A wet figure stood on the sidewalk, near the street. Jeff shivered in the cold rain. “Where is the promised snow?” he thought. The rain was slowly sinking through his coat. He looked up the street again, this time spotting a vacant cab. He hailed.
“To the airport,” he said as he entered the cab. “Sorry about the wet,” he added as an after thought.
“Sure thing, pal,” the cabby replied as he turned his head back to traffic. The cab hummed from the curb into the rainy night.
Jeff pressed his head back. His thoughts turned to the meeting. The east coast business was faltering. The marketing data showed it shouldn’t. The demographic was right. The advertising was spot on. The sales said otherwise.
“Jeff,” burled his boss. “Get back to the coast tonight. Get to the bottom of this!” The boss stormed out of the conference room. He slammed his office door behind him.
Everyone looked at each other, then Jeff. A look of terror and bewilderment was upon their faces. Jeff knew that look. Jeff the boss’ actions. It didn’t have to be said, but it was there: turn it around or everyone is fired.
The cab bounced over a pot hole and brought back to the present. The cabby was asking him a question, again.
“Hey buddy. Arrivals or departures? I see you ain’t got no grip, but I thought I’d ask.”
“Departures,” Jeff replied. Seeing the confused look on the cabbies face, he added, “I have a place back east. No need for luggage today.”
“Sure thing, pal.”
Jeff looked out the window. The drizzle had turned a bit harder. The lights of other vehicles elongated in his mind. They were lines of light to him. How would he turn this around? How could he? The late night flight to the coast. The lack of sleep. He had to be in the office first thing. He knew the drill. He tired of it.
“Hey buddy. We’re here. That will be 65 credits.”
Jeff pressed his thumb to the pad. He was tied to the company account. He was tied to the company. They owned his thumb. They owned him.
“Thanks. Hey add 10 more for yourself. Seems fitting on a night like this. Cover the mess back here.” He half smiled to the cabby as he got out.
“Sure thing, pal.”
Jeff watched the cab drive off into the night. He could hear the hum of people around him, but he paid no attention. He walked toward the airport steward station as if by memory. Well, it was by memory.
“Hello Mr. Gregory. Where you headed tonight?”
“Company jet to the east coast. It should be expecting me. Uhm, Bill, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir. Bill it is and you are correct. Jet ready at lot 6. Says here Samantha will meet you at the gate.” Bill fumbled behind the counter. There was the sound of paper tearing.
“Here’s your pass and your ticket. Formality I know, but you know the government rules these days. Have a good flight.”
“Thanks, Bill.” Jeff took his papers and gave a slight nod. Not more talk, just sleep. If his mind would let him.
His state was a mix of thought and tired. Through security. Scan briefcase. Questions about no luggage. Answers about a business trip, flat back east. Oh the dreariness. His step lightened as he approached the gate and saw Samantha’s smiling face. She could warm the coldest heart. Tall. Flowing dark hair. Underneath that uniform, Jeff knew was the body of a trained killer. He remembered well the self-defense class. She was fit, trim, sexy and military trained. He tired to look at her shoes.
“Good evening, Mr. Gregory.” And so formal. “Flying to the coast, I’m told. Once we get out of this weather, it will be clear flying till landing. May I take your coat?”
“Yes, Sam. You may.” Oh, he felt like a dweeb. She did it to him every time. She was everything he every dreamed of in a woman: tall, dark hair, gorgeous, fit, sexy, smart, fantastic, toned and nothing artificially added. But she was all business. No matter when. The time they were trapped in the mountains. The time overseas when war broke out. Every time. She was more his bodyguard than anything his fantasies could imagine.
She brought him back to the present. “Jeff, you are doing it again.” His eyes focused again. Slowly he raised his head. My goodness, did she come straight from the club? High heals, legs leading to a short, tight skirt, low-cut blouse, hair done up. What the?
“Time is short. Get moving,” she scolded. “And stop staring at my feet, Bashful Chicken.”
Jeff hurried down the ramp to the plane. “This was not going to be an easy flight,” he thought to himself. “Those legs. Those hips. Those…” He interrupted his thoughts there. Up the jet’s ramp, hit the bar. Pour something strong. Get some sleep. That will help.
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