The security guys deposited me in a dingy excuse for a VIP conference room and then scurried away. I suppose they realized who I was and decided that minimum wage was better than no wage. I mean, who’s dumb enough to hold Calvin Enders, heir to Enders empire, against his will?
I was about to show myself out when the door opened and in waddled a pair of real odd ducks. The mammoth-sized guy looked almost embarrassed and the girl with the duffel bag frowned like she’d just licked a lollipop that had fallen on a toilet seat. These were not the airport security heads I expected so I didn’t know whether to play nice or not. But, when in doubt, act like you’re in charge.
I set my face from “stun” to “incinerate.” (Not to brag, but my glare is legendary.) If looks could kill, this pair of weirdos would have been set on fire, struck by lightning, torn into tiny pieces by ravenous dogs with bluntly filed teeth (so it would hurt more), spat out, chewed up, spat out again, and then blown to smithereens by a bucketful of hand grenades. Precisely in that order. And in case they missed the point, I scowled even harder across the table.
The big, grimy oaf fidgeted–adjusting the leather straps on an arm pad that looked like something a welder might wear. Scraped knuckles and scorch marks up to his muscled bicep told me this was a mid-level mechanic, more at ease talking to a turbine housing than another human being. He would be all too easy to break.
“So… um… You must be Cal! It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” The guy attempted a friendly smile, but it came across more like the grimace of a constipated gargoyle. He held out a greasy hand. I crossed my arms and raised a contemptuous eyebrow. That eyebrow was usually enough to make people wither. Just in case, though, I turned up the heat a little more.
“And you must be… about to lose your jobs. Both of you.” I felt my mouth turn up at the corners, but it was hardly a smile. “Unless you get me out of here and back on my plane in the next 30 seconds.”
“This is Sam,” said the man apologetically, gesturing to the girl. “And I’m Duncan. We both work for your dad’s airline and we’re doing all we can to get you out of here. But you did assault another passenger in the airport. You’ll be lucky if his parents don’t press charges.”
“They won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?” The girl’s hands trembled with anger. Good. She'd obviously seen me pummel the other kid. That said, she was a different sort of creature from this Duncan character. She had a fearless quality about her, but she wore her emotions on her sleeve. I couldn't decide if she'd be a worthy adversary or an easy mark.
“I happen to know that he won’t say a word because his father works for mine. And judging by how little he had in his pockets, his dad really needs the job. In fact, I’m sure he’s already admitted that the whole thing was his fault.”
“Yes. About your dad–” she began, but I cut her off short.
“You’d be pretty, by the way, if it weren’t for those clothes. And that haircut. And–” Then the world went black.
I came to a minute later with a ringing in my ears split by the the sound of whispering.
“I can’t believe you hit him! You know who he is! What he means to us! If we get out of here now, we may have time to leave with a few of the–”
“Who hit who?” I asked, rubbing my head. “Did you hit me?”
“No!” Sam stammered. “Not. Noooo. Not. We’d never. I. Would. Ne–ver. Ever.”
The older man nodded vigorously in agreement. “You fainted. It must have all been too much, between the fight and the news about your dad.”
I noticed Sam's eyes go wide. Duncan slapped a palm against his forehead.
“What news about my father?!” I yelled, perhaps a bit too loudly.
Before anyone could answer, the door opened and in walked a woman I didn't recognize. She was dressed in a customer service uniform. When she saw the three of us, she dropped her eyes and nervously cleared her throat. “Mr. Turpin's has been alerted that you’re here. He’s an hour away, with traffic.”
“Turpin!” I announced triumphantly. “Perfect!” It appeared that Sam and Duncan also recognized the name of my family's personal attorney. And by the looks of fear on their faces, they knew that I was about to be in the clear and they were in for it, big time.
“Turpin’s going to get me out of here, sweetie. So why don’t you just go ahead and let me go now?”
The woman lowered her head again. “I’m sorry, but you’ll to talk to security about that.” Then she walked out.
The girl, Sam, looked mad enough to punch a puppy. “You assaulted someone on federal property! If you think you can just walk out of here because you’re rich–” The big guy put a hand on her shoulder, which shut her up. Good.
“Look!” I gritted my teeth. “In my world, you're either part of the solution or part of the problem.” I slammed both fists on the table for effect and gave them both a look that would evaporate a glacier. “So can you get me out of here or not?”
Sam glanced worriedly at Duncan. They were about to fold, exactly as I expected. The big man shrugged his shoulders as if to say “I guess we don’t have a choice.”
Duncan grabbed the girl’s duffel bag and bumbled over toward me. He extended an oversized hand. Fine, whatever. If I had to shake hands to get rid of them, I'd take one for the team. But ugh. His meaty paw was calloused and greasy and he had who-knows-what under badly-trimmed nails. I wondered if there would be enough sanitizer in the entire airport to get clean again. I reached toward him, valiantly trying not to throw up in my mouth.
Instead of shaking my hand, he grabbed my forearm like we were vikings or something. This was getting way too weird. What the heck? Before I could even protest, the big man yanked me up over his back and dumped me, headfirst, into the bag.