the front door. As Mason had already predicted, although the drug cartel of Amigos dos Amigos was down, it most certainly was not out.
Chapter 10: A Tired Mind in Need of a Helping Hand
BACK AT BALTIMORE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. JUST A FEW MINUTES LATER, OUTSIDE THE AIRPORT TERMINAL. Mason and Raina were getting ready to requisition a means of transportation to get home from the airport. Ever since self-driving cars became common in the mid-2020’s, much of the previous hassles of the airport of yesteryear had been eliminated.
There was no longer the struggle of searching through football field sized parking garages for cars that may or may not have parking tickets attached to them. There was no need for an underpaid, crotchety old security guard to scream at anyone who dared park in front of the terminal to pick up a passenger. And there was also no need to call for unreliable and high charging human taxi drivers.
All Mason had to do was talk to the AI on his phone and a fair priced ride would be on its way. As he and Raina stood just outside the main doors of the arrival terminal, he spoke into his phone’s receiver, “Hey, we need a ride.”
And sure enough, moments later a voice came on, informing them, “Okay, we have a car available, located just 2 minutes from your location—proceed?”
Mason staring up at a plane roaring overhead and slightly distracted by his own tumultuous thoughts nodded, “Uh-huh.”
The AI was seekin
g a yes or no answer however, and glitched up as it protested, “I’m sorry sir, but I didn’t quite get that. Do you want to proceed?”
Mason impatiently glaring at his phone shouted, “Yes!!”
The AI then acknowledged, “Very good. We will have a car for you in just a few minutes.”
Raina seeking to assuage his agitation, put her arm around Mason’s waist and looking down at his phone remarked, “Just a few minutes? We’re in luck. There must have just been a cancelled pickup.”
Raina’s intuition was correct, an order had just been cancelled by a fellow passenger and the car was just getting ready to leave the airport and return to its nearby hub right when Mason had called in. This then was enough to direct the AI driver to come right back to pick up Mason and Raina instead.
A human taxi driver told to double back to a place they had just left might have cursed his dispatcher, but when it comes to computerized AI—you’ll get no such complaints from Mr. Roboto.
Mason shoving his phone back into his pocket owned up to the convenience they had been granted as he muttered in agreement, “Yeah, I guess we’re in luck.”
As he prepared his bags for their robot-driver’s arrival, he mentally chastised himself for being so short tempered. He was frequently amazed by just how self-centered and convenience seeking obsessed society—including himself—had become.
He knew that in reality, he should be pretty happy after a comfortable plane ride brought him to a luxurious airport with a car ready and waiting for him in just a matter of minutes. And since he wasn’t driving, Mason didn’t even have to worry about the fact that he was half-drunk from too many in-flight martinis.
By the late 2020’s police no longer made their bread and butter by pulling over cars Since the rise of AI operated vehicles such a feat was next to impossible, since it was difficult to find a reason to fault artificial intelligence enough to merit the flashing red and blue lights of yesteryear. Now folks could lounge half-drunk in their vehicles without any fear as their onboard AI drove them wherever they pleased.
