I stare at my face on the phone screen as the camera clicks and half panic, half feel a measure of relief. Yeah, it's me. But I kind of sort of don't look exactly like me.
To be honest, it's a crappy picture and would not go on my dating profile; while the one provided to the news from my iCosmos page was shot by a fashion photographer and makes me out to be much more handsome than I am.
I fake the cheesiest, shit-eating grin I can manage because that's what Totally-Not-Fugitive-Astronaut-David-Dixon would do.
These people aren't idiots. I need to get away from them as conveniently as I can without attracting attention, because sooner or later one of them is going to wise up.
30
Party Animal
I'm dragged by the group into a taxi van and taken to a restaurant bar called the "Angry Turtle." I keep waiting for a convenient moment to slip away, but I can't find one or think of something to say that doesn't sound forced.
We take a group of high tops in the corner of the balcony that overlooks the street. The place has a seaside shanty look to it with surfboards on the walls.
I situate myself so I can see who comes in, but staying out of sight as much as I can. I also take note of all the entrances. To my left is a fire exit that leads to a set of stairs and the alley.
I'm ready to bolt through that door the moment the policia arrive. If they cover that exit, I can go up to the next level and get on the roof.
On Google Maps the buildings don't look too spaced apart. Not that I want to have to actually try to run across roof tops. I'm not even sure if that's a thing outside of Jason Bourne movies.
"Drink up!" says Shawn as he slams two handfuls of shot glasses on the table.
FAA rules are 8 hours from bottle to throttle, but I notice Captain Beransky abstains. Everyone else puts a glass to their lips and prepares to drink.
I leave mine on the table. Shawn is having none of this and puts it in my hand. "Are you flying?"
While I haven't had much opportunity to tell them my made up tale of woe since I got pulled into this hurricane, now's my chance.
"I'm hoping to get a jump seat back to the US," I reply. "Maybe cockpit."
"Are you stranded?" asks Whitcomb.
The way he asks that makes me feel extremely nervous. It's exactly what I am.
"I flew down to fly as a relief charter for some crazy Saudi prince. More money than common sense. Turns out he pissed off his uncle or something and had to turn around. That was my ride back to the States."
"Can't your charter company do something about that?"
Great question. And I have an answer. "They're supposed to. They say relax for the next three days. They're some new plane-sharing start up. Really disorganized."
"What are they called?"
Christ, this guy missed his calling and should have been in the Gestapo.
"Blue Air." It's a real thing, a small stealth startup you can look it up.
He nods. "I think I know somebody who flies for them."
For crying out loud.
"You know Carl O'Brien?"
This could be a trap. "I don't think so. I'm new with them. A friend just recommended them to me."
"Who?"
I almost say, "George Williams." Wouldn't that be hilarious. "Jeff Roberts."
If Whitcomb calls me out on that, I'm prepared to say that Roberts doesn't actually work for them, he just recommended them to me. And if that doesn't fly, I'll throw my drink in his face and run away.
I totally understand how cops work now. They just keep asking you questions, getting you deeper and deeper into your story and watching how long it takes for you to make something up.
That's why you should just ask for a lawyer up front. Unfortunately, that won't work too well in this situation.
Shawn slams his hand on the table. "Will you two bitches shut the hell up? We got some ladies that need to dance and I'm not going to let some gajo locals sweep them away. All the gajos are for this boy."
Adele, the cougar, grabs my hand and pulls me onto the small dance floor. She puts my hands on her hips and starts to sway.
I do my best to play along and keep my back to the door. The only other dancers are Shawn and Serena and a very awkward Whitcomb and Connie.
Captain Beransky sits at the table and watches us like we're his children.
"You're very quiet," says Adele over the sound of the Brazilian pop music.
I try to think of something to say, but she finishes the conversation.
"That's a good quality. Most pilots can't shut up."
Lady, you should see me when I'm not on the run from super powers and not dodging bullets. I'm a veritable motor mouth.
"I prefer to listen," I reply.
She does a twirl. "Oh my. That is a rare quality."
Shawn steps over with Serena and gives us a fierce look. "Time is up, cat lady. Let's let these two play."
Serena, the very attractive Portuguese speaker, is dropped into my hands. She was paying a lot more attention to the news than the others. I'm terrified of what's going through her mind.
Likewise with Whitcomb. I see him pointing to me and whispering to Connie. They peel away from the dance floor, leaving just the four of us.
Thankfully Adele and Shawn are great dancers and are attracting all the attention. I just give Serena a sheepish grin.
She leans in to whisper something to me. I get a whiff of her fragrance and I kind of forget all my problems for a moment.
"It's okay. I know your secret."
I do everything I can to keep moving and not stop cold in the dance floor, attracting everyone's attention.
I get ready to make for the bathroom then exit.
Do I threaten her first? Lord, no. I can't do that.
"You've been watching Shawn since we first saw you at the hotel."
It takes me a moment to process what she just said.
She thinks I'm gay!
Hallelujah!
I had been watching him since he stepped into the hotel. And to a careful observer it might look like I was interested in him. Hell, I was. I knew he was the key to the whole thing.
"Was I that obvious?" I reply.
She sighs. "Why are the interesting ones always gay?"
"Listen doll face, I'd go straight for you in a heart beat."
She playfully slaps me on the shoulder. Relieved that my secret is safe for another minute at least, I put a little more pep into my step.
My smile fades as I see two men in dark suits walk into the bar and go over to Whitcomb to speak with him.
31
Jump Seat
I turn Serena so my back is towards the men who just joined Whitcomb. "I think I need to use the restroom," I say, all smiles.
If I just flat out run for the door I'm guilty. If I casually go to the restroom and take a while to return, then I'm not as suspicious. That will give me a little bit of a head start if these people are looking for me.
I let her go and she gives me a playful pat on the ass. "Don't talk to strangers."
I force a big smile on my face and wink at her over my shoulder then head for the other side of the bar to pretend to look for the bathroom as I make my exit.
I move through a crowd and end up having to weave around a section of tables because I'm not paying attention.
"George!" I look over as Connie is grabbing me by the arm. "You have a second?"
"I was going to use the bathroom," I say feebly.
"It's the other way. But first, there are some people we want you to meet."
My stomach does a backflip. One of the men in suits is standing in the passage I just left.
He's not wearing his jacket and there doesn't appear to be a gun on him. He doesn't look Russian or Brazilian.