by Julie Hyzy
Bennett frowned, then made ready to stand—I assumed he meant to take a turn—but I beat him to it. “I’ll do another shift.” I worked up a smile and shot it at Pinky as I made my way toward her. “It’ll give us more chance to catch up.”
Evelyn interceded. “Listen, this flight was supposed to be relaxing. Thus far it’s been anything but.” To me, she said, “Let me take a shift, okay? It’s the least I can do on behalf of the company to make your trip more comfortable.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
She placed a cool hand on my forearm. “Technicalities don’t matter. I feel responsible, and that’s what counts. Go on back to your seat and let me do this for all of you. We’ve gotten through dinner and there’s not much for me to do for the next several hours.” With a wink, she added, “This is usually the time passengers fall asleep; I’d rather have something meaningful to do instead of being so bored I start counting snores.”
Having paid attention to our interchange, Pinky marched past, causing us both to take a step back. “Check this out,” Pinky said loudly as she flopped into her seat. “I hit the jackpot. I get the stewardess all to myself.” She made sure everyone aboard was looking her way when she added, “Eat your hearts out.”
Evelyn took a deep breath and assumed the seat nearest Pinky’s.
“You got a deck of cards?” Pinky asked, looking innocent and subservient now. “We could play gin rummy.”
“Rudy,” Evelyn called to her colleague. “We keep a few decks up front in the top cabinet. Would you mind?”
He nodded. A moment later, cards in hand, Pinky began looking around for a suitable playing spot. “We’d do better if you sat closer,” she said, eyeing the front seat Bennett occupied. She pointed to the jump seat I’d abandoned. “If we pulled out the tray table on that first chair, it could work.”
Bennett didn’t need to be asked twice. “Be my guest,” he said, standing. He and Pinky exchanged seats. Evelyn settled herself in the jump seat and made ready to pull the tray table out. Pinky held up a finger. “Hang on,” she said. “I need to get comfortable.”
She demanded a blanket and pillow, which Rudy hurried to produce. I lost interest in her peeves and pleas, turning my attention instead to Bennett. His new spot, smack in the center of the sideways sofa, made continuing our private conversation impossible.
“I’ll be fine here, Gracie,” he said, reading my mind or maybe my expression. “Why don’t you and I use what’s left of the trip to sleep? We will have plenty enough to deal with when we land.”
I knew he was referring to the Picasso, and I could barely contain my impatience to find out how he planned to prove his claim that the item was fake. Swallowing my aggravation over Pinky’s interruption, I made my way to the front of the plane and lowered myself in my cushy seat once again. Tense and out of sorts, I tried to focus on relaxation, but all I could think about was the fact that Bennett may have seen Pinky at Villa Pezzati. The ramifications—if indeed she was the same woman—were huge.
The more I thought about it, the more anxiety built. I clenched my fists, staring out the window in a futile attempt to clear my brain. I pieced together what we knew for sure: Pinky was a last-minute addition to the flight, and despite her claims about the dog, the fact was she had attempted to slip a potent tranquilizer into Bennett’s meal. Not only that, but it seemed she had more information about Bennett and me than she should. Who was this woman?
I worked to steady my breathing, which was beginning to come in short bursts. My heart pumped furious blood up into my face and out to my extremities, making my head pound and my legs and arms tingle with terrific anger.
What if I hadn’t chosen that particular moment to visit the back of the plane? What if the food Pinky had sabotaged been served to Bennett? What if?
The plane’s expansive cabin became claustrophobic. Rage worked its way through my body, scratching closer to the surface of my skin, itching to break free. I wanted to take Pinky down. I wanted to hold her there, threaten her, make her talk. Make her explain why she’d targeted this gentle, kind man.
Though healthy and in great shape, Bennett was in his seventies, for crying out loud. I didn’t know much about drugs, but the amount she’d added to his meal was certainly more than a single dose. The fact that Bennett had consumed a couple of alcoholic beverages beforehand made me weak with fear. Although I was certain Rudy and Evelyn had basic emergency training, there was no one aboard—there was no equipment aboard—to handle the sort of trauma we would have faced. Bennett could have died.
And if Pinky was, indeed, part of Signor Pezzati’s staff, then this was no mistake.
I fidgeted with restive energy at the very possibility. Trying to focus my nerves, I dragged one leg under me and stared out the window at the empty sky. The plane’s engines maintained their monotonous background noise, drowning out small talk and quiet movement. Any other time the white noise might have put me to sleep, but not today. Forcing myself to concentrate on the tops of the puffy clouds surrounding us, I thrummed my fingers on the armrest and bit the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood. I despised being inactive.
Like it or not, however, I had no authority here, and precious little experience interrogating suspects. Hard as it was for me to wait, I knew this matter was better left to the authorities. We would hand her over the minute we landed and then, boy, I’d arm the police with as much ammunition as I could.
I didn’t agree with the consensus to keep the pilots in the dark about the alleged criminal on board, but I couldn’t come up with much of an argument for informing them. Their job was to fly the plane. As we got closer, we’d ask them to have the police meet us at the gate. Beyond that, there wasn’t much they could do, anyway.
Pinky and Evelyn had settled in around the small tray. The flight attendant’s back was to me as she shuffled. For someone so determined to play gin rummy, Pinky’s attention wandered from the cards. She seemed to be studying the other passengers, looking for something. I couldn’t imagine what thoughts lurked behind those shifty eyes, but I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.
Watching her surreptitiously, I pulled out a book and pretended to read. Evelyn alternated leaning forward and back as she dealt. Pinky stretched her neck slightly, angling to see something at the plane’s very back, but I couldn’t turn to look without making it obvious I was mimicking her movement.
Rubbing her chubby lips together, like someone who’s recently applied lip balm, she cast her gaze around the area. I averted mine just as it was about to alight upon me. I thought I heard her snort, but it could have simply been plane noises.
Finished dealing, Evelyn sat back in the jump seat. She waved a hand in the direction of the draw pile between them. “Go ahead.”
Pinky hadn’t even picked up her cards. “I need something,” she said, eyeing the floor.
Evelyn tilted her head, mildly impatient. “What now?”
And at that moment, I knew.
When people claim that incidents unfold in slow motion, they aren’t exaggerating. Brains race thousands of times faster than events can develop and when catastrophe hits, when disaster strikes, or when one person is about to make a devastating move against another, the brain shifts into hyper speed. In that instant of realization, the brain decides on fight or flight. With accelerating fear and anticipation, tied up with calculations of outcomes and trajectories, all bound together with enough adrenaline to launch a person skyward, the mind moves faster than the speed of light.
By comparison, all surrounding activity crawls.
Pinky’s body language was too tense as she reached for her purse, her choreographed movement too nonchalant. Her purse was too weighty. Even as I rose to my feet—no matter how fast a mind can race, the body can’t possibly keep up—I caught the sag at the sack’s center. When I’d pawed through it ea
rlier there had been nothing in the purse that could have caused that deep of a drop, that solid of a thunk onto her lap.
“Evelyn.” My mouth felt heavy and uncooperative. Syllables took their sweet time to roll off my tongue. Standing now, I reached out, a mere step away from Evelyn’s side. She turned at the sound of her name, her eyes widening in a mixture of curiosity and confusion as I grasped for her shoulder.
But Pinky was ahead of me. Her arm up to the elbow inside her cavernous purse, she was on her feet before my voice squeaked with warning. Disregarded, her purse dropped softly to the floor as a vicious black gun materialized in front of Evelyn’s face. Pinky didn’t waste movement. Closer to the flight attendant than I was, and clearly not suffering from the element of surprise, she lunged into action.
Pinky’s free left hand grasped Evelyn by the top of her head, grabbing tight fistfuls of hair. Evelyn dropped to her knees with a whimper.
Time and action all caught up now, Pinky pointed the gun at me. “Don’t move.”
Chapter 13
WHIPPING AROUND TO FACE THE REST OF THE passengers, Pinky shouted, “Don’t anybody move.”
I froze in place, weight on my forward foot, one hand still outstretched, so close, yet not close enough to Evelyn to drag her out of harm’s way. As I eased to straighten, I became aware that Bennett had gotten to his feet. Matt and Adam jumped up right behind him.
“Stay back,” Pinky shrieked, her eyes wild, her grip tightening in Evelyn’s dark tresses. The woman on the floor cried out again, clearly in pain.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “Put that gun away.”
Pinky backed into the corner, pulling the other woman, squirming, beside her. “No one moves unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
I sent a fearful glance around the cabin. Wide, panicked eyes met mine. Even the two chatty women had silenced themselves. Everyone stared at Pinky. At Evelyn. At me.
“What do think you’re doing with a gun on a plane? Don’t you realize how dangerous that is?” She seemed unmoved by my high-pitched rant. “For you, too,” I shouted. “If we lose cabin pressure, we’re all dead.”
Pinky took a shaky breath. “One bullet hole in the fuselage won’t make a difference,” she said. “Not unless I blow out a window.” She waved the semi-automatic. “Trust me, you don’t want that.”
“Listen, Pinky,” I began, realizing how little I knew about this woman. I didn’t even know her first name; I’d venture to guess that no one on this plane did. “You don’t want to threaten—”
“Don’t tell me what I want and what I don’t want,” she said through clenched teeth. “If you hadn’t butted your nose into my business, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“You tried to kill Bennett.” My voice was high and wild, my rage raw and uncontained. I nearly leapt across the aisle to attack.
It was only hearing Bennett’s low, “Gracie, no,” that stopped me.
“Yeah, and if it weren’t for you, he would be dead by now.” She lifted her chin toward Bennett. “And we’d all be better off.” Evelyn clenched her eyes and lips shut as Pinky twisted her hair. The captive woman trembled with fear.
“So you admit it—”
“I admit nothing. I’m not going down without a fight.” Her eyes were flat, dark, and dead. This was a different woman than we’d seen earlier. Terror was making her ruthless. “You can either let me go when we land, or you all die.” She hefted the gun. “This holds seventeen rounds, and I’m a crack shot. Do the math. Nobody goes home unless I go free.”
The plane erupted with loud confusion. Above the din of the two women screaming, Adam and the other band members shouting, I heard Bennett. “Why?” he asked.
No one listened.
“Pinky,” I said, keeping my own voice low. I took a hesitant step forward.
She leveled the gun, eye height. “Go ahead, take one more step. I dare you. You’ll never take another. Don’t push me, honey. I can place my shot where it will do the most damage: jammed into the back of your thick skull.”
I sucked in a breath.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “Not because I’m a nice guy, but because that will only complicate my departure.”
I didn’t doubt it. There wasn’t even a glint of compassion in that expression.
“Now,” she said, raising her voice, “everybody listen up.”
The group fell silent. Once comforting, the solid roar of the engines reminded us that we were tens of thousands of feet in the air. Vulnerable.
“You will all sit down,” she began. Pointing the gun at Rudy, who had inched toward the rear of the plane, she added, “You, too. I want to be able to see all of you. See what you’re doing.”
Slowly, everyone began reclaiming their seats. “That’s better.”
Millie barked her displeasure.
Pinky glowered at the dog. “Shut that mongrel up,” she said.
Matthew pulled Millie closer, stroking her fur and murmuring softly. “Don’t shoot my dog,” he said.
Pinky looked away. “I don’t hurt animals.”
“But people are fair game?” I asked.
“Just the ones who get in my way.”
Bennett had remained standing. “Why?” he asked again.
Pinky didn’t answer. She aimed.
Bennett didn’t flinch. “Why do you want to kill me?”
“Bennett.” My voice came out raspy. “Don’t goad her. Please don’t.”
“You have no idea how bad I want to get this over with,” she said. I was the only one close enough to see her other hand, in Evelyn’s hair, spasm as though pulling a trigger. I winced.
“No—” I cried.
“It’s a simple question,” Bennett said, stepping out into the aisle. All that did was give Pinky an easier target.
I swallowed. “No,” I tried again, hardly able to manage more than a pleading whisper. “Bennett.”
Clasping one of the leather seat backs in a strong grip, he didn’t pay me any attention, but affected an air of curiosity. “I assume you’re not acting alone, Pinky—or whatever your name is. You’ve been assigned to get rid of me, and I want to know why.” He waited a beat then curled up one corner of his mouth. “That’s presuming you even know the reason.”
“Of course I know,” she snapped.
The plane dipped slightly in several quick bursts of turbulence, making Pinky stumble. Evelyn yelped as tufts of her hair were yanked out. The dark tresses floated to the floor as Pinky shifted to regain her footing.
Bennett never lost his grip of the headrest. “Then by all means”—he held out his free hand, encompassing the group—“enlighten us.”
Indecision danced in the back of her eyes for a fleeting moment. She ran her top teeth over her bottom lip then said, “Can’t.”
Bennett didn’t break eye contact. When he took another step forward, I sucked in a terrified breath. “What is it you want from me?” he asked. “There must be some way to settle this.”
Again, she wavered. “Back off, old man,” she finally said. “You got lucky this time, but you won’t again. If I didn’t need to get off this plane, you’d be dead on the floor right now.”
Harsh words, steady gun. This woman wasn’t messing around. She blinked hard, twice, the way drivers sometimes do to stay awake. I got the impression she was desperately fighting for the best answer to this mess. “What I want,” she continued, “is safe passage off the plane when we land.” She worked her mouth. “You all get that? Easy stuff. You keep your mouths shut until I’m out of here, and nobody gets hurt.”
“Except me, you mean,” Bennett said. He took a step closer to her.
“Don’t!” This time I shouted, my word a strangled cry.
He held a hand up to me to warn
that he knew what he was doing.
“I told you,” Pinky said, looking around as though seeking a way off the airplane, “all I want is to get away. We land; I go. You keep your mouths shut about all this. You breathe a single word, and I’ll hunt you all down and kill you one at a time.”
“I don’t think so,” Bennett said.
Pinky watched him.
“Why do I get the impression that your deal doesn’t include me?” Bennett asked with conversational nonchalance. “Why do I get the sense that someone—you perhaps, maybe a colleague—has plans for my demise whether you go free after this debacle or not?”
Her eyebrows jumped; it was an involuntary affirmation, which twisted my stomach. “Just let me go,” she said avoiding his question. “Make it easy on yourselves.”
“Young lady,” he said, “you’re brandishing a firearm on an airplane. You’ve taken a hostage. There is no chance whatsoever you’re leaving this plane in anything but handcuffs. If you tell us who’s really behind this, it could go easier for you.”
Pinky yanked on Evelyn’s hair, pulling her to her feet. The woman stumbled upward, tears of pain in her eyes, but she didn’t cry out. Facing Bennett, Pinky spoke low, her voice menacing. “You take one more step, she dies. And then I’ll have nothing to lose, will I? Right now, you let me walk away and she lives.”
She let go of Evelyn’s hair, but held her tight by the upper arm. For her part, the flight attendant looked as though she’d drop to the floor if Pinky let go.
“Everybody sit down,” Pinky said. She waved the gun at Bennett. “That means you, too.”
He glanced over at me. We were the only two who had remained standing. With an expression of vexed resignation, he nodded acknowledgment and retreated. As we both sat, Pinky shoved Evelyn into her own vacated chair, not the jump seat, and trained the gun’s barrel at her forehead.
