Present: Fly Emirates Airplane
T he Cheshire loved flying first class. He’d booked his ticket and booked two seats left and right so he could take all the space he wanted. In the public’s eye he was Angelo Cardone, so he could do whatever he wanted. What he wanted more was to know why Mr. Jay had asked him to fly over to England.
He was reluctant at first. Who wants to fly an airplane with all that was going in the world? The last he’d heard was that most airports were closed, and very few airlines still functioned. But Mr. Jay advised him not to believe all that’s been said in the news. Mr. Jay had bought Virgin airlines a few days back. Virgin had known about the prophecy of the Wonderland Wars twenty years ago. Special hangers, planes, and even crews had been on standby for many years. And you know what? The time has come.
“Of course,” the Cheshire unfolded a newspaper to read as the plane took off. “The rich are always prepared.”
“Did you say something, Sir?” the stewardess asked, a beautiful Swedish girl with too much makes up. Some apocalypse that was. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Actually, you can,” the Cheshire said, lowering the newspaper.
“Please tell me,” she leaned forward, her scent driving him crazy.
“Playboy,” he said.
“Play-what?” she tilted her head, a little shocked. Did the man from the Vatican just say Playboy?
“I don’t care to read the news about the world,” he said. “The world is going to hell anyway. Do you have the latest edition of Playboy?”
The girl leaned back, not sure if she’d heard right. She was little in shock.
“Latest edition, please,” he said. “I’m not keen on outdated boobs.”
The girl stiffened like a broom, shrugged, and turned around. As she walked to get him what he wanted, he summoned her back, “And a bottle of Scotch. Two glasses. No ice. Shaken and stirred.”
Every other rich businessman and woman looked away. Some pretended to be busy with their phones. Some pretended this wasn’t happening.
The Cheshire leaned back in his seat. “God Damn World War Wonderland,” he said. “If there is going to be a war, why does it have to take this long? Why wouldn’t an asteroid come and just end this world? Boom. Boom. Shaka-Laka.”
Then his phone rang.
He untied his collar and leaned back in his seat. “Chesh speaking. I mean Angelo.”
“Are you on your way to London?” Mr. Jay inquired.
“I am, Sir. Can I ask what this about?”
“Your mission in the Vatican is done.”
“I saw that. I left it with drunk popes and nuns, and none of my crowd was there, probably killing terrorists somewhere.”
“You did well.” Mr. Jay chuckled. He rarely did. The Cheshire must have amused him. “And now I have to fulfill my promise.”
“Did you promise me something?”
“Not literally. I am a subtle man.”
“Hmm…”
“I will give you what you have always wanted.”
“All I want is for the human race to die miserably.”
“No, that’s not it,” Mr. Jay said.
“Oh?” the Cheshire didn’t like this.
“You want revenge, but not just from humans. You want revenge on someone else. Someone who did something bad to you in Wonderland.”
The Cheshire shrugged. He now knew what he was talking about. Why would Mr. Jay bring this up now?