Deal of a Lifetime
by Jamie Kiffel
illustration by Eric Johnson
Was about to wrap up the deal that would make my career. My plane was delayed. Alright, thought I, stay calm, get on the cell and work this thing out. The derelict to my left was slouched so low in his chair, in his stinking, ripped-up coat with used tissues and crap coming out of the pockets, that one of his three or four scarves fell on my attaché. I picked up and slammed my attaché down near his foot so he’d know to leave. I try to be polite: I wanted him to see I was granting him the opportunity to get out quietly on his own before I hustled in airport security. But this guy was a nasty one, and he didn’t budge. I damn well wouldn’t lay hands on the poxy wretch myself, even to kill him. The P.A. squawked that my plane would be at least half an hour coming. BURN – sear through the lower abdomen – what the hell: ulcers? Hernia? Damned prostate? – I was going to lose the deal. Shit! Flipped open the cell to discover the screen had been smashed by some cretin baggage handler. Threw the thing on the floor.
Then, felt weight on my back. Was that phlegm-faced bum! “Excuse me,” I said sternly, shoving back. Careful not to have skin contact. Now he grumbled and shifted a little, then started to snore. Announcement: my plane was now refueling in Atlanta. Holy God. Some union shithead forgot to fuel the plane? What in goddamn hell…
Went to the desk where some Avon lady was announcing, smiling, the airline’s guarantee I’d be losing the deal of my career. I stood in front of her and tapped the “For Service” bell four or five times to get her attention. She was attitudinal when she finally decided to talk to me.
“Look, Sweetheart,” said I, trying to get on her good side. “I need you to do me a really important favor. Can you understand?”
She acted like I’d said her mother was an ass. “Sir, we have no control…”
Kept my cool. “I have to be in the air now,” I said as clearly and slowly as I could stand it. GodDAMN: PIERCE, pinch under the ribs – I hate talking to idiots. She started looking at some display handouts on airline procedure like some illustrated diagram of safety exits would show me why I was going to lose about fifty dollars on every brain cell she’d never had, but I pulled the whole display from her hand and tossed it on her shoes so she’d see this wasn’t going to work.
“Look,” I said, “I have to fly out of here. I don’t care how. I just care that it happens now.” Pulled out a wad of twenties and held them up close to her face so she could see.
She gasped – probably looked like a fortune to her – then said, “I’m sorry,” and walked away. She’s sorry? SHE’S sorry?
Returned to my seat, saw some kid toying with the broken cell; snatched it back as I sat. Forced a smile and nod toward the mother. Like I said, I act polite. And then, as if I didn’t have enough on my plate, Rancid Human Matter to my left started babbling. “Always on the move, footin’ out in motion,” he was muttering. Looked at my watch. POUND pinch pinch BURN in the gut I needed friggin’ Rolaids – My God, I was already out of the game. Deal was long gone. Considered what sector of the airline was most likely to pay off the most for emotional damages incurred.
I don’t know what came over me then, but I started talking to the bum.
“You travel a lot?” I sneered, probably not expecting an answer.
“Always on the move. Always movin’ on out,” came the words from deep under all those coats, wrapped like a big cloak so you couldn’t really see the guy’s face. Guess that’s why I could stand to talk to him: couldn’t see what he looked like.
“Yeah, what’s out there for you?” I asked.
“Ain’t nobody’s talk about where I’m at until I’m there, you don’t know nuthin’ ’til I’m at where it is, my man, no tellin’, no answers ’til Old Daddy Me comes round the bend.” Another pinch. Pain in the skull. Feeling bad. Turned my head for a second to get a look at this crackhead, but got hit with a wave of stench so sweet and so rotten I choked. Even more annoying: the cold draft coming from his direction. Started to get up to move, but he was talking again and I started listening for no reason.
“Take it easy, boy, even it out and take it easy. All’s good in good time. What, you all set and done every time you get where you’re going? Don’t you all like to take a rest for a minute, put your feet up, even out and take it in?” he said. Almost amused me. He went on, “Check these cats out. A kid yesterday skids plain and fast into the disco up Broadway, full up of pain and poppers cranked and crazy – where’s he running, man? What’s so fast in his bag, he can’t just trip on down to the candy store, blow his mind on peppermint candy? Another hot old cat’s all mad and raced-up for that girl he couldn’t get – he zippers on over to my door and wipes himself off the grounds in five easy minutes. Hoh, baby, it’s easy – you can do it – wind down, take in, cool off for a minute.”
Wrenching tight around my gut – what the hell did I eat, strychnine?
Then the weird thing: he reached into his coat, pulled out a cell phone, snapped it open and turned the screen toward me. I looked: it had a monitor in it with perfect reception! “Ho ho, that’s your deal going through right now without you,” he said. Was true: my rivals had gotten in there and closed the deal up. “So where you runnin? I tell you, I tell everyone, cool down, take a load off, and damn, boy, lemme just put my old man feet up for a minute. You don’t have to run nowhere quite so fast.” He’d been paid off, by the company, to tap me for something, to get something off of me, some damned dirty spy! Got up fast to call airport police. YANK under the collarbone in the throat under the chin, shit – the bum tilted a stocking cap over his eyes and propped his feet up on the chair across from him. I got up, grabbed my briefcase, and made to leave.
Feet wouldn’t move.
Looked at the bum. He was still lying there, hat over the face I still hadn’t seen, snoring. But now, his right arm was sticking straight out to his side and pointing at me. Pain in the LEGS – couldn’t walk. Started to panic.
“What’d I tell you, Boy?” he said, not moving, voice low and gravely. “Kick back, take it easy, take a minute when the Old Man offers. But you just can’t wait, just gotta make me get up and get you right on your way. That’s this workin’ life, I say. You never take a minute to stop and see where you’re at before a big wind comes and hustles you on along to the things you think need you.”
Struggled in my spot. Was like glue. FIRE heat eating up the throat into the mouth and pain and pain and pain…
And he tilted up his cap, and yawned, and started to get up very slowly. Standing, he stooped; I saw how skinny and ancient this fogey was. But he kept getting up, straightening, rising ’til he was tall, much taller than even me. – PAIN – He wore cheap sunglasses. That old arm stayed stuck out right at me. – Pinch again lower GUT – He turned. Faced me. Now I really made to get out – I was stuck – wouldn’t make it – PINCH PINCH PINCH – he grinned – pulled the glasses off and then I saw him. Holy God Oh my HOLY GOD – and I screamed and screamed for the airport police as he kept muttering, “Always gotta be runnin’, but nobody but Old Man me knows what all for, what it all’s for…” GRIP all around the throat the air was almost gone and then I knew the deal was really off…
