thismaskiwear | Departures Level at BWI Airport, Thursday Midday

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Departures Level at BWI Airport, Thursday Midday

Doing the dance of Redeeming Airline Vouchers (bought on your last trip to Toronto and within, as it happened, days of expiring) at the airport ticket counter for a same-day flight was a gigantic pain in the ass for someone in a good mood, much less the mix of frantic, sick, and miserable that was Katchoo today. Several hours and some creative wrangling later she'd finally managed to book a ticket . . . on a flight that didn't leave until late afternoon.

With a sigh, Katchoo pocketed the little envelope containing her plane ticket, trudged away from the counter, and headed out over the shiny-slick white tile floor, through the automatic sliding doors, to the center island smoking area so she could . . . sit on her suitcase and smoke for a while. Maybe while she was at it she could call Francine -- except no, her phone was giving her a glorious zero bars of signal. Fabulous.

[OOC: NFI/NFB for distance. I totally have that signal problem at BWI. Post for . . . certain people-types what know who they are.]

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That would be a man in a battered trenchcoat, hat pulled low over his face, with fading but colorful bruises and a taped-up nose rolling his eyes at the phone and mouthing take no action without my approval.....

"Don't you worry about that, lady. I got it covered."

Of course he had it covered, with the kind of money this woman would pay. It wasn't quite worth the stunt that little bimbo pulled on him in the cell, the chance he had now based on spotting that tattoo on her, but close. Closer for a guy who knew the time between suspension from the force and termination without pension was rapidly drawing to a close.

"And Mr. Digman?"

The sound of a martini stirrer in an expensive glass, somewhere far away. Or maybe all too close.

"Address me by my surname or as 'lady' again, and you'll not only be losing your employment, but a significant portion of your anatomy." A pause while she sipped from her glass. "Significant to you. I personally wouldn't keep it for longer than it took me to dump it in the trash."

The smile in her voice was audible.

"Failure will be rewarded in the same manner. Understood?"

Katchoo was staring into the stream of moving cars, watching to see if some overly-ambitious driver intent on bypassing one of the shuttle buses made a stupid move and got hit. She'd say she wasn't brooding, but that was exactly what she was doing, and so caught up in it that she wasn't paying attention to any of the couple dozen conversations going on around her much less that one.

Still no signal on her phone, dammit. What the hell?

She tapped ash off the end of her cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled. Just hang on a little longer, Emma. I'll be there soon.

She should come over here. The reception was excellent. Oh no, wait, she shouldn't.

"Understood!" was what Wayne Digman said into the phone.

The word he thought was something else entirely, but hey, the connection was still open and this was the chick who ran those girls with the flowers and the noses.

"Very good, Mr. Digman." The glass rattled a moment, then Darcy considered, and threw the glass up and away from her.

The bang! of the gun as Tambi shot her glass out of the air would be perfectly clear over the phone.

"I hate having to repeat myself. And after all, it's not like I'm asking you for so much? Just to follow a very beautiful young girl."

Edited 2009-09-25 01:23 (UTC)

"No, Ma'am. I mean yes. I won't let you down."

Edited 2009-09-25 01:27 (UTC)

"See that you don't."

Darcy Parker didn't say good-bye. She flipped the phone shut, and held out her hand for another martini without looking up from a photo of Katina. Samantha put one in her hand a moment later.

"Baby June, where are you going?"

Nowhere yet, at least not outside of the airport, but after a while Katchoo was looking at an empty cigarette box and getting up to pick up her suitcase. She had to wait for a parking lot shuttle to go through the crosswalk before heading back into the terminal in search of a new and ridiculously overpriced pack.

Now where the hell was the duty-free shop?

He was a trained if soon to be ex police officer. He could keep his eye on one girl until she boarded a plane, thanks so much Mrs. Never Call Me By My Last Name.

Wayne followed, keeping just enough people between them that if she looked back, it wasn't his face she would see.

Behind the airline counters, there was a hallway you couldn't readily see from the ticketing area, and if Katchoo was reading the signs right the duty-free shop (only place left in the goddamn airport that seemed to sell smokes) was down that way.

Through a several-turns-deep line for the security checkpoint, which was next to the restrooms and the line of people exiting the terminal. One short blonde girl could get lost pretty easily in that mess.

Not that damn easily. Wayne had to huff his way through a tour group of middle-aged Chinese women and a junior high soccer team to keep up with her, but he managed to keep that bright yellow head of hair in sight at all ti----

Aspiodusopiduasopiduasopiduasopdiuasopdiuasd-ING WHERE WAS SHE?!

~~Wayne was just jealous because he was in black and white.~~

Lost, actually, if you were to ask her a few minutes later. She'd followed the hallway all around the terminal to the wrong concourse -- and then realized that not only was the international concourse on the other side of the airport, the duty-free shop was past security.

Argh. With a couple of hours to kill before boarding yet, she might as well get food, and there was one of those brewery-restaurant things right here.

If she stuck around a while, well, she wasn't having any booze, Francine, okay?

Well, that made one of them. A couple hours later after having walked the length of BWI twice, Wayne wasn't making this call without a scotch in him and another in front of him.

"...Mrs. Parker?"

Yeah, this was gonna go well.

"Yes, Mr. Digman?"

There was an air of expectancy there of, And you are calling me with good news, aren't you?

"Ma'am." There was an air of please don't kill me, I have no redeeming qualities whatsoever but I still don't wanna die. Or possibly that was just how he sounded to Darcy. "She, well. She got on a plane."

Because he'd scoured the airport for her three times and she wasn't there and nobody takes a suitcase to the airport, has a smoke, turns around and leaves.

Ice practically formed on the receiver at his words. "And why aren't you on the plane with her?"

"What, like they give standby seats to stalkers?" he muttered under his breath and away from the phone. Into it, he said, "Look, she disappeared. She must've made me; she's one of your girls, right? Not my fault she's good."

It was his best angle, much as he hated to grit out the words about the girl who'd beaten the crap out of him and lost him his job.

A long, dark pause, as Mrs. Parker considered, then said: "Which plane did she get on, Mr. Digman?"

And if he knew that... he might get to keep most of his skin.

"That's what I'm sayin'. ...Ma'am." He liked his skin where it was. "She ditched me in the airport. I didn't see what plane she got on."

An ominous silence.

"I am very, very disappointed in you, Mr. Digman. As I usually am in most of your gender. But you have achieved a new low."

Flaming crap on a stick. Flaming crap on a flaming stick. "Look, she had a round-trip ticket - I heard her at the check-in desk, just not where to. I can pick her up again when she gets back, find out then. I'll stake out the airport."

"You'd better catch her on the way back, Mr. Digman. You don't get another chance to screw up after this."

Darcy flipped the phone shut, tapping it against her hand.

Perhaps turning Mr. Digman over to Human Resources would motivate him better?

Perhaps Mr. Digman would like to keep his skin and really didn't need the motivation.

Perhaps Mr. Digman let out the shakiest breath ever when he heard that connection break.

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Departures Level at BWI Airport, Thursday Midday

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