“They’re high dollar and don’t present the kinds of quick returns you’re looking for. Trust me on this,” the young professional continued, giving her a quick look then returning to let his eyes to linger.
Maddy stepped casually over to another monitor and put some distance between them.
Finally ending his phone conversation, the man stepped closer to Maddy. “So which lucky destination will be graced with your presence?”
Maddy leaned over conspiratorially.
The young man eagerly lowered himself closer to the red hair that framed Maddy’s face. “Between you and me, I’m a nurse waiting to intercept an Ebola patient being escorted from Zaire.” She gave him a serious look and held a single finger to her lips.
The man straightened up and studied Maddy. Finally, he gave her an uncertain smile and began to chuckle weakly. “Oh, she’s got a sense of humor,” he replied, building his confidence back. “I like that.”
Maddy ignored him and continued to allow her eyes to touch each destination one after the other, waiting patiently for something. Anything.
“I’m headed to a world trade conference on the west coast.”
“Already been west,” she replied disinterested, taking another step away from him.
“So where are you headed again?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He assessed her, made a determination, and seemed even more intrigued because of the challenge she presented. “Buy you a drink while we’re waiting?”
For a moment, Maddy considered.
Was this something she was meant to do? Perhaps this random meeting led to something else. Something more significant.
She was on the cusp of accepting his invitation—after all, what’s the worst that could happen? Boring conversation? This line of thought was interrupted by something more definite. A sensation more familiar.
Maddy stiffened suddenly and slowly looked over her shoulder.
Grant Frederickson strode casually past, his eyes at his feet tracking only the immediate path before him, seemingly oblivious to everything and everyone else surrounding him.
Turning her back to the suited man, Maddy watched Grant with interest as he continued across the airport to an elevator.
“Sorry, I have to pass on that drink. I just remembered that I have a job interview,” Maddy answered.
“Really?” the suit replied with a bitter smile. “At least the Ebola brush-off was original.”
After the elevator door closed on Grant, Maddy turned back to the suited man. “Y’know, I could have had a drink with you. We might have filled up on Spinach Artichoke dip at Polly Bar and Grill’s, had a few too many Long Islands and you might have started to tell me about your girlfriend Valerie. How she wants to get married and you don't.”
Joe College took an uncertain step backward, eyes widening slightly.
“Maybe you should be telling her these things and not a total stranger in an airport. You think?”
Maddy turned her back on the departing flights monitor, confident in her new found knowledge that she had not been meant to take a flight out of Bush International Airport as she had first thought. She had been meant to make a connection of a different sort.
Now she had the “where” and the “who.” As to the manner of “how,” she knew from experience, the details would become clear to her if she only practiced patience.
Ten minutes later, she stood outside the small coffee shop that she had only half-noticed on the way into the airport that morning just as an elderly waitress with a jacket over her uniform rushed past her in an angry huff.
“And for that matter, you can tell that asshole of a cook that he needs to work on his interpersonal skills, too,” the waitress exclaimed.
Ignoring the looks of the shocked customers, Maddy strode right up to the well-dressed woman behind the register. “I’m looking for work.”
The woman stared at the retreating back of the elderly waitress then studied Maddy in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?”
4
Leslie elbowed Sharon and nodded in the direction of the man in his mid-thirties sitting alone on the backseat of the tram. “Isn’t that your friend from the tower?”
Sharon nodded, took Leslie by the arm and edged across the tram to stand beside him, waiting for him to notice and offer her a seat. Unfortunately, the man stared glassily out the window, eying the oppressive view of the grim grey walls surrounding their car.
The guy was certainly an odd one, Sharon thought, not for the first time.
“Looks like you like Italian as well,” she said, prodding the take-out bag of Sbarro’s at Grant’s feet with the toe of one of her heels.
Finally coming out of his reverie, Grant gave her an almost apologetic smile. “Yeah, it’s a little expensive, I know. I normally bring my lunch, but I… kinda got off my schedule this morning.”
“It’s okay to indulge every now and again, right?” Leslie said cheerily.
“Oh, Grant, this is my friend Leslie Conners.”
The younger of the two women took the available seat next to Grant and held out her hand. Grant shook it shyly and gave her a very brief moment of eye contact but said nothing.
Leslie glanced away and blinked up at her friend with a look of awkwardness. Sharon finally found a seat on the opposite side of Grant.
“By the way, those backstreet shortcuts you gave me really cut my husband's commute in half,” Sharon told Grant. “How do you do it? Were you a bike courier or something?”
“I have a pizza delivery job on the side to make ends meet.”
Both Sharon and Leslie tittered at the obvious joke.
Grant blinked at them expressionlessly. “I-I really did actually.”
“Oh, wow, you’re a workaholic, huh? And what a far cry from what you do at your day job,” Sharon exclaimed, turning to Leslie. “Grant works as an air traffic controller in the tower.”
“Wow, that’s impressive,” Leslie replied. “That must be how you come by that talent for directions, I guess.”
Grant shrugged. “I'm like a savant when it comes to getting around this city, but take me outside of Houston and I'm clueless.”
The women laughed politely but Grant continued to look embarrassed.
The tram stopped, an automated voice announcing the stop. Grant rose and the women followed suit.
“Excuse me,” he said as he stepped from the tram.
The women’s smiles ebbed slightly as they returned to their seats.
“Kinda of cold fish, isn’t he?”
“He’s just one of those quiet types,” Sharon responded. “That may have been the longest conversation I’ve ever had with the man.”
Sharon raised a hand to him outside as the tram started to move again. “Heard he’s a widower.”
“Oh, my,” Leslie exclaimed. Then after a moment’s thought, she scooted forward on her seat toward Sharon and asked, “So, he’s available then?”
5
Grant stepped into an office tucked into the corner of a bustling air traffic control tower and knocked on the open door.
Standing in the corner of his office in front of an open filing cabinet, Preston Mann, a large suited man, motioned Grant inside. In a mirror attached to the front of the top drawer, he struggled to remove his knotted tie with one hand, cell phone pressed to his ear with the other, resorting finally to holding the phone between one broad shoulder and ear.
“The wife has me on hold.” He gave a little shake of his head and nearly lost the phone.
“Simmons said you wanted to see me before I sat down.”
“You’re subbing for Lewis, right?”
“Yes sir,” Grant answered, glancing at his watch.
“I’m afraid I had to let Jordan take that shift.” He motioned for Grant to sit, but Grant remained standing.
“Sorry, sir. I’m not sure I understand,” Grant responded in confusion.
Making a face of frustration, Mann tossed t
he cell phone to his desk and finally managed to remove his tie successfully. “I also wanted to talk to you about your vacation schedule.”
“I’m not scheduled for a vacation.”
“You are now,” Mann stated bluntly, casually tossing his tie across the room into the open cabinet drawer.
Grant opened his mouth to express confusion when a tiny voice called out from the cell phone lying atop the desk.
Mann spun around and scooped up the phone from the desk.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he spoke into the phone. “I’m leaving right now. No-no, I don’t have time to…” Collapsing into the seat behind his desk, Mann shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. He motioned for Grant to sit opposite him and lowered the phone to review some information on its screen.
Grant tentatively took a seat at the desk, glancing at his watch.
“They tell me that lately you’ve been cashing your hours out and covering some of the other guy’s shifts as well as working your normal hours.” Mann gave a weak chuckle and glanced up at Grant with a troubled expression. “Wish I’d heard about it earlier so I could have advised you against it. Sometimes being the boss only assures that you’re out of the loop.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you, sir.”
A different tiny voice spoke from the phone and Mann held it up to his ear again. “Hey, honey. Yes, daddy will be home soon, okay? Put mama back… that’s right, I will… put mama back on the phone. Okay. Love you too, kiddo.”
Preston shuffled his phone aside and cocked a brow at Grant, checking the other man for a reaction. Grant pretended to notice something going on outside the tower.
“I’m taking the family on vacation to Disneyworld in Florida for two weeks,” he said as way of explanation, then suddenly looked guilty. He cleared his throat and attempted to start again with more authority. “Listen, FAA regulations stipulate that all traffic workers adhere to the required vacation schedule. Since you haven’t chosen a time, they chose one for you. Your forced vacation starts Saturday.”
Preston struggled out of his suit jacket and tossed it on a hook beside the cabinet.
“Forced vacation?” Grant protested. “But I need to work, Preston. I need those hours. My record is as clean as a whistle.”
“And we want to keep it that way. You know that they’ve been scrutinizing us lately.”
A tiny voice erupted from somewhere in the office. Mann looked around the desk in confusion. Grant pointed to his jacket hanging on the wall.
Mann leaned over and grabbed the phone out of his jacket pocket. “Yeah, I’m here,” he grunted. “Right, got it! I’m gone. Love you too.” Mann rose abruptly. “The FAA basically told me to restrict your presence from the tower for three days.”
“Thing is, I need the money,” Grant told him, all the enthusiasm leeched from his voice. He knew that he had sounded this alarm so many times before that even he was tired of hearing it. But this time, he had given literally everything to Torres with the expectation that he may not see the light of a new day.
Plans had changed, it seemed.
Mann started for the door then turned back when he noticed that Grant was still seated.
“Listen, Grant, I know you’ve had some tragedies. If anyone should have a little time off, it’s you, man,” he said in a low voice, then cleared his throat. “For Pete’s sake, Frederickson, it’s a three measly days.”
“I’ve made a substantial investment that didn’t go the way I wanted,” Grant found himself lying, his back to his boss. He felt like dirt the moment it was out of his mouth. Preston Mann was a decent boss and a good man. He deserved better than to be lied to, but under the circumstances, Grant saw no way around it. The truth was an opera that no one outside of the local asylum would believe.
“Look, I’m sorry, but the Feds make the rules and we have to abide by them. This thing is non-negotiable.” Preston stood at the door anxiously staring back at Grant. “Look, we can talk more about this when I get back here in a week, okay?”
Preston flipped out the light in the office, leaving Grant alone and slouching in the chair. After a moment, he glanced at his watch, started to leap up, then fell lifelessly back into the chair. He pounded the armrest of the chair and cursed under his breath.
6
Grant dragged himself back through the airport, his head down and shoulders slumped.
“Hard day?”
Grant stopped and glanced back at the dark-jacketed man leaning casually against the railing of the airport concourse, while passengers dashed by anxiously all around him. He lowered his head again and gave the man a single frustrating shake.
“Looks like you need a pick-me-up. Let’s you and me have a coffee,” Rudy said, taking him casually by the arm.
Grant instinctively brushed his hand away—like a fly from his skin--but fell into step beside him.
Minutes later, Rudy was sliding into a booth of the small coffee shop just inside the entrance to the airport. After a moment, Grant followed suit opposite him.
“Do you really expect to intimidate me?” Grant said through gritted teeth. “You people have taken everything that matters to me in this world. I no longer have anything worth losing.”
Wearing a moist apron over her wrinkled clothes, Maddy materialized at the table, set two mugs down and began to pour coffee from a fresh pot, her ever-present blue satchel swinging from the crook of her arm.
Rudy and Grant stared blankly at her.
“Didn’t I ask? Sorry. I’m new here.”
“That is the best customer service I’ve ever seen,” Grant commented flatly, taking his mug in his hands but keeping his eyes on Rudy.
“Thanks,” Maddy chirped, her attention fully on Grant.
After a few awkward moments, Rudy sighed heavily and focused his hard eyes onto her.
“If you need anything else, just let me know,” she said cheerily, pointing up at the nametag with the coffee shop’s logo perched on her chest. “My name is Maddy.”
“Thank you, Maddy,” Grant replied, glancing up.
Maddy locked eyes with Grant and for a moment Grant felt a subtle confusion. She was acting as if she recognized him and expected him to recognize her. Finally, Grant dropped his eyes with embarrassment back to his coffee and Maddy backed away from the table, running into an empty chair behind her.
Rudy looked from Maddy to Grant. “Friend of yours?”
Grant started to shake his head then glared at the other man. “Weren’t you here to threaten me or something?”
Rudy stared evenly at Grant, then slowly reached into his fashionable jacket and pulled out a familiar small package. He placed it on the table between them.
Grant stared down. “I thought I made myself clear.”
Rudy shrugged. “You don’t have the money. Apparently this is the only other option.”
“What is this anyway?” Grant asked, taking the package and flipping it casually over with the distaste of a man kicking over a dry cow paddy. “Drugs? Electronics? Pictures?”
Rudy gave another shrug and smiled. He took an amiable sip of his coffee and finally commented: “Look, Torres makes the rules and I follow them to the letter without question. It's non-negotiable.”
Grant gave him an ironic snort. “Y’know, you’re the second one to tell me that today. I’ve just been put on administrative leave for three weeks.”
“Not my problem.”
“Just a reminder that even if I wanted to pay your boss anything more, I couldn’t.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid the option to pay us is off the table.” Rudy swept a hand across the table with a dapper little whistle. He tapped the package with one finger. “Unless you do this thing for us, you’ll be dead within the next twenty four hours.”
Grant unsuccessfully attempted to resist the urge to swallow back his anxiety.
Rudy stared boldly at him, awaiting a response.
How convenient, Grant considered. After all, I told him just this m
orning that the money I had given him was all he would ever see.
Now the rules change again.
But Grant wouldn’t budge. He was done with the death march.
Willing his shaking hands back under control, Grant reached down and brought the mug to his lips for a quick nervous slurp. He set the mug down and looked up at the other man. “How’s it going to happen?” he managed. “Will it be you, Rudy?”
Rudy flinched slightly, broke into a smile and sat casually back in the booth with a forced chuckle. “You are one morbid son-of-a-bitch, Frederickson. You know that?”
“Y’see, I understand the concept of a debt,” Grant said, leaning forward almost aggressively. “This little thing has nothing at all to do with the money I borrowed.”
“So, how about you tell me what this is all about then?” Rudy replied, leaning forward to meet him.
“I figure if he wanted me dead, he could have done it a year ago and saved me a lot of pain and suffering. So, this is obviously something else.” Grant relaxed back against the cushions of the booth. “What’s your opinion? What do you think this is about?”
Rudy studied Grant seriously for a moment then turned his attention to his coffee. He drained half the cup in a single gulp. “They don’t pay me to speculate.”
“He wants to demoralize me.” Grant turned his palms up atop the table. “I’ve nothing left to bargain with but my pride and that’s non-negotiable.”
Rudy took a long hard look at Grant, finished the last of the coffee and removed a bulging leather wallet that matched his jacket exactly, Grant noted. He turned his side to Grant and silently slipped the package back into his jacket without looking at him. “So, run,” he murmured under his breath.
Grant frowned. “What?”
“Look, I don’t care a good goddamn about your soapbox morals. I’ve got a job and I do it. You’ve got twenty-four hours, Frederickson,” the other man said sternly, his hard eyes sliding over Grant one last time. “Choose how you want to spend it. I don’t give a shit.”
He rose and tossed a couple of wadded bills to the table. “Enjoy your coffee.”
Remember the Future Page 2
