Cajun Justice(11)

“I’m in seat 14A. What seat are you in?” Tom asked Cain.

“Thankfully, not one near you.”

“Ah, man, don’t be like that.”

“Enjoy the flight, Jackson,” Cain answered with a sarcastic tone. “We’re on it because of you.”

“At least it’s a free flight back home,” Tom said. “You’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”

“On that note, I’m gonna catch some z’s. So, don’t bother me on this flight.”

Cain settled into his seat and peered out the window. They departed northbound and he could see farmland off to the right. When the pilot banked left, Cain marveled at the sea and the sailboats until they vanished in the distance. The sea was no stranger to him, yet it always seemed mysterious—a duality of giving life and taking it.

He took a sip of his black coffee. He always thought the beverage tasted better at higher altitudes. Plus, it forever reminded him of his navy days, when he had depended on coffee to stay awake for the thousands of hours he spent flying his P-3 over the oceans, searching for Russian submarines or South American drug runners.

Next to him sat an elegantly dressed woman who appeared to be in her early forties. She seemed interested in what Cain was busy scribbling in his black Moleskine journal.

“Are you writing a book?” she asked.

He looked up. “Maybe someday, but not today. This is just a collection of my notes—work things, restaurants, names of people and hotels.”

“I get motion sickness easily,” she said. “So I try to disconnect from the world when I’m on a flight.”

“Normally, I’d try to watch one of the new releases, but I’m collecting some thoughts for an important interview tomorrow.”

“Job interview?”

“Something like that. I have a boss who’s gonna ask me a lot of questions about my trip down here.”

“How did you like your visit?”

“Wish I could’ve stayed longer.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” she said.

You have no idea what I mean, he thought. He had a dull headache forming, a combination of lack of sleep, alcohol, cabin pressure, and the stress of being recalled from a mission, which had never happened to him before. He retrieved a bottle of Tylenol PM from the bag resting at his feet and swallowed two pills.

“You can always come back,” the woman said.

He nodded in agreement.

She continued. “I was there to meet with the CEO of a large jewelry company. My business is in diamonds.”

“And where are you from?”

“I’m from Thailand. Have you ever been? We call it the Land of a Thousand Smiles.”

Cain lowered his head. Before he could respond, the flight attendant approached. “Sir, the gentleman in seat 14A ordered this for you.” She presented him with a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.

“You’re too kind,” Cain said.

“It’s my job,” she said, and smiled.

Cain winked playfully. “I meant calling him a gentleman.”

She grinned even wider.

“Thank you, but please take it back to him. Tell him I’m already asleep.”

Cain looked at the passenger next to him. “It’s been nice talking with you. I’ve got a long travel day ahead of me, so I’m gonna close my eyes for a bit. I hope you find a good movie to watch.”

“Do you have any recommendations?”

“You’ve Got Mail.”

She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “You like You’ve Got Mail?”

“What can I say?” He smiled. “I’m a sucker for romantic comedies. And Tom Hanks is a great actor.”

“I agree with you. It’s one of my favorites. That and When Harry Met Sally…”

“You’ll find ’em under the Classics category. Enjoy the movie.” He jotted a few last-minute notes in his journal before nodding off.

After landing in DC, Cain collected his luggage and walked out of the airport. The sun’s rays aggravated his migraine. He rummaged through his backpack for a pair of aviators to shield him from the brightness. He found his government car, parked at long-term parking. Had I known this mission was going to be cut short, I would have splurged for short-term parking. He cranked the sedan, rolled the window down, and hit I-66 eastbound.

Most people complained about DC’s traffic, but not him. He recognized the trade-off: being able to experience the history and museums. He saw a road sign advertising the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, one of his favorite places to visit when he wasn’t working. It always brought back good childhood memories of his dad, Claude, teaching him and Bonnie how to fly. Claude still owned and operated a small crop-dusting business near Lafayette, Louisiana.

Cain pulled curbside in front of his two-bedroom town house. The American flag above his porch blew lightly in the wind. He noticed two packages by his door. He grabbed them on his way inside the house. Although he had moved to DC two years prior, most of his belongings were still packed in cardboard boxes. He weaved through the maze of unopened boxes and headed straight to the kitchen.

He was parched. He grabbed a bottle of water and looked at his packages. One had a customs form and Japanese characters. He found himself feeling cheerful for the first time in days at the sight of her handwriting. It was a gift, and he knew who had sent it. He ripped open the parcel.