***
I passed out during the gastrointestinal recitation and bumped to awakening when the wheels touched down in Halifax. It was a brief layover, almost a rolling stop, and just as quick we were aloft once again. My neighbor provided play-by-play of the landing, gate crawl and liftoff before launching into a comparison of his wife's and sister-in-law's respective hysterectomies.
"This is Captain Cadieux from the flight deck." The familiar Cajun twang was both a welcomed disruption to the medical analysis while simultaneously instilling a grain of fear for what air travel information would be imparted. "You may have noticed our brief stop at the last gate back there, eh? No passengers depart and only one climbed on! Good news for our weight. More good news. We are avoiding the cold of Iceland. What kind of nut wants to live on ice, anyway? Live like an ice cube inside the freezer box. So we'll skip that one and fly straight to Dublin. Remember, for those qualifying, please see your flight attendant to receive your Mile High Club lapel pin. Thank you for flying Slipstream Green, folks!"
"Well, who'd have thought that, eh mister mild mannered? The captain's mentioning questionable things while we're up in the air. Why in my line of work, you'd never catch me placing myself in --"
"Hey, you." She looked, acted and spoke like an out-of-wedlock specimen produced by a teamster and a town clerk: Tough, no nonsense and prepared to detach certain body parts should the conversation not go her way. "Un ass your seat, mister hoity toity."
"But I --"
Her anger rose swiftly, electrifying her facial hair so it stood on end. Without wasting another word, she muckled onto my jacket and forcibly drew me over the talkative pharmacological aisle sitter. "You're headed to first class, jerk head."
"What about my gear?" I was impressed by her ability to shut down my windpipe with one hand, leaving me motioning wildly for my valise and attaché on the floor. A lack of oxygen dampened the euphoria experienced when realizing I was to move far away from the boorish ignoramus.
"Pick up his stuff, motor mouth," she demanded of the heretofore bland observer.
"I don't know, the kids, they had something similar happen to them one time. They were flying to Florida or Texas, I really don't remember, and they were sitting --"
The attendant's elbow struck loudly and firmly into his breastbone, followed by the instantaneous and repeated hammering of his groin with her clinched fist. The storyteller, at last, was effectively defused. Slumped onto my vacated seat, he obligingly produced the requested items without comment, much to the flight attendant's satisfaction. Switching her grip from throat to earlobe, the attendant gathered up my items in her free hand and double-timed our march to the forward cabin.
"Right here, nancy boy." She shoved me into the first row, my noggin striking the overhead storage unit as she threw the attaché and valise against my shins. "Enjoy your flight."
I was in disbelief of my good fortune to be removed from the proximity of the pill-pushing blowhard and handed an entire row in first class, all by myself. I swiftly suppressed my joy, however, as any expression of gratitude would most likely result in an additional beating. Instead, I focused on setting out my laptop, updating my assignment notes and recalculating our arrival time in Dublin. Without warning, a loud pop was followed by the aroma of smoke filling my seating area. A figure emerged in the haze before me, stepping through the lavatory doorway.
"Baron. Welcome."
"Ethelene!" I was startled, not in the happy way. Indeed, a fury welled up within me at the thought of Stinky bound and gagged with cheap duct tape. "What in the world --"
"Who do you think promoted you to first class?"
"I hadn't really considered that. Yet. I was theorizing the odd chance of good luck had finally --"
"Push over," she said, sitting down and spreading her fragrance of nicotine. "And who do you think boarded in Halifax? It was no trick in tracking you down and joining this flight, dear Baron. You could at least thank a girl for all her efforts made to see you."
"I'm not so sure it's a thanks I'd like to give you, Ethelene." I promptly removed the hand she placed on my knee. "You know my friend Stinky Kornblatt has been kidnapped by your collection of off the rack rascals. But that doesn't bother you, right? After all, your daughter's life is in the balance while we're here in the air. In a wretched turn of fate, whether Angel lives or not is being decided by her very own father, who seems to care naught for her!"
"Oh, Baron, you are such a love when you're passionately in error."
"Let this invade your apathy. I'm on my way to rescue both Angel and Stinky. When that's completed, it'll be you, your husband, the allegedly benign son-in-law of yours, and your henchmen answering for all this mayhem."
"And so righteous. No wonder the women can't keep their hands off you."
"I have a good mind to return to row forty nine. Sure, my seatmate was a dullard and the recitation of his life story fatally damaging to one's central nervous system, but this I know. The man has integrity and true love for his family. Any description of you would omit those two very points."
"You're riding a high horse. When you tumble off, you'll be in need of help."
"My welfare is of no concern to you." I removed her roving hand once more and closed the laptop cover. "In fact, I think it helpful if Interpol greets you when we reach Ireland."
"Only if you completely disregard what I have to say. Or perhaps my information wouldn't be helpful to your plans."
"And you'd certainly like to know what those plans are, wouldn't you? Pass them right along to Oz Moeziz and the boys."
"Why would I do that? After they threatened me, accusing me of being a double crosser working with Angel?"
"Instead, you conveniently found out my travel arrangements and miraculously placed yourself on the same flight. Ethelene, you left me in Peru to fend off a psychopathic llama and happily went on a maritime binge with Wayland. Your credibility lies somewhere on the ocean's bottom so many thousands of leagues below."
"Then I guess it's time we bear our honesty to one another, Baron." Both her hands came into contact with me as though I was a practice mannequin at a workshop for pickpockets. "Sondheim."
"What?"
"Not what, silly. Who. Your employer. Sondheim."
"What about him?" Agitated, I pushed her away only to have her grasp and caress my hands.
"We'll discuss it all shortly. I need a smoke first."
"Isn't that in violation of the rules?"
"What rules?" Ethelene tossed her head back in laughter, a truly attractive woman for her age. She fished a cigarette from her handbag. "It's part of Slipstream's upgrade. They disable the smoke detectors in the first class lavatory. You have to love this airline!"
I spent the few moments of solitude flipping through the latest edition of Why Are You Here?, considering the spiraling implications Ethelene's presence brought to my venture.