by V. L. Locey
I was up out of my seat and shoving my crooked nose into the ticket agent’s shocked face in mere seconds.
“I need to change my flight plans. Get me to Philly.”
I held out my tickets, and she blinked at me as if I’d asked her to remove a mongoose from atop my head. She started to say something that began with “I’m sorry, sir”, and I checked that reply right over the boards.
“Nope, do not say that to me. My son is missing, and I think he may be headed to Philadelphia. You have any kids?”
She nodded.
“Then you know what kind of upset my head is in. Please, Kimberly. Get me to Philly as fast as you possibly can.”
She stared at me for the longest time with sad green eyes. “Let me see what I can do for you, Mr. McGarrity.”
I exhaled so deeply that several brochures resting beside her terminal fluttered.
“Thank you,” I said.
She gave me a timid smile, then started making some calls. While she punched numbers and made requests, I made a call of my own.
“Lila, I think I might have an idea about where he might be.”
“Where, Seamus? Where do you think he might be?”
“Mr. McGarrity.” I looked over at the little girl behind the reservation desk. “My friend Doreen over at the next reservation desk has a flight arriving in less than five minutes that will be departing for Philadelphia International as soon as it’s refueled.”
My attention flew to a chubby black woman wiggling her fingers at me. Did I go on what my gut was telling me was the right course? My intuition had never led me wrong yet. I mean, I’d followed my heart on committing to Lila and that had turned out pretty fucking well. I nodded at the woman at the other airline, then leaned in to peck Kimberly on her smooth cheek. The young woman’s eyes went round and a pretty blush rose up her neck.
“Lila, I’m going to Philly. I think he may have set off to see this YouTube guy he likes at a game con.”
A full five seconds ticked by. “Oh Seamus, I do so hope you’re right.”
“I’ll find him, baby. I promise I’ll find him and bring him home to you.”
I thanked Kimberly and jogged over to get things settled with Doreen. Thirty minutes later, I was on a plane headed to the City of Brotherly Love.
As soon as I was off the plane, I turned on my phone. Jogging through Philadelphia International with just my carryon bag on my shoulder, I sorted through several texts. Most were from Lila, but a couple were from Mike Buttonwood asking if I’d arrived in Scranton safely. I hit Mike back to fill him in on the slight change of plans, then pulled up Lila’s contact info. Stepping out of the terminal, I immediately found a cab, one of many waiting for travelers, and slid into the back. A light mist coated the windshield. The cabbie, a man with a round face, thick mustache, and fat brown eyebrows, turned to stare at me.
“When does the convention center open?” I asked, my finger poised to hit Lila’s number.
“It’ll be awhile. Probably nine or ten,” he informed me, then flipped the meter on.
“You have any suggestions what to do between now and then?” My phone showed me that I had about six or seven hours to kill.
“I could take you somewhere so you could buy some pants.”
I glanced down at my tartan. The urge to explain reared up but I battered it down. I was too tired, too cranky, and too worried to try to lay out the meaning of a kilt to a Philadelphia cabby who had one eye bigger than the other.
“Is there anywhere near the convention center where I could hang out and not be judged about my fucking clothes?”
A frown tied up those caterpillars over his weird eyes. “There might be a place for your sort near there.”
Okay, that there was a slam I was not willing to overlook. “And by my kind you’re insinuating…” I had a fist ready and willing.
“Scots,” he answered with a quizzical tone. I uncurled my fingers.
“Oh, okay, yeah, that’s good. Take me to the Scottish place.”
I let the man drive and didn’t speak with him the rest of the trip. That was obviously for the best, because I was in that place where people who were sick with worry and hadn’t had any sleep for over thirty hours lived. It was a bloody neighborhood, littered with the corpses of clever cabbies.
During the flight, I had wrestled with the idea of walking the streets in search of the boy, but realized that I’d get nowhere doing that. He could be anywhere, if he was even in Philly to begin with. It was a damn big city. Trying to find one scrawny kid by wandering around aimlessly would get me nothing but exhausted and irritable. More exhausted and irritable. So I had lined up a plan to find a place near the convention center and wait it out. Once the doors were open, I’d get inside and start ripping the place apart brick by brick, as the saying goes.
Twenty minutes later I was standing on Arch Street, right across from the convention center, head tipped back, staring at a rain-slick sign that read Black Haggis Bar & Grille. I half feared the door would be locked, but it wasn’t, although the pub was obviously close to closing. Chairs rested atop tables, their legs sticking up into the air, and a gangly kid wearing jeans with a tartan vest over a white dress shirt was mopping the hardwood floors. It was a big place, filled with wonderful old pictures on the walls as well as squares of hundreds of differently colored tartan. The air was thick with the smell of whiskey, heather, and roasting meat. My stomach reminded me that it liked roasted meat and whiskey quite a bit.
“We’re closing,” the kid told me without looking up from his mop moving across the floor.
“Is there someone I can talk to about getting some food?” I asked the kid.
He stopped mopping, gave me a bored look, and jerked his head at the bar. I made my way around the large wet circles on the floor on my way to the bar, which was a long one that ran for twenty feet or so. Behind it stood a wall of bottles, a huge blue-and-white flag known as the St. Andrew’s Cross, and a short woman with hair as red as mine.
“Well, you look a sorrowful sight,” she said. She turned from me to fetch a bottle of Scotch whiskey from amid hundreds, and poured me a double shot. “Here, this will warm you up.”
“You’re a blessing,” I said with a smile, then threw the whiskey back. It slithered down my throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “I need some food. Any chance of getting some dinner?”
“Sorry, dinner’s done and over with. My grandmother will be here in about an hour to start breakfast.”
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked, then shoved the glass back to her for a refill. The chill of the light rain that had dampened my shirt began to ease away. She topped it off neatly. The woman had eyes as blue as the flag pinned so proudly to the wall behind her.
“Black pudding, Lorne sausage and tattie scones,” she informed me, and folded her arms over her tartan vest.
“I haven’t had black pudding or tattie scones since my father passed,” I told the stout little woman with the flaming hair. I dug into one of my back pockets, removed my wallet, and threw a credit card on the bar. “If you let me sit here until the food’s ready and serve me breakfast with a cup of coffee so strong it will sear the hairs off my testicles, I’ll pay whatever you want for the food and seat.”
“You planning on drinking the whole time you’re sitting here at my bar?”
“Nope. I’m planning on grabbing some food and caffeine and a little rest before I head out to search for my son.”
The tight lines around her mouth loosened. “He missing, is he?”
“That he is.” I lifted my whiskey and stared into its golden depths. That was the second time I’d called Langley my son. “I think he may have come to Philly for that gamer convention across the street.”
“How old is the lad?”
“Going on sixteen but acts like he’s four at times,” I told her, the amber liquid in my glass holding my attention.
“I have a couple like that myself. Twins, they are. Fourteen
on the calendar but three in the head every so often.” She sighed and slapped a shot glass on the bar. I watched her fill it then raise it. “Here’s hoping you find your boy safe and sound.”
I lifted my shot to her, then tossed it back at the same time she did.
“Why don’t you go stretch out in that booth over by the kitchen? The heater blows down there and will dry you off a bit,” she explained as she rang me up, then handed me back my Visa. “Soon as the food is ready I’ll have a platter sent out to you.”
“You trust me in here while you’re gone?”
“Parents have to stick together. Besides, I never leave until the morning shift shows up. I’m funny like that.”
“You’re a clever lass,” I chuckled, then gave her a wink.
She nodded, removed my empty shot glass from the bar, then waved me to the booth by the kitchen. The booth, while padded, was hard and uncomfortable, but the soothing touch of warm air blowing down over me soon had my jaw falling to my chest. After several jerky drop-offs, I just rested the back of my skull on the seat and closed my eyes.
I had some terrible dreams over the next ninety minutes. All centered on Langley and him lying dead in some filthy Philadelphia alleyway. When a cold hand touched my arm, I jolted awake, my neck cracking loudly when my head flew up. An old woman with a huge plate full of food stood staring at me.
“Thank you,” I coughed out, my mouth coated and my eyes gummy.
She plunked down a cup of coffee and my breakfast, then waddled off.
I righted myself and dove into the food. The black pudding was just as good as I remembered it being. Onions, allspice, and black pepper rested on my tongue until I washed it down with coffee so hot and so strong you could strip varnish with it. My father would have loved this meal. Mom had stopped cooking Scottish fare when he passed, and while I adored her Italian cooking, a little black pudding with some tattie scones hit the spot from time to time.
I ate every morsel and emptied my mug. I called Lila to tell her I was on my way to the convention center as soon as I finished eating. She replied immediately to inform me that while she had not had any luck tracking Langley, she had used some sort of app on his phone to get into his text messages.
The little old woman kept walking past me until I rose and went to the front door. She unlocked the door and let me out. It was cold and damp on the sidewalk. The hairs on my legs stood on end.
“I felt reprehensible doing it,” she whispered in my ear as I hustled across the street. Traffic was slightly heavier than it had been a few hours ago.
“I know, but he really didn’t leave you any choice, now did he?” I jerked on the locked doors to the convention center and cursed under my breath. “They’re not open yet.”
“It’s only a little after five in the morning, Seamus.”
“I know.” The signs inside the door stated that I had another four hours to wait. I spied a bench sitting alongside Arch Street and planted my sore, tired ass on it. “Did you find anything in his texts?”
“I think I may have, yes!” The excitement in her voice gave me some hope. “He was in contact with a bus company four days ago.”
“Was he booking a seat to Philadelphia?” I asked, and for once wished I had pants on. My fucking legs were cold already. Another four hours on this bench was going to be fun. Fun like a root canal or a prostate exam or passing a kidney stone is fun.
“He was making inquiries about it, yes. This simply infuriates me, Seamus! Why would he just head off without discussing it with me?”
“I don’t know, but rest assured, when I find him that will be one of about ten questions that boy is going to answer.”
“I know you’re angry with him, but try to remember just how hard of a time he’s had over the past couple months,” she reminded me.
“I know, baby, but hard times or not, you don’t just wander off on a fucking whim. Sorry for the F-bomb.” I watched a van carrying morning newspapers pass me. “He and I are going to have a good, long chat and it ain’t going to be about video games, I can tell you that.”
“You’re a good man, Seamus. Taking my son under your wing as you have and running after him like this. I just, well, I love you even more for how you’ve embraced Langley.” It sounded like she was tearing up again. A SEPTA bus rolled past, the exhaust making me cough lightly. “As soon as something opens up I’m going to see about getting to Philadelphia,” Lila said.
“No, just stay in Scranton. I’ll have him in a few hours and we’ll be heading back to you. No point you coming down here when I can do this alone.”
“He is my son, Seamus,” she remarked with some sass.
“I know, but for now, here today, he’s my son and I’m going to handle this my way– the way my father would have handled it.”
She didn’t reply at first. I could see her in my mind’s eye, chewing on a thumbnail as she thought.
“Your father did a fine job with you, and so I shall relegate my parental control to you in this one instance.”
“Thanks for trusting me, baby. My battery is going to be dead if I don’t give it a break. I’ll call you as soon as I have him.”
“Do call soon. I’ll be waiting and praying,” she said softly.
After telling her I loved her and that everything would be fine, I offered up a small plea to the Blessed Mother myself. It went something like:
Dear Holy Mother Mary,
Please let me find this chucklehead kid of ours…hers…ours…whatever. You know.
Amen,
Mario
P.S. If you lead me to him, I promise I won’t use the F-word ever again, unless I’m on the ice, because on the ice you have to use it – I think it’s part of my contract. Okay, not really, that was a lie. Forgive me for lying to you. I promise not to use it even on the ice.
Amen,
Mario
I spent the next few hours burrowed deep into my jacket, whispering Hail Marys just in case she’d missed the prayer. Every so often I got up and walked around the huge building that was a mix of new and old architecture, just to keep blood moving to my toes. I kind of liked the old look myself. The blending of off-white and pinkish colors combined with arched windows and doorways appealed to me.
When nine a.m. rolled around, there were about a hundred people lined up outside the convention center. I scoped out the crowd but saw no one who looked like Langley. As soon as the doors opened, I wiggled in and stood in a big foyer, my face lifted to enjoy a blast of forced hot air. There I stood, for ages it seemed, scanning the hordes of people filing in while trying to thaw myself out.
Security asked me to move along after bit. Guess they didn’t like the looks of a big Scot with a buzzed head and a drooping kilt loitering right inside the doors. I showed the tall black man behind the badge a picture of Langley. He hadn’t seen him, so I asked when and where Gamer Gary was speaking. He directed me to Exhibit Hall G for the ten o’clock panel.
I left the foyer and started moving amongst hundreds of people. Lots were kids Langley’s age. Many were older. There were plenty of young children as well, and all kinds of folks in costumes. I recognized a few from the games that August and I had played. August – that was still a big thorn in my side that I needed to tend to, but not now. Augie and I would have to wait. I hoped I could salvage that friendship somehow.
I stopped several times to ask people working at displays and booths if they’d seen Langley. They all looked at the image closely but always ended up shaking their heads. I was just sliding my phone into the inner pocket of my jacket when I caught a cloud of black hair in my peripheral vision. My heart thudded against my ribs when I sighted him filing into Exhibit Hall G. I began shoving around convention-goers until I was inside the large room. Hundreds of folding chairs had been set up to face a stage with a table draped with a blue cover and a microphone.
I scoured the people taking their seats. Langley was talking to a small clump of people as if he knew them as he took a se
at. Honestly, I don’t even recall moving toward him. I suddenly just arrived behind the kid and laid a hand on his thin shoulder. He was laughing at something when he threw a look behind him. His eyes grew as big as hubcaps when our gazes met. His laughter died.
“Having fun?” I asked as my fingers rested on his collarbone. His mouth shut then opened a time or two.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, then reached up to remove my hand from his person. He stood up to face me. The kid looked unharmed, which was a good thing.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied.
Langley glanced around at the people surrounding us. I was tired, mad, and sick with worry. Looking into his stunned face, I felt this close to losing my shit.
“Do you have any fucking idea how worried your mother and I have been?”
Damn. Sorry, Mother Mary – I’ll do better from now on with the big F-word.
“Like you care.”
“You have no idea just how much I care. Let’s go.” I jerked my head at the door.
A look that I was becoming familiar with appeared on his face.
“Like hell, man. I travelled down here to be at this panel and I’m not missing it,” Langley stated vehemently.
“I beg to differ.”
“You can’t do one thing to me. You’re not my parent,” he said smugly, then turned around and sat down.
I glowered at some tall kid with pimples who was starting to get involved. I shoved a finger at the nosy teenager. “You want to go sit down somewhere far away from me, Junior. I’m not kidding. I’m this close to snapping someone in half like a twig. You want that to be you?”