Sue Grafton - L is for Lawless

"And what day would this be for?"

"As soon as possible. Today, if you can do it." While agent Brad and I conducted business, Ray and Laura seemed to be negotiating some sort of father-daughter truce, a financial cease-fire of sorts. Apparently, she was allowing him to gift her with the hotly contended eight grand. Dimly, I was aware that he was telling her he had to go down to his room on the tenth floor and pick up his bags. He wanted permission to leave his bags in her room until he could figure out where to go from here.

Meanwhile she began to pace, becoming more agitated as the agent and I tried to work out my itinerary. There were some alternate routes that would get me home by way of San Francisco or Los Angeles, using short hops for the final leg.

Since this was Sunday, both direct flights were completely full, and his only suggestion was that I get myself on standby and hope for the best. He went ahead and wait-listed me on two flights, one nonstop, the other with a layover. The next flight was scheduled for departure at 2:22. I checked my watch. It was just past 12:30, and with the hotel shuttle or a taxi, I could probably get over to the airport in the next thirty-five to forty minutes.

Laura had crossed back to the bed table, where she stuck her face close to mine and mouthed, "Hang up." She sat down on the other bed and began to unlace her high-top tennis shoes.

I gave her a simpering smile as I began to wind up the conversation, reconfirming my notes about the flights in question. As I replaced the receiver in the cradle, I realized Ray was still in the room. "I thought you were going down to get your bags," I said.

"I was afraid if I left you'd be gone when I got back."

"That's a good bet. What's your inclination? Are you going to fly back to California?"

"Nah, I don't think so. I think I'll hang out with Laura until she hears from Farley. As soon as her situation's settled, I'll take off for Louisville. I got a rental car downstairs. Meantime, if I lay low the management will never know I'm here."

"What about Chester? I hate to spoil all the fun, but half of the money belongs to him, you know."

"Says who?"

"You did. You said you were going to turn it over to him."

"I got news for you. He's screwed. I never really meant to cut him in on the deal."

"Ah. I guess I should have known that, right?"

"You're the one who pointed out how much I lie," he said.

"So I have to be the one to break the news to him? Thanks a lot, Ray. That sucks. What am I supposed to say?"

"You'll think of something. Plead ignorance. Make it up."

"Oh, right."

"The guy's a butt, anyway. I bet you never get reimbursed."

I said, "Your confidence in him is touching."

Laura was still sulking, so we skipped the tender fare-thee-wells. I grabbed my shoulder bag, hoisted it, and backed out of the room. Then I headed for the fire stairs and made my way down twelve floors to the lobby.

I took a taxi to the airport. I could have waited for the shuttle, which was free of charge, but the truth was I didn't want to risk running into management. So far, I'd successfully outmaneuvered the hotel authorities, and I was just as happy leaving Texas without some kind of scrape with the law. I checked my wallet in the cab. Since I was on my way home, I figured I had sufficient cash for the journey… which is to say, plus or minus thirty-five bucks. I'd spent a little on incidentals, but in the main, I'd managed on the few resources I'd had. I'd still have to hassle with short-term parking fees when I got home – seven bucks a day for the two or three days I'd been gone – but in a pinch, I could call Henry and have him bring me the necessary cash. I hadn't formally checked out of my room, but the desk clerk had taken an impression of my credit card when I'd checked in, and I was sure the charges would appear on the next statement I received. Hotels aren't exactly dumb about these things.

The cab dropped me off at the departure gates for American Airlines. I went into the terminal and crossed the lobby, checking the monitor for the departing flight numbers I'd been given. The first was scheduled to take off at 2:22, the second not until 6:10. The later flight wasn't even listed yet, but I found the gate number for the 2:22 departure. At least traveling without luggage simplified procedures to some extent. I bypassed the ticket counter and joined the line of passengers waiting to clear security. My handbag sailed through X-ray, but when I passed through the metal detector, there was a telltale shriek. I patted my pockets, which were empty of metal except for the paper clip and random change I'd used for the pay phone. I backed up, dropped the items in a plastic dish. I tried again. The shrieking seemed to rise to an accusatory pitch. I could tell the security sorceress was about to dowse my body with her divining rod when I remembered the key I'd stitched into my shoulder pad. "Hang on a minute. I got it." To the annoyance of those behind me, I backed up again, peeled off my blazer, and laid it on the moving belt. This time, I made it through. I half expected to be quizzed about the key stitched into the shoulder seam, but no one said a word. Those people probably saw things much stranger any given day of the week. I collected my shoulder bag and the blazer and headed for the gate.

I pulled my ticket from my handbag and presented it to the gate agent, explaining my situation. The flight was completely booked and she didn't seem that optimistic about my getting a seat. I sat in the waiting area while other passengers checked in. Apparently, several of us were angling for the same flight, which I suspected was already desperately oversold. I eyed the competition, some of whom looked like those quarrelsome types who raise hell when anything goes wrong. I might have tried it myself if I'd thought it would do any good. As far as I can tell, there are only so many seats. The plane is either flightworthy or it's not. Between mechanical matters and air traffic control, you either fly or you don't. I've never heard of an airline yet that proceeded on the basis of noisy passenger complaints, so why bitch and moan?

I pulled out my paperback romance novel and began to read. As flight time approached, the passengers were boarded in orderly rows, from the rear to the front, with the privileged taking precedence. Finally, six names were called from the standby list and none of them were mine. Oh, well. The gate agent sent me an apologetic smile, but there was nothing to be done. She swore she'd put me at the head of the list for the next flight out.

In the meantime, I had close to four hours to kill. From what I gathered, the flight crews made two daily loops from Dallas to Santa Teresa, in and out of the same gate, seven days a week. All I had to do was find a way to occupy my time and then present myself back here before the boarding process began again. With luck, I'd get a seat and be homeward bound. Without luck, I'd be stuck in Dallas until two o'clock Monday afternoon.

I walked a mile in the terminal corridor, just to stretch my legs. I took advantage of the ladies' room, where I was very ladylike. As I emerged and turned right, I passed the airport equivalent of an outdoor cafe, tables separated from the terminal corridor by a low wrought-iron fence and fake plants. The small bar offered the usual wines, beers, and exotic mixed drinks while, under glass, assorted fresh seafoods were packed on a mound of crushed ice. I hadn't eaten lunch, so I ordered a beer and a plate of fresh shrimp, which came with cocktail sauce, oyster crackers, and lemon wedges. I peeled and sauced my shrimp, doing a little people watching to amuse myself while I ate. When I finished, I wandered back to the gate.

I took a seat by the window. I read my book, intermittently watching airplanes land and take off. Occasionally I nodded off, but the seats weren't really built for any serious sleep. By hook or by crook, I managed to carve the four hours down to slightly more than one. Toward the end of the time allotted, I made a trip to the newsstand and picked up the local paper. I returned to the gate at five, just as the flight from Santa Teresa was arriving. I checked with one of the gate agents and made sure my name was on the standby list.