F. Paul Wilson: Gateways

“I won’t be.” He held up a roll of adhesive tape. “Help me tape it on?”

“Absolutely not! I’ll have no part in this craziness. It’s irresponsible. You have a child on the way! Do you want to be in jail when she’s born?”

“Of course not. But Gia, you should understand by now, this is the way I am, this is the way I have to do it.”

“You’re afraid of giving up control is what it is.”

“Maybe so. Getting on a plane piloted by someone I don’t know puts a crimp in my comfort zone. But I can handle that. What I can’t handle is handing some out-to-lunch airline full responsibility for making sure that all the other passengers are going to behave.”

“You’ve got to learn to trust, Jack.”

“I do. I trust me, I trust you, I trust Abe, I trust Julio. Beyond that…” He shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the way I’m wired.” He held up the tape again. “Please?”

She helped, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

He blunted the point with a small piece of tape, then held it in place against the inside of his left upper arm, the butt of the handle almost in his armpit, while she secured it with three long strips that encircled his arm. Not the most comfortable arrangement, but he’d remove it in the restroom once they were in the air and transfer the knife to the inside of one of his socks for the rest of the flight.

When she finished taping she stepped back and looked at her work.

“That should hold. I…” She shook her head.

“What?”

“I can’t help thinking that if there’d been someone like you on those 9-11 planes, the Trade Towers might still be standing.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not Superman. I can’t take on five alone. But along with guys like the ones on Flight 93, who knows?”

He pulled on the shirt, rolled the cuffs halfway up his forearms, and struck a pose.

“How do I look?”

“Suspicious,” she said.

“Really?”

She sighed. “No. You look like you always look: Mister Everyday People.”

That was what he wanted to hear. “Great. Am I packed?”

“I put it all on the bed. Where’s your suitcase?”

“Suitcase? I don’t have one. I’ve never needed one.”

“That’s right. You don’t travel. How about a gym bag or something along that line?”

“Yeah, but it’s filled with tools.” His kind of tools.

“Well, if it’s not too dirty inside, empty it out and we’ll see if it’ll do the job.”

Jack pulled the bag out of a closet and emptied its contents on the kitchen counter: glass cutter, suction cup, rubber mallet, pry bar, slim jim for car doors, lock picks, an assortment of screwdrivers and clamps in various sizes and configurations.

“What is all this?” Gia asked as she watched the growing pile.

“Tools of the trade, m’dear. Tools of the trade.”

“If you’re a burglar, maybe.”

He wiped out the inside of the bag with a damp paper towel and handed it to her. “Will this do?”

It did. His wardrobe down south would consist of shorts, T-shirts, socks, and boxers. They managed to stuff it all into the bag.

“You’re going to look wrinkled,” she warned.

“I’m going to Florida, remember? Wrinkle City.”

“Touché.”

He hefted the bag. “Do I check this or will they let me carry it on board?”

“That looks plenty small enough for the overhead.”

“Overhead…? Oh, right. I know what you mean.”

She looked up at him. “When was the last time you were on a plane?”

Jack had to think about that. The answer was a little embarrassing. “I think it was sophomore year of college. Spring break in Lauderdale.”

He barely remembered it. Seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way it was. A different life.

“Not once since?”

He shrugged. “No place I want to go.”

She stared at him. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Anything I could ever want is right here in this city.”

“You don’t think the fact that flying is so much of a hassle, arisky hassle for you, has anything to do with it?”

“Maybe some.” Where was this going?

Gia slipped her arms around him and squeezed, pressing herself against him.

“Don’t you see?” she said. “Don’t you see? You’ve built this anonymous, autonomous life for yourself, but it’s become a trap. Sure, no one knows you exist and you don’t spend the first four or five months of every year working for the government like the rest of us, and that’s great in its way, but it’s also a trap. Everywhere you go you’ve got to pretend to be someone else and run the risk of being found out. I go anywhere I want without a second thought. If I go to an airport and someone scrutinizes my ID, I’m not worried. But you’ve got the anxiety that someone will spot a flaw.”

She released him and fixed him with her blue stare.

“Who’s freer, Jack? Really.”

She didn’t understand. Jack figured she’d never fully understand. But that was okay. It didn’t make him love her any less, because he knew where she was coming from. She’d been on her own for years, a single mother trying to make a career for herself and a life for her child. She had responsibilities beyond herself. Her days, spent dealing with the nuts and bolts of everyday life, were hectic and exhausting enough without adding multiple layers of complexity.

“It’s not subject to comparison, Gia. I’ve lived the way I felt I had to live. By my rules, my code. My not paying taxes has nothing to do with money, it has to do with life, and who owns mine, or who owns yours, or Vicky’s, or anyone’s.”

“I understand that, and philosophically I’m with you all the way. But in the practical, workaday world, how does that work for a man with a family? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Daddy’s not traveling with us because he’s using a false identity and doesn’t want us involved if he’s picked up. But don’t worry, he’ll meet us there. I hope.’ That’s no way to bring up a child.”

“We couldall have false identities. We could be an under-the-radar family.” He quickly held up his hands. “Only kidding.”

“I hope so. What a nightmare that would be.”

This time he pulled her close. “I’m working on it, Gi. I’ll find a way.”

She kissed him. “I know you will. You’re Repairman Jack. You can fix anything.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

But coming back from underground with his freedom intact…that was a tall order.

You’d better come through for me, Abe, he thought, because I’ve hit a wall.

He didn’t want the hassle of parking at the airport so he called a cab to take him to LaGuardia. Since Gia lived in the shadow of the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, a minimal detour would allow him to drop her off at home along the way.

“Be careful,” she whispered after a long goodbye kiss. “Come back to me, and don’t get into any trouble down there.”

“I’m visiting my comatose father. How on earth could I possibly get into any trouble?”

8

Jack reached the OmniShuttle Airways counter an hour before the next scheduled flight.

Before dropping Gia off, he’d had the cab take him over to Abe’s where he left the package to be overnighted to his father’s place. Abe used a small, exclusive, expensive shipping company that didn’t ask questions. The cab ride had been uneventful, but it felt so odd to be moving about the city without a gun either tucked into the small of his back or strapped to his ankle. He didn’t dare risk trying to sneak one onto the plane, though, even in checked luggage, now that they were x-raying every piece.

The ticket purchase went smoothly: A mocha-skinned woman with an indeterminate accent took the Tyleski Visa card and the Tyleski driver license, punched a lot of keys—an awful lot of keys—then handed them back along with a ticket and a boarding pass. Jack had chosen OmniShuttle because he didn’t want any round-trip-ticket hassles. The airline sold one-way tickets without regard to Saturday stayovers or any of that other nonsense: When you want to go, buy a ticket; when you want to come back, buy another.