by G M Eppers
A moment later, the surprisingly welcome face of Miss Chiff was on the 75-inch screen with her laptop open beside her. A stack of folders was shoulder high to the other side, propped up by a 12-line desk phone. “Good afternoon, Team A. I trust the personnel change is going well.” It was not a question. “The first order of business is yours, Mr. Montana. Have you chosen a new specialty?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Avis and Agnes both gave me a dirty look, because I hadn’t shared my choice with them. “Transportation Specialist.” I figured that meant designated driver and I pretty much already did that. I expected to need an advanced CDL and thought that couldn’t take long. I could be back on the team and useful perhaps in a couple of weeks.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Montana,” said Miss Chiff as she moved some folders around. “I believe I can coordinate your training sessions with your missions and conserve a little time and effort here. Please hold on one moment.” While we waited, she referred to various folders and punched keys on her computer keyboard. “Ah, yes,” she said finally. “This will work quite well. You already have Defensive and Pursuit Driving, so you can join a class already in session. Division One will be meeting at the CURDS facility outside Flagstaff, Arizona, on the Hualapai Indian Reservation. And we have a reporting of possible Uber at the Better Edge Golf Resort which is in the same area. I’ll send the information to Ms. Rosensglet on the CURDS1 and she should have you ready for departure by the time you reach the airport. Leave immediately, please.” At that moment, her phone rang and without further ado she signed off.
Major McGrone sprung into action. “You heard the Director. Harch! Hup, two, three, four!” He already has his eye on his watch, timing us.
We stampeded in a slightly less than organized fashion for the stairs, except for Nitro who veered off through the kitchen to his room. Nitro would no doubt be ready first, with his room closest to the front door. I hoped McGrone wouldn’t be totally unreasonable and expect the twins to be ready as quickly when they had to go all the way to the fourth floor and back. It was every man, or woman, for him or herself, in the dash to avoid McGrone’s retribution. He might just order laps around the plane. On the outside. During flight.
I was glad I had packed the basic stuff already. In February, Arizona was cool and dry. We wouldn’t really need extra gear. I pulled open a drawer to get a couple of clean shirts and heard, “Billings, what did you do?”
I spun around and saw my mother. Stumbling backwards in surprise, I jostled the dresser, then instinctively turned and saved the urn from yet another tumble. This time the lid was screwed on tightly, but it still felt disrespectful to let it fall over. My eyes darted to the doorway to see if anyone else was passing by, then back to Mom, and then the hallway while I gently pushed the door closed, before I turned around. “Mom! You’re going to have to give me some warning.”
Then I noticed that she looked confused and frightened. “Something’s different. What did you do?!”
“Nothing. Mom, I can’t talk right now. I have a mission.” I stuffed some shirts in the bag and actually took two tries to find my own sock drawer.
Mom’s hand went to the base of her throat and her breathing, for lack of a better term, got deeper and irregular. She seemed to lose her balance, though she had no mass. I tried to reach out to steady her with one hand, my other still on the partly opened go bag. Of course, I couldn’t make contact, and I started to worry because she looked like she was in real distress. Suddenly, her breathing stopped altogether, her eyes looked inward. “Oh my God,” she said finally. “I’m somewhere else. Part of me is somewhere else. This is amazing!”
I could hear the rumble of footsteps hurrying through the hallways as people rushed past my door on the way downstairs. I kept my voice low. “What are you talking about?”
Her head tilted as she tried to interpret what she was sensing. “Billings, did you spill me? Where? What is that?!”
There was way too much to try to explain it all carefully, so I blurted out. “A little bit of your ashes spilled on the carpet when Knobby was vacuuming. That’s all. Does it hurt?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “No. It feels…amazing!”
“It’s probably in the garbage,” I said incredulously. “He usually dumps the dirt cup right after. Are you sure that’s the word you want to use?”
“Yes! Weird, but amazing. I can’t see but I can feel it. It’s soft, and cool. A little bumpy.”
She was still examining her sensations as I kept stuffing my bag. “Mom, I have to go!” I grabbed a couple bandanas from a drawer and picked up my cell phone from the night stand. If I needed anything else I was going to have to buy it locally. There was no time to take stock. “We have a mission. You know the drill.”
“Take me with you!”
“What!?”
“Forget Chris Pine. Forget everything I said. Take me with you and spread me everywhere.” She spread her arms wide and twirled. Her arms moved smoothly through my bookshelf and the vintage, though incomplete, collection of Hardy Boys mysteries I’d gotten as a birthday gift when I turned nine.
“I can’t right now. I have to go to Arizona. Later, Mom.”
Her hands came together and she clasped them, pleading. “No, now. I’ve never been to Arizona. If the garbage can feels like this, I can’t imagine. Oh, please, Billings. Take me. Stuff me in your pockets. I don’t care. I don’t want to be in just one place.”
I was intensely conscious of every passing second, sure that McGrone was waiting for me downstairs growing increasingly impatient, my fellow team members looking at each other with worry and concern, unsure if they should come up to my rescue. The urn would not fit in my go bag. “I don’t have anything to put you in. I’ll find something and do it later.” It’s not like there was some rush. If she wanted to be scattered, I would have the rest of my life to do it. I swallowed thickly, remembering the kind of work I did. Two weeks ago, Mom thought she had years and years ahead of her. Stuff happens. What if I waited, and something happened to me, and no one else knew what Mom wanted? They’d go back to her final wishes, see the Chris Pine thing, call it ridiculous, and she’d sit in the urn, possibly in a closet, for years and years.
“I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“I’d like that, actually.”
“Okay, then, I won’t. You’ll never see me again.”
“Liar.” During this little exchange, my eyes floated around the room, searching for something that would hold her ashes, yet still be portable. Finally, when I was about to give up and leave anyway I spied it. A small canvas shoulder bag that fit like a policeman’s shoulder holster. I sometimes used it to carry valuables. I had last used it when I purchased our engagement rings, but it now sat on the floor of my closet, peeking out from under a shirt that had fallen off the hanger. Hurriedly, I grabbed it and unzipped it, then used the dresser top as a work surface while I transferred the ashes from the urn into the bag. At first I was only going to take some of the ashes, but my mission was different from the others. I was beginning a course that would last at least several days and might not be back here in between that and another mission. I imagined that transportation training probably involved traveling, and I’d have the perfect opportunity to scatter her several places. So I tried to take as much as I could. I had to jostle it a few times to help it settle, and naturally I didn’t have time to really wipe out the urn. A few dregs remained, but I got all that would fit in the bag and zipped it up. I slipped it on, tucked under my left arm and secured the shoulder strap. It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. My arm hung at about a twenty degree angle.
I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. They were all waiting for me. “Mom, I have to –“ I started to say, but when I turned around to see her she had vanished. “Damn,” I said, grabbed the go bag, and ran down, taking three stairs at a time.
“You okay, Billings?” Avis asked with concern. Next to her, Agnes held one edge of the white board. That was going to be f
un on the Metro, I thought.
“Yeah, fine.” I looked at McGrone, who had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. “Sorry for the delay. I had to pee.” And even though it galled me, I gave him a salute before I retrieved my CURDS jacket from the front closet. He couldn’t get upset about a bodily function, could he? He glared at me, nonetheless.
Chapter Four
As we left the house, Avis whispered to me, “What’s in the armpit bag?”
“Tell you later,” I said. “What’s with the white board?”
“Tell you later,” she shot back. I knew it was more wedding plans and was starting to make plans myself. We weren’t going to be very far from Las Vegas. You could get married in the blink of an eye in Vegas. We might only need half a day if we could catch a puddle jumper flight from Flagstaff. I knew they wanted a larger wedding, they wanted the spectacle. But I just didn’t see us having the time for it. If I felt the time was right, I would suggest it.
For the first time, we rode the subway to the airport in silence. No one wanted to talk about anything in front of McGrone. Because of our jackets, other passengers respected our privacy and moved on, so we pretty much had the car to ourselves. There were enough seats and no one had to stand, but McGrone stood anyway, holding onto a pole, watching out the windows for imaginary dangers.
The CURDS1 waited for us on the tarmac, Dinny Rosensglet standing at the top of the portable staircase ready to greet us. Evidently, she’d been informed of the personnel change and saluted McGrone as he approached. As he saluted back, she stepped aside and let him into the locker room. We followed, accepting sympathetic vibes from Dinny as we passed. McGrone looked around the interior of the plane, taking in the upper deck and the seating arrangement. He wasn’t going to be able to stand and hold onto a pole like he had on the subway. He took the first seat he came to and buckled in. Without a word, he opened his messenger bag and took out the Dispatch.
The rest of us found our seats and Dinny retreated into the cockpit to give word to the pilot that we were ready for take-off. We all took seats as close to the back of the plane as we could get. We would have gone to the upper deck, but that was only in-flight seating, with no seatbelts. “What are we going to do?” Nitro whispered.
I still wasn’t comfortable talking, even with the length of the plane between us and McGrone. For the first time, I wished we didn’t have the Automatic Pressure Equalizer that removed the ambient noise usually associated with flight. The background hum would have prevented him from hearing our conversation at all. But I had a feeling his hearing was exceptionally good and the distance alone might not be enough insulation. “Our jobs,” I answered. “Like always.” I watched the back of McGrone’s head trying to judge if he’d heard us, but there was no movement.
Ten minutes later we were in the air and approaching cruising altitude. We unbuckled and as a group moved to the upper deck. I took my deck of cards and shuffled them as I walked to imply we were going up to play card games. As we passed him, McGrone still seemed engrossed in the Dispatch. Bringing up the rear, I was half way up the curved staircase when Dinny came quietly out of the cockpit and bent down to unlock the gate to the feline alcove. Oh. My. God.
I turned, the words to stop her already forming on my lips. But I couldn’t say it. The cats were cooped up a lot. They deserved to roam, and if McGrone didn’t like it he could lump it. Harelip, the tuxedo cat, and Backwash, the calico, both came running out. T.B., our solid white cat came loping out afterwards. I don’t think T.B. is particularly older than the other two, but he does seem more mature and laid back. Now, however, he was even worse. He strode quietly to the seat my mother normally used, the window seat over the wing, and curled up in it. He kept his head up, as if he could see out the window though he was still below it. It brought her absence back to me and I had to tighten my jaw.
Harelip and Backwash raced up the stairs, undeterred by the collection of feet currently occupying some of them. They didn’t make a lot of noise, but it was enough to alert McGrone, who finally raised his head. They had disappeared before he could really get a good look. “What was that?”
Dinny was still standing just outside the cockpit, a look of horror on her face. I caught her eye and nodded firmly. Stand up to him, I thought. We aren’t doing anything wrong. The horror reduced to nervousness. To soften the blow, she saluted. “Sir, I’ve let the cats loose, sir.”
“Cats?” He said the word like it was foreign. “You have pets on this plane? I don’t believe there is anything in the regulations about allowing animals to run around on the CURDS aircraft.”
The others had been eavesdropping over the railing. Roxy responded with a quick and subtle one-finger salute, “Sir, there is nothing in the regulations against it, either.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re legal counsel, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dinny came to our defense. “Director Chiff is aware of the situation. As long as I keep the alcove clean and pay for their upkeep myself she has no problem with it,” she said before he could threaten to go over our heads.
McGrone clearly wasn’t happy about it. I was kind of surprised the two friendlier cats weren’t all over him. Backwash especially seemed to have an instinct for anyone who disliked or was allergic to cats. He’s diabolical that way. But at the moment, Backwash was content greeting his human friends by walking on the round table and accepting their attentions. “Excuse me, sir.” Dinny returned to the cockpit, probably more to get away from McGrone than because she was needed.
Unbuckling his belt, McGrone let the Dispatch fall to the floor and put his messenger bag on his lap. He looked at his watch. “I understand you also have, shall we say, questionable facilities on this plane?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Showers, son. There are showers?”
I was still standing halfway up the staircase as McGrone rose, waiting for directions. I pointed toward the back. “Door’s over there. The showers are under the upper deck.” After a couple of beats, I added, “Sir.”
Taking the messenger bag with him, he disappeared inside. T.B.’s head turned with feline disapproval as he passed, but he didn’t hiss or growl. I wasn’t sure if McGrone was going to shower or take photographs for a violations report. The bag didn’t look stuffed enough to hold a change of clothes. Perhaps he only brought clean underwear.
Relaxing a little, we gathered around the table. Sylvia said, “You mean he doesn’t have himself dry cleaned?”
I put one finger over my lips, waiting until I heard the water start running. Sure enough, no matter how much McGrone disapproved of the facilities, he was more than happy to make use of them. Finally, I let out a breath. “Okay, I think it’s safe now. If you need to insult him, now’s the time.”
Sylvia, Badger, and Agnes started to open their mouths, but then thought better of it. “This is excruciating,” said Nitro. “We can’t keep this up, Billings. You have to do something.”
“You have any suggestions?” I waited for someone to say I should change my mind about resigning from command, but I guess they all knew better. We’d already had this discussion. No matter who we got as the new coordinator, there were going to be bumps. “This is just a matter of learning to read him, okay. I’m sure he –“ I stopped myself in midsentence. As I spoke, I’d been looking down at the lower level for any indication that McGrone was coming out earlier than we expected. Instead, I saw, very briefly, my mother’s ghost. She appeared, looking very solid actually, at the front of the plane and a second later had slid through the seats, including the one with T.B. curled up in it, and out the back of the plane. I noticed her head go up and swivel before she vanished. T.B., for his part, jumped to his feet, on high alert as she passed directly through him, then he circled the seat and curled up, finally tucking his head under a paw. He seemed content.
I glanced at the twins to see if they had seen it as well, but it had happened so fast. Everyone was looking at me
to find out why I had stopped speaking. Suddenly, I couldn’t even remember what I’d been saying.
“Christ,” I heard Badger say.
There she was, floating back and forth on the upper deck, looking as solid as any of us, just like old times, trying to match the velocity of the plane. It seemed to take a lot of effort, but she did manage to stay inside this time. After a minute of adjusting, her position stabilized, more or less, with the variation measured in inches. “Hi!” She smiled.
With the exception of myself and the twins, everyone was sitting there with their mouths hanging open. Sir Haughty’s eyebrows had disappeared into his slightly receding but curly hairline. I kind of looked down at the floor. “You didn’t tell them?” Mom asked me. “How could you not tell them?”
“There have been other things going on,” said Agnes. “It never seemed like the right time.”
Avis added, “And we didn’t want McGrone to hear.”
“McWho?”
I answered. “Samuel J. McGrone.”
“The J stands for –“ Sylvia started to say.
I stopped her. “He’s our new coordinator. He’s in the shower.”
“New coordinator?” She paused briefly, quickly coming to the right conclusion. “So Miss Chiff made you pick a new specialty? What did you pick? Mechanic? Diplomat? Tell me you didn’t pick Morale Officer. That would just be lame.” Her position slipped a little and she had to adjust again. “Dang, this is hard,” she said. “I have to keep rethinking where I need to be.”
“Transportation Specialist,” I told her. “I think Miss Chiff picked our mission in Arizona because it’s near the training facility. Poor woman is really strapped. She has to replace Team C in its entirety and until then it’s just the two teams, and three wasn’t enough to begin with. I want to get certified as soon as I can to get something off her plate.”