Lost Luggage

by Wendall Thomas

  “Bra,” he said. “There’s something showing.”

  I looked down to see a tiny snake tongue flicking through my cleavage. Clearly hypnotized, I pressed it back in, buttoned up and headed up the stairs to the plane.

  I stopped at the top and took a minute to say good-bye to Africa. I would never forget the smell of ginger plants and monkey droppings, the taste of ugali, or the leopard that had licked my face. Then I thought about Mom and Uncle Ray and the Minettis and wondered if it had been worth it, after all.

  Once we were on the plane, I grabbed some electrical tape out of my bag—one of the few things Gant’s men didn’t steal—and ducked into the lavatory to close up the snake escape hatch. I hoped it would hold, especially since I didn’t seem to notice when they were moving. I got back to the seat and gave Roger a thumbs-up, then reached for the goodie bag. This time Roger had already gotten us extras. I put them in my purse, which now seemed terrifyingly empty.

  “Those guys took my blush, Roger. That’s a felony in Brooklyn.”

  “I know. They’re assholes,” he said, eyeing me a little too long. He had what looked like an enormous erection pushing up his seat belt. I looked down. He caught me.

  “Sorry.” He made an adjustment. “It’s the horn.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  The Minettis were across from us. They held hands during takeoff. I wondered how different this flight might have been if Roger had been a real “plus one.” Travel was supposed to make or break a couple—it was a crash course in what someone was really like—what they ate, how they slept, how they tipped, how they handled stress. I apparently handled it with a series of jailable offenses.

  I made sure no turtles were trapped between my calves and the leg rest, twisted around to the front, and fell asleep with my head against the tiny chilled window. I woke up as we were making our descent into Heathrow. Damn. I’d slept through the warm chocolate chip cookies. If any of us were caught in Customs, I might never be allowed to fly again.

  I saw something crawl across Roger’s chest. And back the other way. I shook him awake, gestured him to the bathroom and followed him. Of course, there was a line. Could monkeys undo buttons? Finally, he got inside. I introduced myself and handed out Redondo travel cards, to cover the high-pitched squeaks. Finally, Roger came back to his seat. Where was the monkey? As the plane headed downwards, he grabbed my hand and we taxied to the gate.

  Roger and I kept behind Herb and Maria, checking each other for leaking species as we walked what seemed like five miles between the plane and Arrivals. I figured the Minettis would be okay here, as they didn’t have animals on their person like Roger and I did. The four of us arrived at Border Control, where the agent asked if I were carrying any fruits or vegetables into the country. As he didn’t ask about snakes, turtles, or rhino dust, I gave a resounding and convincing “No.” Now I just needed to get to the Minettis’ bags before they did.

  “Roger, can you take Maria and Herb downstairs? I’ll get our luggage.”

  “You’re going to let that tiny girl get the luggage, Roger? Cyd can come with us.”

  “Yes, Cyd, I’ll get it,” Roger said.

  “No! I mean, thank you, but because the luggage was lost, there may be some paperwork and I’ll be able to handle that a lot quicker. Don’t worry, Herb, they have carts. Really, you three just relax.” I bolted down the stairs like I was running for the R Train.

  It was hard to push through a throng of irritated travelers without smushing my cargo, but I did my best. Thank goodness I’d picked out the Minettis’ luggage for them—black and white polka dotted hard shells—as Herb was colorblind. As the two cases tumbled down the chute, I lunged for them, possibly losing a couple of turtles. It was a case of priorities. Herb and Maria I’d known all my life, the reptiles I’d just met.

  I wheeled the two cases into the jammed women’s room and waited for a stall. For the millionth time, how could it possibly take some women so long? Once it was my turn, there was barely room to get the two cases through the door, much less open them. I had to lay them on top of the seat. I’m always irritated when a toilet flushes itself, but this time I was on the verge of screaming.

  Per my instructions, both the cases were locked. Good thing I had a TSA lock opener on my keychain, lifted from a TSA guy I’d dated two years ago. I checked Herb’s case first. I could hear angry women trying my door about every twenty seconds, but the bag was clean. I opened Maria’s to find three cute stuffed toy tigers tucked under a floral muumuu. Then one of them blinked. And yawned.

  It couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks old. It was obviously drugged, so I moved it gently aside to check for anything else in the bag. I had to think fast. I moved the drowsy little cub to my Balenciaga—the first time I was glad it was empty—wiped the toilet spray off the luggage, and opened the door to the furious stares of a plane load of tourists, swearing at me in Italian.

  I had asked Roger once what happened to the animals they confiscated at Customs. He had told me, the cuter they were, the more likely someone would make the effort to save it. This little guy was off the cuteness scale. I moved to the pull-down diaper changing station. I had checked for security cameras, but kept my back to the door just in case. I wrapped the sleeping tiger cub in the airline blanket I’d lifted from the flight and laid him down on the changing table. I made sure he couldn’t fall, then ducked out with the bags and looked for Roger. He was standing by the carousel with the Minettis.

  “I need a pay phone,” I said.

  “You can use my cell,” Roger offered.

  “Pay phone,” I said again, trying to make my predicament clear. Herb spotted one on the far wall and I went to make a quick anonymous call to Security to report the tiger, while Roger grabbed the purple case and his duffel.

  As I was dialing, I heard a squeal. A woman with a bare-assed baby came running out of the bathroom and ran to a guard. I hung up, relieved. Gant hadn’t said anything about other people’s animals, right?

  I rejoined Roger and the Minettis in the next line and waited with trepidation as they put Maria’s case through the X-ray machine, cleared it, then let all of us go. At least my clients were safe from international prosecution. As we walked out the doors into the terminal, two Animal Control officers ran into the toilets.

  I stopped by the BA counter and changed the Minettis’ reservations, insisting they should stay in London for a few more days. That would also prevent their seeing me arrested at JFK.

  As I tried to figure out how not to hug them good-bye, my name came over the loudspeaker.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Was I on camera hiding the tiger cub? I gave them quick European kisses, gave Roger a worried look, and headed for the Information Booth. As I turned, the Minettis yelled “We love you, Cyd.” Suddenly, I had the feeling things were crawling around on my chest and legs. I thought for a minute I was going to be sick, then it passed. I arrived at the booth and gave my name.

  “Are you feeling all right, madam?” the Pakistani clerk said. I could feel a cold drop of sweat moving down between my breasts.

  “I’m fine.” I smiled and took the phone. “Cyd Redondo, Redondo Travel.”

  “Cyd.” It was Uncle Ray. “Are you all right? You got to London okay?”

  “We’re fine. You got my message?”

  “Loud and clear,” he said. “Don’t worry about JFK, everything will be fine. Hang in there. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Bye,” I said, relieved. Again, I felt a crawling sensation, but it stopped.

  I was almost frisked a final time at the gate, but saved by a woman with five Duty Free bags. Before I knew it, we were back in the bulkhead. I wanted to put my feet up on the wall just for a minute, but was afraid my pants would drift down, revealing reptiles. Roger asked if I had anything to do with Animal Control showing up.

 
“Let’s just enjoy the flight,” I said.

  We had our warm nuts and champagne, then Roger drifted off, leaning against my shoulder. I tried to watch a travel show, but it was filled with too much irresponsible information. I finally settled on reruns of Bones. At this point, Roger had slipped down and was practically nuzzling my neck. He was sleeping so peacefully, I let him stay. He readjusted again right next to my ear.

  “I love you, Cyd.” His voice was almost too quiet to hear.

  Even before the words got to my brain, I could feel something moving in my shirt. Something squirmy and slimy and maybe poisonous. All at once, I felt snakes and lizards and turtles squiggling all over me. I could swear a snake was headed down my arm and flicking my nipple. I barely stifled a scream and shook Roger’s arm as hard as I could.

  Two of the flight attendants noticed my distress.

  “Are you all right, Miss Redondo?” the attendant with the heavy gold jewelry asked.

  “Nut allergy,” I said, on reflex. Both of us looked at the almost empty warm nut ramekin. “I forgot,” I said, unconvincingly. Could she see the waves of reptiles moving under my shirt? Or was I going to be detained as a terrorist rather than a smuggler? I shook Roger’s arm harder. Finally, he woke up.

  “I need my EpiPen,” I said.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m having an allergic reaction,” I said slowly, gesturing to the attendant, then looking down at my cleavage. “I feel like I’m breaking out in hives and having trouble breathing. Almost like snakes are all over me. Please help me.”

  He finally got it, and came with me to the lavatory.

  “Roger you have to get these out now. Really. I am fricking freaking out.”

  “Hang on just one second. They’re in zip-locks, it’s okay.”

  “The ones in my bra are not in zip-locks, and anyway, a zip-lock is not Tupperware. They have fangs. Do something,” I said. I started scratching at the zip-locks taped to my thighs, trying to get them off me. He grabbed me by the shoulders.

  “Stop. Just look at me. Look me square in the eye and don’t blink.”

  As I looked into those Raisinet eyes, I swear I felt a lizard headed for my thong.

  “Okay, blink when I get to three.” He had me blink in an irregular pattern and count down from ten and suddenly I was breathing. The flight attendant knocked on the door, asking if everything was okay.

  “Fine,” Roger said, “just give us a second.” I put everything back in place and straightened my hair. Roger helped me back to my seat.

  “I thought you said I would stay hypnotized.”

  “It’s supposed to last until you hear the trigger.”

  “What’s the trigger?”

  “I can’t tell you. If I say it, you’ll wake up again.”

  But I thought I knew. Was “I love you” an ironic trigger, or a real one? They announced our descent into JFK.

  “So,” I said. “I just have to get through Customs and that’s it, right?”

  “Right. It’s almost over.”

  “And what happens then? Do you take the animals? They’re not going to die, are they?”

  “Not if I can help it.” He picked up my hand and kissed it gently. “You’ve done great. I’m so glad you decided to look after yourself for once. It was the right decision.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You decided to let your uncle take the fall, like he should.”

  “Roger, what are you talking about? Fisher said if I got through without getting caught that would vindicate Uncle Ray. That they wouldn’t go after him.”

  Roger swore. “Gant is such a shit. That’s why they wanted me out of the room. This is the thing: you were supposed to be the test.”

  “I know, I’m testing their Customs controls.”

  “No, the test was for your uncle’s network. Gant loaded you up with so many things, there’s no way someone wouldn’t pull you. So, the idea was, if you got through, then your Uncle had connections every step of the way. If the animals get out of JFK without being confiscated, then he’s guilty. They’ve got him.”

  “Kind of like if you drown, you weren’t a witch.”

  “Kind of like that.”

  I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. Something had seemed fishy, but how could I have missed this? I knew I could be naïve sometimes, but I didn’t really think I was a completely fricking moron. Dammit.

  The wheels snapped down and two minutes later, we were on the ground. I figured there was still time between landing and the Customs Hall to get a message to Uncle Ray. I reached for my phone.

  “Don’t,” Roger said. “All his lines are tapped. The office too.”

  I put the phone back and grabbed my bottle of pills, figuring the Valium Roger had given me was the only thing that would get me through Customs. Roger tried to stop me, but I sucked four down before he could tell me they were malaria pills.

  I felt light-headed when I stood up, but I figured it was just stress. I was tempted to leave my carry-on, but, of course, Roger got it down for me. We chatted with the flight attendants about the weather and then the door opened onto the jetway and I got a blast of the diesel fuel and salt air that meant home.

  Once we were inside the terminal, we followed the signs for Arrivals. We had apparently come in just behind a crowded flight from Nicaragua and there were probably a hundred people ahead of us in Passport Control. Roger kept glancing at me.

  “I’m still hypnotized, don’t worry.”

  “You’re sweating,” he said. “A lot.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been hiking with these bags.” Actually, I did feel a little clammy.

  “Let me carry that, then.” He took the carry-on. I kept a tight hold on the Balenciaga and Barry.

  Finally, we were next in line. I tried to be as normal as possible while they checked our passports. I figured I should at least get back into the country, where I had rights and knew attorneys like my Uncle Tony, before I did anything stupid. Roger kept a tight hold on my arm as we waited for our luggage. As the carousel went around and around with nothing on it, I got dizzier and dizzier. At one point, I saw my purple polka-dot bag and lunged for it.

  Roger caught me before I wound up face-first on the carousel. “What are you doing?”

  “There’s my bag. Beside the goat,” I said.

  He pulled me away from the carousel and turned me toward him. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Will you please get my bag?” He turned me back around. The carousel was empty.

  “How many of those malaria pills did you take?” he asked.

  “Four?” I said.

  “Christ. Okay, just hold onto me and I’ll get you through this. Whatever you see, ignore it. It’s probably a hallucination.” Easy for him to say.

  “Even her?” I asked as Agent Fisher breezed by with a diplomatic bag and jumped the line. Right now, she had the head of a Gorgon and the legs of a female wrestler.

  “Ahhhh!” I said as she appeared to bite off the head of a tiny Asian Customs Agent.

  “Shhh. There are our bags. Please stay here.” He put down my carry-on and started chasing the rubber merry-go-round.

  I felt dizzy again and leaned against the railing, being careful of the reptiles. A well-coiffed, too-tanned couple in suede ran over my foot with their luggage cart. I yelped. They just stared at me and turned into lizards until I remembered what I had to do. I picked up my carry-on and headed for the final Customs checkpoint.

  “Cyd!” Roger cried, but I kept going.

  Finally I arrived at the counter behind two people who had nothing to declare.

  I smiled and said “I do.”

  “You do what?” The Customs agent looked down at me. He had a veiny nose and smelled like stale beer and air fre
shener.

  “I have something to declare. I have a declaration.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, miss, what is it you want to declare? Your independence?”

  “No. I have five snakes in my bra.” And then, I guess, I fainted.

  Chapter Forty-four

  I came-to with no fanny pack, no turtle warmers, and no bra. At least I’d lost the La Perla saving my uncle. My purse, carry-on, and suitcase sat in the corner of the pale green, stuffy room, but before I could get to them, a thin, elderly man in a lab coat and granny glasses appeared.

  “Miss Redondo. How are you feeling?”

  “Where am I? What happened?”

  “JFK. You fainted in the Customs Hall.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Of course not. We think it was just a reaction to your malaria pills.”

  “What about the animals, the ones I was wearing?”

  “Yes, Bud told me you were hallucinating. That’s very common. Don’t worry, it’s temporary. Just take those pills one at a time from now on.”

  “No, really, I had animals all over me.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Where’s Roger? My plus one?”

  “As far as I’m aware, you were traveling alone. I’m sure it will all make sense once you get some sleep. Come on, I’ll get you a taxi.” He went out of the room and I tried to figure out what the hell had possibly happened. Were the animals still in my luggage? I was dying to check, but contained myself.

  The doctor came back, gathered my things, took me out into the freezing New York night, and helped me get everything into a cab. He leaned in through the window and patted my arm.

  “Tell your Uncle Ray that Doctor Bronson said hello,” he said, then waved. The cabbie asked where I was going.

  “Bay Ridge. Redondo Travel.”

  I pulled Dad’s compass from the side of my bag and held on tight until I saw the Verrazano Bridge, brake lights scattered across it like Red Hots, and we turned onto Third Avenue.

  The office was dark. I overtipped the cabbie, took a minute to figure out how to maneuver all my luggage and still hold my flashlight and Mace, then stood at the back door, listening. My head hurt from whatever it hit when I fainted, and I wondered if I were still hypnotized. I guessed not, as I hardly felt calm. Where was Roger? Where was Gant? Oh, God, where was Barry?