Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [98]
—Very.
—You know who I am?
—Undoubtedly.
—Stay cool, Mario.
—Very.
He takes the cash and gives me skin. I let a skycap carry my bag to the counter and tip him twenty.
—Aisle or window?
—Aisle, please. And if you can get me next to an empty seat, that would be great.
—No problem.
My reservation is all in order. I pass the ticket girl John Carlyle’s Visa card and passport. She looks from me to the picture, twice, then slides it back. Her eyes flick to my face a few times as she does the paperwork.
—Got rear-ended.
—Oh, my God. Was anybody hurt?
—Not badly. Just me.
I have a thought.
—Uh, is there any room in first class?
—Sure.
—Would you mind, I think I need the, uh, I’d like to upgrade.
—No problem.
It costs a lot.
—Bags?
—One to check, one carry-on.
I fill out the tag, she attaches it to the big black bag and I watch all that money slide away on the conveyor. Nothing ventured . . .
—You’re all set, Mr. Carlyle. You might want to hurry a bit, that flight is getting ready to board. Have a nice trip.
I take my ticket and head toward my gate. I pass about five or six cops standing in a circle, talking about the Mets. My picture is still on the front page of all the papers, and I am unseen. I feel powerful. Then I get to the X-ray machines and remember I have a cat in my bag and no papers to take him on board.
The bathrooms are off to the left. I go in and take the first stall. I put the bag on my lap and unzip. Bud pokes his head out and I give him a little rub. I should have left him with Billy. He would have given him to the chick who digs cats. Now?
I dig around in the bag until I find his pill bottle. I read the label very carefully. I’m supposed to give him two a day, one in the morning and one at night. I chuck Bud under the chin and shake three of the pills into my hand. I feed them to him one after another, then hold him until he’s still. I stand and set Bud down on the floor. I take off my jacket and shirt and pull up my T-shirt. I sit back on the toilet, unwind the Ace bandage from my middle and pick Bud back up. It’s hard, but I manage to hold him against me and wrap the bandage around him at the same time, making a kind of sling for his body. I look in the bag and find the spare bandage and use it as well. I stand up and he stays put, bound to my stomach by the double bandage. I tuck the T-shirt back in, button and tuck in my Yves, put the jacket back on and do up all three buttons. I open the stall door and step out. In the mirror it doesn’t look bad, a beer belly.
I get to the checkpoint. I set the bag on the conveyor and watch it slide through. I walk through the metal detector and set off no alarms. I don’t sweat, I don’t tremor, my eyes are not shifty. I am a criminal mastermind. I am cold as ice. The cops and the airport security are barely looking. I have already become a myth to them. No one so wanted could ever make it this far, so they sip their coffee and bitch about their jobs and I stroll past.
I stop at the pay phones. When she picks up, I hear a series of clicks and voices in the background.
—It’s me, Mom.
—Are you all right, Henry? Are you all right?
—I’m OK, Mom. I’m going away.
—Where?
—I can’t say.
—Oh. They’re here, Henry. They want to talk to you.
—I love you, Mom.
—Oh, Henry.
—Tell Dad I love him.
—Henry.
—I love you.
—I love you, Henry.
First class is nice. They give me a hot towel and I put it over my face to hide all the tears.
When the seat belt light goes off, I go to the can with my bag and unwrap Bud. His breathing is shallow. I hope he’s OK. I pad myself with some towels from the bag so I still look fat and put Bud back in. I leave it a tiny bit unzipped so he can breathe easier. The whole flight, they offer me cocktails. I take a couple Vics instead.
We land in Cancún. I’ve never been to Mexico before, but I’ve heard customs is very easy here. When I go to claim my luggage, the money bag is already there, revolving on the carousel.
The customs agent looks at my face and at my passport. He grimaces a little and