part0013

As his plane arrived on the runway for a landing, Brian Nelson was starring out the window watching the pavement fly by underneath his feet. He had successfully landed back on his home turf. His life had taken so many twists and turns in recent months he never knew if he would ever see this moment again.

He was home. But since becoming estranged from his family, there would be no one to even meet him at the airport. He wasn’t even sure if his folks knew that he was missing, let alone to come pick him up. Just like Clara Walker, Nelson happened to be a Stanford student. And currently the only people he knew he could depend on were a few of his fellow peers at the university—including a young man Clara had just become acquainted with, by the name of Travis Jones.

He had of course lost contact with Travis since his troubles in Brazil had begun but Travis had told him just to call him up when he arrived and he would rush on over. Having a good friend that would drop everything to come be at your side meant a lot—and Travis was about the only person Brian Nelson knew he could count on. But Nelson was in pretty deep—deeper than he could admit even to a close friend.

As it turns out, Mason’s suspicions about him were correct. He was no mere innocent victim. In reality he was a junior partner of the drug lords—a junior partner who had been double crossed. He was helping them to smuggle cocaine from Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, back to the United States. For lack of a better word he was a drug mule, a kind of human-made pack animal, hauling drugs from overseas for profit.

But those days were behind him now. He had run afoul of his own South American benefactors, was subsequently betrayed by his handlers, and ultimately taken hostage. Apparently, his old associates had decided that he was more valuable for ransom than he was as a drug runner. They would be sadly disappointed however, since no one in Nelson’s estranged family would have paid a dime to gain his release, even if it came to that.

But the folks with Amigos dos Amigos didn’t even get that far in the process before Mason and his crew waylaid them. Nelson was then left to explain how it was that he ended up in their clutches in the first place. He knew Mason didn’t believe his story but he also knew that with most of the cartel members he was associated with either dead or on the run deep in the jungle, there was no way anyone would ever find out.

It was at least in this knowledge that Nelson felt confident and secure when he disembarked from his plane and followed all the other passengers out into the common area of the airport. His leg had been patched up at a Brazilian hospital just before leaving, and he still walked with a limp, but for the most part he blended in with the other passengers.

Now all he had to do was find someone with a cellphone so he could call up Travis to come get him. But little did Nelson know he was being closely watched ever since his arrival, and it was determined before he even stepped out of the plane that he wasn’t leaving that airport—at least not alive. As soon as he got off the plane, U.S. based members of Amigos dos Amigos were shadowing his every move.

And soon enough they found their opportunity to strike. Brian Nelson who had been previously half starved and severely dehydrated in the wilderness of the Amazon, gluttonously drank all the beer and soda that he could consume on the flight. This massive influx of beverages had taken their toll however, and so he was heading to the bathroom to relieve his bladder.

A member of Amigos Dos Amigos was sure to follow him to the bathroom stalls. Nelson noticed the man behind him, but when he sidled up at the urinal next to the one Nelson was using, he didn’t pay it any mind. He figured it was just another guy like him who needed to use the bathroom. But as Brian Nelson was minding his own business, relieving his own bladder, the man startled him by asking, “You have a nice flight?”

Nelson, like most of us would, didn’t take to kindly to small talk with strangers while he was trying to pee. But thinking maybe the man was just trying to be friendly he obliged him, “Yeah—it was alright.” The man then asked the odd question, “Are you happy to be home?”

For one thing, how did he even know that Brian Nelson was home? Not sure how to answer, Nelson shrugged, “I guess so…”

If Brian Nelson wasn’t staring down at the urinal in his attempt to finish emptying his bladder, he would have noticed that the guy standing next to him had pulled out a pistol with a long silencer attached. He put it right up to Nelson’s head as he remarked, “Well congratulations amigo—you now get the privilege to be buried in your homeland.”

Nelson finally turned his head to see the barrel of the gun pointed right at him. He shouted, “What? No!” right when the gunman pulled the trigger. These were his last words. His body would be found in an exceedingly awkward position crumpled up in front of the urinal by a fellow passenger just moments later.

As for the gunman, due to corrupt ties Amigos dos Amigos had obtained with airport security, he would walk out of that airport on his own volition, the same way he came in—right through the front door. As Mason had already predicted, although the drug cartel of Amigos dos Amigos was down, it most certainly was not out.

BACK AT BALTIMORE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. JUST A FEW MINUTES LATER, OUTSIDE THE AIRPORT TERMINAL. Mason and Raina were getting ready to requisition a means of transportation to get home from the airport. Ever since self-driving cars became common in the mid-2020’s, much of the previous hassles of the airport of yesteryear had been eliminated.

There was no longer the struggle of searching through football field sized parking garages for cars that may or may not have parking tickets attached to them. There was no need for an underpaid, crotchety old security guard to scream at anyone who dared park in front of the terminal to pick up a passenger. And there was also no need to call for unreliable and high charging human taxi drivers.

All Mason had to do was talk to the AI on his phone and a fair priced ride would be on its way. As he and Raina stood just outside the main doors of the arrival terminal, he spoke into his phone’s receiver, “Hey, we need a ride.”

And sure enough, moments later a voice came on, informing them, “Okay, we have a car available, located just 2 minutes from your location—proceed?”

Mason staring up at a plane roaring overhead and slightly distracted by his own tumultuous thoughts nodded, “Uh-huh.”

The AI was seeking a yes or no answer however, and glitched up as it protested, “I’m sorry sir, but I didn’t quite get that. Do you want to proceed?”

Mason impatiently glaring at his phone shouted, “Yes!!”

The AI then acknowledged, “Very good. We will have a car for you in just a few minutes.”

Raina seeking to assuage his agitation, put her arm around Mason’s waist and looking down at his phone remarked, “Just a few minutes? We’re in luck. There must have just been a cancelled pickup.”

Raina’s intuition was correct, an order had just been cancelled by a fellow passenger and the car was just getting ready to leave the airport and return to its nearby hub right when Mason had called in. This then was enough to direct the AI driver to come right back to pick up Mason and Raina instead.

A human taxi driver told to double back to a place they had just left might have cursed his dispatcher, but when it comes to computerized AI—you’ll get no such complaints from Mr. Roboto.

Mason shoving his phone back into his pocket owned up to the convenience they had been granted as he muttered in agreement, “Yeah, I guess we’re in luck.”

As he prepared his bags for their robot-driver’s arrival, he mentally chastised himself for being so short tempered. He was frequently amazed by just how self-centered and convenience seeking obsessed society—including himself—had become.

He knew that in reality, he should be pretty happy after a comfortable plane ride brought him to a luxurious airport with a car ready and waiting for him in just a matter of minutes. And since he wasn’t driving, Mason didn’t even have to worry about the fact that he was half-drunk from too many in-flight martinis.

By the late 2020’s police no longer made their bread and butter by pulling over cars Since the rise of AI operated vehicles such a feat was next to impossible, since it was difficult to find a reason to fault artificial intelligence enough to merit the flashing red and blue lights of yesteryear. Now folks could lounge half-drunk in their vehicles without any fear as their onboard AI drove them wherever they pleased.

All this ease and convenience at his disposal, and yet Mason became enraged just because the AI grid for the self-driving vehicle had dared to make him repeat himself as he placed his order. Mason thought to himself, ‘Have all of us folks in the modern world become a bunch of big, spoiled, and overly agitated babies?’

He knew that there was real suffering out there, such as that which the Yanomami tribe members in Brazil face—people with no food, no running water, no proper shelter, and yet people in places like the United States are ready to fly off the handle if their iced coffee at Buck’s Star has just a little too much ice!

He was busy brooding over all of these thoughts of self-loathing when his phone announced right from his pocket, “Your ride has arrived, please remember to buckle your seatbelts.”

ABOUT 35 MINUTES LATER IN THE DRIVEWAY OF MASON’s HOME. Mason reached over and gave Raina a big hug, the most he could manage at the moment, before opening the car door, and bluntly informing her, “Alright, this is my stop.” Raina grabbing his arm, softly inquired, “Okay—could it be mine too?”

Mason knew that she wanted to stay the night with him, and it was most certainly tempting, but Mason just wasn’t ready for it. Looking at her and then looking quickly away, he sighed heavily, “I’m sorry Raina, it’s just not a good time for me.”

Raina frustrated at being rebuffed felt like saying, ‘Okay—when will it be a good time for you?’

But instead she simply nodded, and bid him farewell, “Alright, Mason. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Mason shut the car door behind him, and protectively waited to hear the sound of the AI operated car automatically locking the car doors, ensuring Raina’s safety, before waving her on.

Stepping into his front door, Mason’s mind was a swirl of thoughts and emotion and many of them were in regard to his former wife Bree. Even though at this point, her memory seemed to be literally haunting him like a ghost, he couldn’t help but delve even deeper.

And as he often did when he was stuck mulling over the past like this, he went up to the shrine that he had made for her in the corner of his bedroom. Here you could find a table with bright red tablecloth with he and Bree’s wedding photo on the very center. He left it right there in open view, surrounded by white candles. It was indeed like a shrine to the past which he paid homage to every single time he came near.

Gazing at the photo Mason couldn’t help but be amazed. As they held each other close, grinning as they cut out a piece of wedding cake, he thought to himself, ‘How happy they are—and how young!’ It had indeed been many years since that day. Much had happened since then, yet a part of his mind was still frozen in time—never quite moving past those idyllic days.

Many of his friends had cautioned him against having such a monument of memory. But Mason couldn’t help but think about the past. And as he stared at the portrait, he felt the tears begin to fall down from his face. A man of seldom tears before, he cried like a baby the day that Bree had died.

And still to this day when he really thought about, and re-experienced that loss anew, the reaction was always the same—and the tears would indeed arrive. Unable to take his own emotions anymore, he finally wished to numb the pain. And so, he grabbed a bottle of vodka that he had conveniently stashed nearby and without any need of chaser he proceeded to take a few swigs.

Mason normally tried to keep his drinking to a minimum, but lately he had been consuming alcohol much more than usual. And at times—he found himself drinking like there was no tomorrow. Nevertheless, he knew the score. Getting drunk was of course an easy way to dampen down his emotions, but it was just a quick fix. He knew that it was no real solution to anything.

Mason knew that as soon as he sobered up, all of the issues he had would still be there all the same—except compounded with the guilt he felt for drowning his sorrow in alcohol. As his initial few swigs morphed into big gulps, Mason felt a rush of warmth, as the vodka coursed through his system.

No longer worried about too much of anything at all, he slammed the bottle down onto his dresser, and stretched out on his bed. It wasn’t a pretty sight but at least now he could sleep. As his mind faded to darkness, deep down Mason knew that he needed help—he just wasn’t sure how to get it.