The Chalupa Conundrum

by Lyle Christie

  “Yes, is there a problem?”

  I looked at Tina and Todd, and they looked back at me nervously.

  “No, we just wanted to extend some professional courtesy and expedite your passage through the security checkpoint.”

  Tina crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

  “Not a spy—eh?” she said.

  I shrugged.

  “Can my friends come too?” I asked, as I gestured at Tina and Todd.

  The TSA officer looked conflicted.

  “I’ll vouch for them personally,” I added.

  “What the hell. Come this way,” she said.

  “Tina and Todd followed me out of line and around to the side, where we went through a single metal detector that didn’t require the removal of shoes, watches, or anything else for that matter. On the other side, the TSA Officer gave me a winning smile, and now all three of us were technically through and done.

  “Enjoy your flight, Mr. Finn,” she said.

  “Please, call me Tag, and thank you, I really appreciate you getting us all through security so quickly, though I’m a little sorry I didn’t get the pat-down.”

  “Oh well, maybe on the way back, and preferably after dinner and drinks,” she said, with a saucy smile.

  “It’s a date.”

  We turned and walked towards our gate, and I could feel Tina’s eyes on me before she even spoke.

  “How does it feel to be James fucking Bond?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Oh, I think you would.”

  We arrived at our gate, and I asked Tina and Todd where their seats were located. Sadly, they were in coach, which meant we probably wouldn’t get to hang out much on the flight unless I slummed it and visited the back of the plane. Shit.

  “Follow me,” I said.

  We went to the nearby Virgin counter, and, after a short wait, reached the front of the line.

  “Is first class full on this flight?” I asked.

  “Not even close, sir.”

  “Is it possible to move my friends up from coach?” I asked.

  “It’s possible. Do you mind if I ask if there are any special circumstances for the request?”

  Sometimes tall people or those suffering from a particular medical condition might be bumped in order to facilitate their unusual situation. Unfortunately, we had none of those prerequisites, but it never hurt to try, and, worse case scenario, I’d just pay the difference, as no one liked to travel alone.

  “Unfortunately, we have a bit of a tragedy on our hands. We’re all on our way to a wedding in Costa Rica, but the bride and groom have gone missing and are feared to have been kidnapped.”

  “That’s terrible!” she said.

  “Yeah, so if possible we’d like to stick together if we can—for emotional support.”

  She tapped some keys on her computer then looked up.

  “So, you obviously want them as close as possible to your actual seat?”

  “If possible.”

  Tina stepped forward and looked confused.

  “Finn, what are you doing? We really can’t afford first class.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I have a lot of miles,” I said.

  I gave the woman behind the counter my boarding pass, and she typed something into the computer then looked up and smiled.

  “Can I see your Passports?” she asked Tina and Todd.

  They both handed them over and looked equally concerned.

  “All right, it’s done, Miss Bloom, Mr. Jensen—you have the seats directly adjacent to Mr. Finn.”

  “But what about the cost?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. We have a certain amount of leeway for our special guests,” she said.

  Four minutes and thirty-seconds later, we were seated in first class, and Tina was looking at me with a big smile on her face.

  “The way you handled that ticket woman was pretty smooth—you’re totally a spy,” she said.

  “All I did was ask. It wasn’t that hard.”

  “Well, just so you know—this is my first time in first class,” she said, beaming like a school girl.

  “You won’t be disappointed. It’s fucking awesome.”

  “I imagine you always ride in first class?”

  “Only recently. Before that I was pretty much always in coach.”

  “Well spoken, and I almost believed you.”

  Apparently, Tina wouldn’t be dissuaded, but the irony was that, while she was correct, being a spy wasn’t nearly as glamorous as she believed. Sure it was dangerous at times but glamorous—not so much. Most of my assignments were in fairly dingy, dirty places and, unlike Bond Movies, I rarely had beautiful women and dry martinis. Twenty glorious first class minutes later, we were at cruising altitude, and the flight attendant was bringing complimentary champagne around to each of the first class passengers. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was a little after five p.m., and so I reached up and gratefully accepted my glass then held it up to toast to my two new friends.

  “To first class. May it not disappoint,” I said.

  We clinked glasses, sipped our champagne, and I took a moment to look around the cabin and instantly became aware of the man sitting directly across the aisle. It was the same guy who gave me the look on the Southwest flight, and he was currently gazing in my direction yet again. Weird. What the hell did I do to gain the attention of the latin menace? I raised my glass towards him and smiled, curious to see what reaction I would get, and he suddenly smiled and returned the gesture. At least he was friendly if not a little creepy. Still, it seemed like too much of a coincidence that he was again on the same flight. I turned back towards Tina and saw that she was watching me and had seen my unusual exchange with the mysterious other passenger.

  “Who’s the guy? An enemy agent?”

  “Not that I know of, but he’s making my scrot-sense tingle.”

  “Um, pardon?”

  “Scrot-sense. It’s a term I use to describe my intuition. You know—it’s the feeling I get when I think something bad might happen.”

  “Yeah, I get it—but scrot-sense? Couldn’t you have thought of something better?”

  “No, I like it. It has a nice ring to it, and it really delivers the proper imagery.”

  “And what kind of imagery might that be?”

  “The kind that describes the feeling when something so bad is going to happen that my balls want to climb up and hide in my butthole.”

  She regarded me a moment, clearly not too impressed with my description.

  “So, what about that guy makes your balls want to hide in your butthole?”

  “First of all, he just happened to have been on the same Southwest flight from San Francisco.”

  “As were we. That doesn’t seem too coincidental.”

  “Well, he also gave me a weird look when he saw me the first time.”

  “Attraction perhaps? We were in San Francisco.”

  “No, I know the difference, and this was definitely something else.”

  She looked at me a moment then raised an eyebrow and gave me a discerning gaze before speaking.

  “Just out of curiosity, do I make your scrot-sense tingle?” she asked, with a sassy tone in her voice.

  “Most definitely, but in a good way.”

  “How good?”

  “Well instead of my balls wanting to curl up and hide, they’re busy belly bumping their lanky roommate.”

  “Good to know,” she said, clinking her glass to mine.

  An hour passed, and, since we were traveling into the sun, nightfall was coming on more slowly, and the beautiful sunset off to the west almost holding in place. The flight attendant appeared, and I decided to celebrate the end of another day with a glass of pinot noir. Todd and Tina joined me, and together we toasted yet again to first class air travel. About the time we finished our wine, it was time to order dinner, and I went with a chicken breast dish while Tina and Todd both decided on the file
t mignon.

  “A meat eater! I like it!” I said.

  “Oh, hell yeah—well—as long as it’s grass fed, though if you’re such a fan, then why did you puss out and get the chicken?” she asked.

  “Guilt, I try to ration my red meat intake.”

  “Excuse me, but we’re in first class on our way to a tropical paradise where our friend and your ex-lover have gone missing, so I’m thinking if there were ever a time to go a little crazy—it would be now.”

  “OK, fuck it. I’ll have the filet mignon as well, please,” I said, to the flight attendant.

  “How would you like that cooked?” she asked.

  “I know I’m breaking a cardinal rule here, but I like it medium well.”

  “Excellent choice! That’s how I like mine,” she responded with a smile as she headed off to put in our order.

  As we waited for dinner, we chatted and enjoyed a glass of red wine, and soon thereafter our steaming hot plates of food arrived, and the three of us enjoyed a fine first class meal. My filet mignon was perfectly cooked to my medium-well preference, and the accompanying vegetable and potato were also delicious. As we ate, we all talked, and it was a perfect distraction from thinking about the actual reason I was here—namely rescuing an apparently engaged Estelle.

  When we finished eating, the plates were cleared, and it was time to take a serious horse piss and freshen up by brushing my teeth. I excused myself and meandered back to the first class lavatories, which, typical of this time, were packed with the after dinner dumpers. People, like animals, tended to defecate right after eating, and one dumper after another was powering out a pungently potent number two. A person exited the nearest door, and I finally got my turn and found myself in a larger than expected lavatory, though no air volume or fan unit was large enough to deal with the amount of putrid air, and it was all I could do to pee and brush my teeth. After thankfully completing the task, I opened the door, and there was my mysterious latin admirer from earlier, and he smiled, so I smiled back then squeezed past him, which wasn’t an easy task with the number of people waiting around the doorway. Once out, I took a well needed breath of fresher air and returned to my seat to find Tina and Todd were getting up to go to the bathroom.

  “How is it?” she asked.

  “Not pretty. It’s crowded as hell and smelling like shit.”

  “Well, it is a lavatory.”

  “And a focal point, or should I say fecal point, of the dark side of human existence. Thankfully, I only peed and brushed my teeth.”

  “No deuce?”

  “In a plane lavatory? Hell no, I’d rather die first.”

  “Says the guy who pissed in a barf bag.”

  “That was different.”

  “I suppose, though I should probably admit that I’m actually not a big fan of public restrooms, and least of all on planes,” she said.

  “A woman after my own heart.”

  She and Todd left at that point, and I settled in, relaxed, and looked at my watch and wondered how to spend the rest of the evening. The flight attendant appeared and asked if I would like an after dinner drink, and it made me realize that it might be fun to venture over to the first class lounge. I waited for Tina and Todd to return then asked if they would like to join me. Both enthusiastically accepted my offer, and we headed off to the lounge to find that there were exactly three seats available at the actual bar. The three of us took up residence on a stool, and the bartender placed three napkins in front of us and asked what we would like. I ordered a vodka martini, which of course elicited a snicker from Tina, as I was living up to my supposed James Bond persona. Tina, in the spirit of a proper Bond heroine, ordered the same. Todd, however, was still feeling the effects of his earlier alcohol binge and decided to play it safe by ordering a beer. Soon thereafter we were clinking glasses and toasting first class yet again.

  “So, all this time that I’ve been riding in coach, the sons of bitches in first class have been up here living the dream,” Tina said.

  “Yeah—those no good sons of bitches.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Hey, I only made it up here recently as well, so this is all still as strange to me as it is to you.”

  “So, the CIA didn’t fly you around the world first class?”

  “God no.”

  “Ah ha! So you did work for the CIA!”

  “No, my statement was obviously referring to the State Department, not the CIA.”

  “Nice try,” Tina said, giving me a scowl, as she clearly didn’t believe me but thankfully let it go for the moment.

  As a former member of the CIA, I wasn’t allowed to acknowledge my employment, so, as cool of a conversation starter as it could be at parties, I could only say I was a boring-ass bureaucrat from the State Department.

  “So, Mr. Spy, what do you think happened to our friends?”

  “Well, there’s more to the story that I didn’t tell you. While I was talking to Estelle I heard some kind of animal roar in the background.”

  “A roar like a lion?”

  “Not exactly, but afterward Estelle told me where she was then screamed, and the line went dead.”

  “Jesus, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “Yeah, especially since they didn’t find any kind of evidence of intruders—animal or human, though there were some claw marks and blood droplets.”

  “Couldn’t they test the blood and find out what it’s from?”

  “They did, and it belonged to Thomas and one of the grad students.”

  Tina grimaced as she finished her drink then immediately proceeded to order us all another round.

  We clinked glasses, then I decided to change the subject and learn a little more about my new friends and perhaps Estelle’s fucking fiancé.

  “So, you and this Thomas guy all went to college together?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we all met in the dorms at USC.”

  “And that’s when you dated him?”

  “For one glorious week.”

  “What was the problem? Was he hideous or just an asshole?”

  “Neither—he was a good looking guy and really nice, but he just wasn’t my type.”

  “I see.”

  “I take it that you’re curious how you measure up against him.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, don’t worry, I think you’re more attractive and about a hundred times more interesting. Thomas is a bit…”

  She paused as she tried to think how to answer.

  “Dedicated to his work,” she finally said.

  “So, he’s boring.”

  She looked hesitant to answer, which, in my mind, was a very clear yes.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say boring. More like…”

  “Very boring? Extremely boring? How about boring as fuck?”

  “Um…”

  “Todd, what do you say?” I asked.

  “He’s a very nice guy but yes, totally boring as fuck,” he responded.

  “OK, fine. He’s boring,” Tina finally admitted.

  “Well, now that we’ve got that settled, what other flaws does he have?”

  “Honestly, that’s about it.”

  I raised my glass to toast.

  “To Thomas, a nice, smart, and boring guy.”

  We all clinked glasses then sipped our drinks, and my thoughts kept going back and forth between the weird phone call from Estelle, the bad news that she was engaged, and the even worse news that she was officially missing. Why couldn’t her fiancé have been the only one to disappear? That would have been kind of awesome, or not, as Thomas was apparently a nice guy, so any wishes of harm were a bit childish and mean spirited on my part. As we finished our latest round of cocktails, I had a decent buzz on, but I was starting to feel the tiring effects of having started drinking a little too early in the day, so it was about time to call it a night. We went back to our seats, and I grabbed my toothbrush and headed to the lavatories to unleash a brutal torrent of urin
e and prepare for bed. There was now a curtain drawn between our compartment and the urinals, which was probably to keep light from spilling onto the illustrious nearby first class passengers. God forbid some very important person’s late night deuce disturb an equally very important person’s attempt at slumber. Back in coach, they could give a flying fuck how well you slept, and they charged you for every amenity, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they eventually started charging passengers to use the restroom.

  I passed the curtain and found the area deserted and decided on the nearest lavatory. As I reached for the door, an arm suddenly wrapped around my neck, and I instinctively tucked my chin then turned my head to the side before shifting my hips to the left and sending a right hammer fist into my attacker’s groin. A loud grunt signified I’d hit pay dirt, or in this case, balls, and the arm around my throat instantly went slack. I lifted my elbow and twisted at the same time and delivered a devastating strike up into his throat that knocked him back a few steps. Now free, I fully turned around to face my attacker, and there, before me, was my Latin menace, and the fucker had a syringe in his right hand that he had obviously intended to sink into my neck. Thank God for training, quick reflexes, and the vulnerability of testicles.

  I assumed a defensive posture to ready myself for the next attack, and it came in the form of a pretty decent kick up into my midsection that sent me back a few steps. Not bad. Apparently, he knew a thing or two about hand to hand combat, so I decided to take a second to analyze his fighting posture. He stood with his weight on the balls of his feet and held his left hand out in front of his body but kept the syringe hand back at his side—obviously to keep it safe until he was ready to deliver whatever chemical it contained. The only upside I could discern thus far was that his creepy smile from earlier was long gone and had been replaced by an angry sneer.

  He definitely looked as though he could fight, but now I wanted to get a feel for his particular strengths and weaknesses. That meant waiting for the next attack, which happened when he threw a quick left jab, followed by another front kick. The jab was obviously meant to get my attention while he snuck in the kick, and it would have worked in the right situation against the right person—just not right now. I moved off the centerline and managed to grab his foot then threw a nasty punch to the inside of his knee. He grimaced in pain, but his next move actually showed some exceptional athleticism. As I was still holding his right foot in the crook of my elbow, he countered by hopping up and twisting midair in order to deliver a solid left spinning back kick with his free leg, and it impacted my chest and knocked me back into the lavatory door behind me. It was a pretty fancy move and hinted at a background in flashy Korean martial arts—most likely Tae Kwon Do.