Just before Afternoon Rush Hour

On my way to the airport, I can’t help but keep a constant eye on my rearview mirror. Every time I pass a tollbooth, all I can think about is The Godfather. Every driver that looks at me has me on their list. Every car that rides too close to my bumper is seconds away from plugging me. I take a deep drink from my flask. Veronica was right. I am jumpy. I gotta be cool. It’s only a little while longer. Then I’m in the clear and things will be right as rain again. Well, as right as they ever were.

My phone rings. I pick it up. It’s Megan.

“When are you going to be home?” We’ve apparently passed the point of salutations. I rub my eyes with my free hand. I haven’t told Megan what’s going on. She knows enough about me already. I have to keep some things to myself.

“I’m not sure.”

“Call me when you get in. I want to see you tonight.”

“I will.”

“You promise?” she asks. Here’s where the trouble comes in paradise. She’s asking too many damned questions. I’ve got other shit on my mind. I’ve only just gotten into something with Megan and already she’s overly needy.

“Yeah,” I tell her, trying to mask the irritation in my voice.

“Because you didn’t call me when you got home last night.” I can almost see her pouting face as she says this. I try telling myself that I’m irritated because of the business I have to attend to, but I get the feeling that she’s always been like this. I’d been too busy enjoying her company to realize it.

“I know, I got busy.”

Busy preparing for the worst. I bite my tongue so I don’t finish that thought.

“I understand,” Megan tells me. She sounds sincere, but I can’t see how she can even remotely comprehend what I’m dealing with. She sighs. “Just promise me that you’ll call when you get home.”

“I promise.” I can hear her smile on the other end of the line. She’s definitely getting clingy. I don’t know how I feel about that. A clingy girl is a girl who asks too many questions. A girl that asks too many questions is bad for business. We say our good-byes as I turn into the airport and start looking for a place to park.

“Never fails,” I mutter. The parking lot is jam packed. Everybody and their uncle appears to be here this morning. If anyone wanted to pop me, this would be the prime time. And the prime locale. It would be a quick and easy side-step onto a plane going anywhere. I look around the lot at the people walking to and from their cars. The cross section of people is unbelievable. Everyone from the yuppie in the six-hundred-dollar suit on his cell phone trying to close some important business deal to the mullet head yelling at his girlfriend for not packing his toothbrush. Any one of them could be a hired party waiting for me. Fuck it. I can’t focus on that right now. I can’t worry about finding trouble. It’s bound to find me.

I just gotta find a place to park so I don’t miss the flight.