Final Winter

As always, the jet felt sluggish as it maneuvered toward the runway. Carrie flicked her gaze to the well-lit runway, to the final approach path. No one was landing. The night’s clear weather made the lights of the airport and the surrounding area shimmer brilliantly. It was one of the few nice things about flying at night, the constellation of lights on the ground. She looked forward to the flight and going to Boston, and well… Sean was going to get his answer in Boston and she was sure he would be happy.

She started humming a tune, something garnered from an album collection hawked late at night on the cable channels, and then stopped herself. She didn’t want to tip her hand.

The tune, of course, was ‘North to Alaska’.

Instead, she just smiled as her jet approached the hold area.

~ * ~

Brian opened his eyes again. The pain had settled down some. His mouth was dry and he looked at his arms. An IV was running into the right arm, beside which the EMT was stationed. The cop was on his left side, still looking expectantly at him. Brian raised his arm, motioned with a finger. ‘Here,’ he whispered. ‘Come here and I’ll tell you who… who shot me…’

The cop leaned in and Brian raised himself up and the cop said, ‘Sir, who did this to you? Can you tell me—’

Brian let his hand snap down to the cop’s holster, grabbed his pistol, and pulled it away, and—

The EMT flinched and the cop struggled but Brian was quick, Brian was driven, and in a second he had muzzle end of the pistol jammed up against the cop’s lower jaw. Brian said, ‘Take it easy, now.’

The cop said, his voice strained, ‘There’s no round in the chamber. And the safety is on.’

‘Maybe so,’ Brian said. ‘But maybe I’ve got the safety off, and maybe you’re lying about having no round in the chamber. You don’t want to have your jaw blown off, do you? Ready to gamble that, officer?’

The EMT said, ‘What… what do you want?’

‘Stop this ambulance. Now. I’m getting off.’

The EMT said, ‘Sir, you’re injured, you’re not thinking right, you’re—’

Brian said, ‘This ambulance doesn’t stop the next ten seconds, I’m splattering this cop’s brains all over the ceiling. Understood?’

It seemed like the EMT got it. Edging past them so he didn’t seem to get too close to Brian and the cop, he moved to a small sliding glass partition between the ambulance bed and the driver and pounded on the window. ‘Emergency, Carol — you’ve got to pull over. Now!’

Some murmured words from up front, and the EMT said, ‘No fucking around! Stop the goddamn bus!’

The ‘goddamn bus’ slowed down and halted. Brian sat up, gritting his teeth at the pain in his back, keeping his stare fixed on the cop, who had murderous hate in his eyes — and who could blame him? The EMT — showing some initiative — scrambled to the rear of the ambulance and opened the rear door. Brian tugged at his right arm, pulling the IV free. Blood spurted down his arm. He kept on moving, the cop moving with him. It was awkward, it was tough, but soon he was out on the pavement. The cop was standing there too and Brian nudged him and said, ‘Back in the bus, pal. You get back in the bus and close the door and drive away.’

The cop stood still.

Brian said, ‘Move away, or I start shooting civilians. Move away, and I run like hell, and nobody gets hurt.’

The cop said, ‘You’re a stupid fuck.’

‘Probably. Move.’

The cop took a step back and Brian stepped away, still wincing from the pain. The cop went back into the ambulance, and Brian slammed the door shut and slapped his hand twice against it. The ambulance, lights still flashing, moved out.

Brian took in his surroundings. Apartment buildings, office buildings, small stores — he could waste precious seconds looking for a phone and the police would come down like a hammer on this area once the cop in the ambulance got on the horn. He put the cop’s pistol in his coat pocket, and walked quickly down one block, then another, not running — running men always attract attention — and by God, luck must have been with him, for he caught a taxi and in a matter of moments was heading to the Memphis International Airport.

It was 1:51 a.m.

~ * ~

Carrie Floyd felt the subtle vibration of the MD-11 engines in the control yoke as they waited for takeoff at the end of the runway. Sean was there, just waiting, and she decided that she would tease him, all the way northeast, once they took off.

He was patient. And would have to be, to put up with her and her daughter.

Sean made a point of clearing his throat.

Carrie kept on ignoring him, though it was hard to do with a smile on her face.

~ * ~

In the rear of the taxi, Brian Doyle tried to work through the pain in his back, the pain in his chest, keeping his gaze straight on what was ahead of him, and what was ahead of him wasn’t good. For some reason the traffic was backing up to the airport exits. He leaned forward and said to the cabbie, ‘Why is it taking so goddamn long? What’s the holdup?’