by Slaton Smith
The old guy laughed again. “Accidentally?”
“You know, now that I think about it, that kid was gunning for me the whole week. He really had it out for me. Could have been something I said . . . ”
The old guy smiled and finished packing his briefcase and glanced over at Sean.
“I kind of like the lacrosse version of the story.”
“Most do,” Sean answered.
The pilot taxied to Pittsburgh International’s C terminal without delay. An announcement reminded everyone to remain seated, with seat belts fastened, but no one ever does. The jet bridge pushed up to the plane and the pilot released the passengers with the ubiquitous bell. Sean stood up and slipped on his suit jacket. It was clean. It was new. A subtle navy pin stripe number. Made to measure. A suit that fit. He had come a long way from the days of hauling clothes around in a duffel bag and having to borrow a sport coat before a meeting. His legs and shoulders were sore. Probably the flight from France - it is a long way, even in first class.
He turned around and looked into the back of the plane. Even longer for them. Everyone looked exhausted, sweaty and dirty, scrambling to grab their purses and laptops, consumed with collecting all of their belongings as fast as possible. Everybody but one. Her eyes were glued on the first class cabin, but Sean did not see her.
Sean turned back around and made sure his new friend could get past him.
“Well, please enjoy your stay here tonight,” Sean said.
“Unfortunately, it’s business.” The old guy moved past Sean and smiled.
“Oh, make sure you get her number. You certainly have put in the time,” he added.
“The old dog was probably the same as me twenty-five years ago,” Sean thought to himself.
Sean ran his hand through his dark brown hair and headed up the aisle for the door. Jennifer was there smiling and nodded at him. He knew she was checking him out. He felt better than he ever had. All the exercise had filled out his solid 215 pound; 6’2” frame and he estimated his body fat percentage had dropped to eight percent or less. He had been eating like a king on the road with no effects on his physique. “That’s what constant working out will do for you,” he told himself.
“See you next time, Mr. Garrison.”
“Looking forward to it, Jennifer,” he said, smiling and flashing his blue eyes.
He exited the plane and made his way up the jet bridge. He still had to go through customs, but it wasn’t too bad in Pittsburgh.
Sean looked to his left as he entered the terminal and noticed that two men met the old man from the plane. Both looked average. Nothing special. One took his brief case, the other handed him a folder. The three headed towards the central terminal and the tram. It looked like they were bypassing customs. Sean thought nothing more of it.
He stood in line. He talked to the agent who quickly waved him through. A tall redhead stood ten feet behind him. She watched him walk towards the central terminal.
It was 5 P.M. on Friday. The terminal was full of people coming home from a long week of work and others heading out for the weekend. He walked through the central terminal to the escalators, which took him to the tram that connects the gates with the main terminal. He did not forget to touch the head of the life size Franco Harris Immaculate Reception statue located at the top of the escalators. To forget would bring shame upon his home.
It is always best to get the farthest tram in Pittsburgh when leaving airport’s concourses since it drops you off closer to the main terminal. He walked onto the tram and leaned against one of the silver rails, attached to the side of the car. He tried not to touch anything. Same with escalator belts. Nasty. Never touched them. He’d rather tumble down eighty-five pointy steel escalator stairs than touch one. He already flew all over the world with sick, coughing people. He didn’t want to pick up the Avian Flu from a dirty escalator in Pittsburgh. Plus, he had read somewhere that the dirtiest things you come in contact with are escalator belts, hotel television remotes and pay phones. He imagined these silver rails in the tram were #4 on the list. He avoided them. He had worked in the restaurant business too long. He knew too much about germs. While he thought about germs and where they came from, the redhead entered the car and stood five feet to his right. He was oblivious.
Exiting the tram, he opened up his cell, hoping his ride was on the way. He dialed Brian Ippolito, his best friend and also his landlord.
“Hey buddy, it’s Sean. You on your way? I am headed to baggage claim.” Sean stepped onto the escalator that took him down to the baggage claim area.
“Oops. No. I kind of got tied up. I can’t do it,” Brian said.
“You have got to be kidding me. Come on man!” Sean slung his briefcase over his shoulder and put his foot up on the baggage claim belt.
“Tell you what, take a cab and I’ll treat you to a couple beers later at Doc’s. That sounds like a great deal to me.”
“It sounds like a shitty deal, but one I have to take. Thanks a lot.” Sean moved his foot as the belt started moving.
“Anytime! See you at home. Bailey is waiting for you. You know she does not like to be kept waiting.” And with that, he hung up.
“Bastard,” Sean mumbled. Sean’s bags were the first two off the belt. He grabbed both bags and headed outside towards the cabstand. The September Pittsburgh air was cool. He heard voices shouting to loved ones, others cursing as they tried to make their way across the street to the rental car center. He heard a familiar voice.
“Mr. Garrison, I thought you had a ride?” It was Jennifer and two of the other flight attendants, following closely behind her. He pivoted around to face her. She was great looking and nearly as tall as Sean with the heels on. Those outfits just always fit so nice. The international flights got the first team girls. Not the grannies you get flying domestic.
“Oh, hi Jennifer. Call me Sean.”
“Ok, Sean,” she said, stepping closer.
“My ride stood me up. He promises to pay me back in beer tonight.”
“Oh.” She took another step closer.
“I will believe it when I see it,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
“Do I make you nervous, Sean?” Her face was inches from his. She smelled great. She could have just jumped off the runway of an Italian fashion show. Cars and cabs were passing three feet behind him. He didn’t notice.
“Why do you say that?”
“You have a tell. Every time I talk to you, you run your hands through your hair. I like it and I love your chin. The little dimple drives me nuts,” she whispered, stepping closer to him and caressing his chiseled jaw. Jennifer’s flight attendant buddies were clearly not as taken with Sean and were trying to ease her towards the Hilton shuttle bus.
“Hmmm. I think I have figured yours out as well,” he whispered. He felt almost drunk when she spoke to him. She was intoxicating. Cars kept passing. A Pittsburgh police car stopped right behind Sean. The blue lights came on. So did the horn. Jennifer jumped. Sean didn’t. He knew who it was.
“Sean, are you in trouble?” Jennifer’s friends grabbed her to lead her away. The shuttle was leaving. As she turned, she bumped into a woman with a red ponytail. The woman hit her hard enough to knock her off balance. The flight attendant sneered at the redhead who did not stop. The redhead walked to a blacked out Tahoe and got in. All she had was a backpack. The flight attendant recognized her from the plane. The flight attendants gathered their bags and climbed onto the shuttle.
Sean shouted, “I’ll be at Doc’s!” He doubted she heard him. A uniformed Pittsburgh police officer with a shaved head emerged from the driver’s side door. It was Brian. He had shaved his head with several other police officers on a dare a couple of years ago. He didn’t need to shave his head, he just liked the look. Plus, Sean was convinced it pissed off his girlfriend.
As much as Brian loved being a cop, his goal was the FBI. He had sent his application in and was hoping to hear something soon. The process seemed l
ike it was taking forever.
“Surprise!” he shouted, arms out wide, as he stepped up on the curb. Sean half smiled. Brian was a trim 185 pounds, but with the belt, the gun, cuffs and the vest, his 5’11” frame looked weighed down and much heavier.
“Thanks a lot. Did you see what you just did? You ran her off. She thinks I’m some sort of criminal.” The shuttle bus was pulling away from the curb and Jennifer was looking out the window.
“You are. Maybe this will help.” Brian whipped out his baton and mimicked a striking blow to Sean’s head. Sean snapped his hand up and caught it. Jennifer covered her face and looked way.
“Wow! Great reflexes! I wasn’t really going to hit you, but I was tempted.”
“Duh. Very funny,” Sean said. Brian grabbed the bags and opened the trunk to Brian’s Charger.
“Oh, I have another surprise for you,” Brian said. “There’s a lady in the back to see you. Not one of the usual tramps you are seen with.”
Sean opened the passenger side rear door to find his fawn and white Boxer, Bailey, in the back.
“Hey girl!” Sean said, letting the dog lick his face. Bailey twisted and wagged her tail like only a Boxer can.
Brian climbed into the driver’s seat. Sean put his hand on Bailey’s collar and opened the front passenger door. Bailey hopped up front. There was really no room with all the junk cops had to pack into cars. Computer. Shotgun. Radio.
“No! She cannot ride up here with you. That isn’t allowed.”
“You don’t like dogs, do you?” Sean asked, laughing.
“Not true and that dog loves me,” Brian answered quickly.
“You talking about Bailey or Stacy?” Sean replied. He did not like Brian’s girlfriend, Stacy and was hoping his friend would come to his senses and dump her.
“That’s not nice. She likes you.”
“Bullshit.”
“You need to tone it down around her.”
Sean ignored the last comment.
“Am I allowed up here?” Sean asked.
“Technically, no.”
“Fine. I will ride in the back with her.” Bailey jumped in the back and Sean slid in beside her.” Brian turned off the lights and looked over his shoulder.
“Well this looks familiar, you in the back of a Pittsburgh black and white.”
The patrol car smelled like sweat and not in a good way.
“They are black and gold in Pittsburgh,” Sean replied. “You know you can make this thing right with that flight attendant I was talking with.”
“How is that?” Brian asked, merging into airport traffic heading for US 60.
“You could run me by her hotel.”
“How am I supposed to know what hotel she is in?” Brian mumbled.
“Jesus! Am I supposed to be the detective? She was in an airport Hilton shuttle.”
“Fine. Fine. Now you owe me the drinks.” Brian floored the cruiser and took off towards the Hilton.
“Hit the lights!”
“No, you idiot,” Brian answered.
“Hey dummy! Can you put some music on?” Sean asked. Dummy really was a term of endearment. Years ago in college, Sean had accidently called Brian a “dummy” in front of an entire economics class, during one of Brian’s presentations. Thirty-five out of thirty-six people in the class burst out laughing. Number thirty-six was the professor. He was not amused. Sean had a special meeting with the Dean regarding decorum. They had called each other “dummy” ever since.
“This is a police car,” Brian replied looking at Sean in the rearview mirror.
“I guess that is a ‘no’ then.”
“Yeah, dummy, it’s a no,” Brian said, shaking his head.
Within three minutes they were right behind the shuttle and followed it into the hotel lot and under the Hilton’s portico. Brian pulled right behind the shuttle and got out of the car. Sean pulled the door handle but it was locked.
“Brian! Let me out!” Sean shouted. Brian ignored him and walked over to the flight attendants. Sean could not hear them but he could tell they were laughing. Occasionally Brian would gesture towards the car and they would laugh some more. After several minutes, Brian returned to the car.
“Wow! What great girls! They love my uniform. I told them I liked theirs,” he chuckled and buckled his seatbelt.
“What did you tell them?” Sean asked, slightly frustrated.
“I told them you were being arrested for being a douche bag, but I was going to release you into the custody of the dog. They seemed to buy it.”
Brian laughed. “But seriously, I told them I was your ride and you are very important and they should try to make it out tonight. If this does not get you laid, I don’t know what will.” Brian pulled out of the Hilton lot and headed towards downtown. Seconds later, the black Tahoe did the same.
“Fantastic. You know, your car smells,” Sean said as he leaned back in the seat. Bailey rested her head on his lap.
“Shut up.”
Brian flew up Greentree Hill, past the tarnished gold WDVE building and back down the other side. He shot through the Fort Pitt Tunnel, which opens up to one of the best views in the world. You can see Heinz Field, PNC Park and all of downtown. He took I-376 towards Forbes Avenue and the University of Pittsburgh on the way to Shadyside.
Forbes Avenue took them through Oakland, past the “O” and the Cathedral of Learning, Carnegie Library and Science Center. Right past the museum is Carnegie Mellon where all the eggheads go. Sean thought Mark Cuban might have gone there. He was not one hundred percent on that. Brian took his first left, drove past egghead dorms, the egghead SAE house and turned right on Fifth Avenue and into Shadyside.
Home.
Shadyside is an old residential area once home to the city’s steel executives. It now has blocks of great old homes, tree-lined streets and some of the best restaurants and bars in Pittsburgh. Brian owns a home on St. James Street, right in the middle of it, one block off of the Walnut Street retail area.
St. James is approximately three quarters of mile long. It is lined with big trees and average sized sidewalks. Brian’s house is a four bedroom built in 1926. Nice porch. Huge basement. New kitchen and most importantly, one of the few driveways and garages on the street. It was a great house. It even had that good “old house smell.” Old houses had a smell. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. Brian inherited the house, stock and some cash from his grandparents. Brian and Sean were roommates all through college and Brian let him live there for next to nothing. During their freshman year, Brian’s family basically adopted Sean and looked after him all through college.
Brian pulled the Charger into his narrow driveway, jumped out and opened the rear door for Bailey and Sean. Sean looked up at the garage. His beat up Jeep was in there, along side a new black on black E63.
“We going to take the Benz out tonight?” Sean asked, knowing the answer. The car was one step away from a racecar. Brian never let Sean near it.
“What? The bar is on the next block. No! We will walk.”
Brian grabbed one of the bags and Bailey followed both of them to the back of the house. She was not a dog that would just suddenly run away and was rarely on a leash. She followed Sean everywhere.
Adjacent to the driveway was a large deck with several pieces of patio furniture scattered about. The kitchen door opened off of the deck. The door was original to the house and full of character. The wood near the bottom right side was worn from years of people nudging it with their feet to get it open. It was made of thick oak - a window covered the top half of the door. Over the years, the window’s ancient glass had picked up a wave that all old glass eventually gets. It was amazing it had never broken as it rattled in the frame every time the door shut. It was going to take an act of god to break that glass.
Sean walked through the kitchen, threw his bag down, dropped and immediately started knocking out push-ups. He didn’t know why. He just felt like it.
Brian came in right after him and stopped
when he saw Sean.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Get off the floor! Grab a beer and relax.”
“You’re the one yelling,” Sean answered, popping up to his feet.
“You’re acting like a freak. You still have a suit on for crying out loud!” Brian said opening the fridge. He had noticed Sean’s crazy obsession with exercise, but had not really said anything. It was getting to be too much.
Sean grabbed a Rolling Rock and popped it open on the way to the living room. He flopped down on the leather couch; Bailey lay down next to him. In addition to the couch, the room was furnished with two leather club chairs, a chest that served as a coffee table and a couple of random Persian rugs. The staircase behind the couch led to the second floor. The original wood floors added to the look and warmth of the house. Adjacent to the living room was a study and dining room. Off the kitchen were the stairs to the basement.