and I
discharged my weapon. There was an internal investigation.”
“What happened?” Amanda asked. “Did you get
fired?”
“No, it was eventually ruled a clean shot,
but I lost some of my enthusiasm for work. Some say I developed a
bad attitude; hence my nickname.” He smiled wearily. “So, I quit.
It was probably a stupid decision but, at the time, I just wanted
out.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said, putting a
sympathetic hand on his arm, her fingers delicately petting him.
“It sounds like you’ve been through a tough time.”
As she looked deep into his eyes, he felt
vulnerable. It was a position he never allowed himself to be in,
and yet, he found himself wanting to tell her more, confess his
deepest sources of pain. But then they were on the ground, and
everyone was suddenly unbuckling, and gathering up their personal
items in a rush.
“I really enjoyed the flight,” she said from
the aisle, leaning down toward him.
“Oh yeah, me too,” Cynical said. “I’m sorry
if I bored you by talking so much. I feel like you know everything
about me and I don’t know anything about you.”
“Oh, I think you’re probably much more
interesting than I am,” she said with that easy smile.
On the verge of asking her out, he found
himself hesitating. Typically, he thought nothing of running a line
by a woman. If she took the bait – great; if not, there was always
an endless supply of fish in the sea. This time was different
though; this wasn’t the kind of woman that would go for a gaudy
lure. Besides, she already knew too much about him. Still, he had
to try.
Grabbing his laptop from the overhead, he
turned to make his move. Just then, a Texas sized businessman
saddled out of A1 and into the aisle, blocking the way. Tex
leisurely gathered up a leather briefcase and a couple of fancy
shopping bags. By the time Cynical passed him in the jet-way,
Amanda had vanished.
A big part of his job was finding people, and
he liked to think he was good at it; however, this was the second
person that had escaped from him in the last 12 hours. Sure, he had
been overpowered at the Mirage by a team of professionals. But
there wasn’t a good excuse for losing an actuary who had deplaned
quicker than him.
Amanda wasn’t in baggage claim either. She
struck him as a no-nonsense, no-checked bag type of business
woman.
Grabbing his own bag off the conveyer belt,
he turned to go outside to the taxi stand when he caught “C. Jones”
out of the corner of his eye. Doing a double take, he focused on
the well-dressed man who was holding a placard that spelled out his
common last name. Surely, he was looking for someone else, Cynical
thought; maybe ex-Brave, Chipper Jones. Still, he had to know.
“Hey,” he said to the dapper man, “Who are
you looking for?”
The middle-aged man possessed a formality
about him. Keeping his sign visible to the trickle of travelers, he
said, “A Mr. Jones,” slowly, as if for the reading impaired.
“What’s the C stand for?”
Turning to face him, the man appraised him
through cool, grey eyes. “You tell me,” he said in a distinctly
British accent.
“Cynical?”
“My name is Herman, Mr. Jones,” the man said,
instantly dropping the piece of cardboard to his side and
simultaneously reaching for Cynical’s bag.
“Whoa there Herman,” Cynical said,
re-gripping the handle.
Herman raised back up, nonplussed. “Follow
me, sir.”
“Where?”
“Your presence has been requested,” the Brit
said as he turned and walked away.
Hustling to catch up to the surprisingly spry
man, Cynical called out, “Who wants to see me?”
“Mr. Mancuso,” Herman said, not bothering to
look back.
CHAPTER
16
For the next several minutes, Cynical kept
his mouth shut and simply concentrated on keeping up with Herman.
Seeming to know exactly where he was going and the most efficient
way to get there, the older man moved adroitly through the airport
as if he had a plane to
discharged my weapon. There was an internal investigation.”
“What happened?” Amanda asked. “Did you get
fired?”
“No, it was eventually ruled a clean shot,
but I lost some of my enthusiasm for work. Some say I developed a
bad attitude; hence my nickname.” He smiled wearily. “So, I quit.
It was probably a stupid decision but, at the time, I just wanted
out.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said, putting a
sympathetic hand on his arm, her fingers delicately petting him.
“It sounds like you’ve been through a tough time.”
As she looked deep into his eyes, he felt
vulnerable. It was a position he never allowed himself to be in,
and yet, he found himself wanting to tell her more, confess his
deepest sources of pain. But then they were on the ground, and
everyone was suddenly unbuckling, and gathering up their personal
items in a rush.
“I really enjoyed the flight,” she said from
the aisle, leaning down toward him.
“Oh yeah, me too,” Cynical said. “I’m sorry
if I bored you by talking so much. I feel like you know everything
about me and I don’t know anything about you.”
“Oh, I think you’re probably much more
interesting than I am,” she said with that easy smile.
On the verge of asking her out, he found
himself hesitating. Typically, he thought nothing of running a line
by a woman. If she took the bait – great; if not, there was always
an endless supply of fish in the sea. This time was different
though; this wasn’t the kind of woman that would go for a gaudy
lure. Besides, she already knew too much about him. Still, he had
to try.
Grabbing his laptop from the overhead, he
turned to make his move. Just then, a Texas sized businessman
saddled out of A1 and into the aisle, blocking the way. Tex
leisurely gathered up a leather briefcase and a couple of fancy
shopping bags. By the time Cynical passed him in the jet-way,
Amanda had vanished.
A big part of his job was finding people, and
he liked to think he was good at it; however, this was the second
person that had escaped from him in the last 12 hours. Sure, he had
been overpowered at the Mirage by a team of professionals. But
there wasn’t a good excuse for losing an actuary who had deplaned
quicker than him.
Amanda wasn’t in baggage claim either. She
struck him as a no-nonsense, no-checked bag type of business
woman.
Grabbing his own bag off the conveyer belt,
he turned to go outside to the taxi stand when he caught “C. Jones”
out of the corner of his eye. Doing a double take, he focused on
the well-dressed man who was holding a placard that spelled out his
common last name. Surely, he was looking for someone else, Cynical
thought; maybe ex-Brave, Chipper Jones. Still, he had to know.
“Hey,” he said to the dapper man, “Who are
you looking for?”
The middle-aged man possessed a formality
about him. Keeping his sign visible to the trickle of travelers, he
said, “A Mr. Jones,” slowly, as if for the reading impaired.
“What’s the C stand for?”
Turning to face him, the man appraised him
through cool, grey eyes. “You tell me,” he said in a distinctly
British accent.
“Cynical?”
“My name is Herman, Mr. Jones,” the man said,
instantly dropping the piece of cardboard to his side and
simultaneously reaching for Cynical’s bag.
“Whoa there Herman,” Cynical said,
re-gripping the handle.
Herman raised back up, nonplussed. “Follow
me, sir.”
“Where?”
“Your presence has been requested,” the Brit
said as he turned and walked away.
Hustling to catch up to the surprisingly spry
man, Cynical called out, “Who wants to see me?”
“Mr. Mancuso,” Herman said, not bothering to
look back.
CHAPTER
16
For the next several minutes, Cynical kept
his mouth shut and simply concentrated on keeping up with Herman.
Seeming to know exactly where he was going and the most efficient
way to get there, the older man moved adroitly through the airport
as if he had a plane to
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