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“I know! I know! I’m sorry, man. I’ll find her. Promise. I’ll get the books and the money back.”
“You’ll find her?” Gurnov exploded. “Where’re you looking? Up some little whore’s ass? What the hell are you thinking?”
Ramírez’s hazy eyes were tearing. He rubbed them.
Gurnov shook his head.
Fuck! This cannot get back to Nick.
It’s probably time to shut this place down. . . .
“No, Ricky. I’ll take care of it. You . . . you get the girls out of town as planned.”
[THREE]
Washington Dulles International Airport, Virginia
Sunday, November 16, 10:17 P.M.
“Just one more second and we should be done,” the gray-haired, plump female American Airlines desk agent said helpfully, smiling as she tapped keys on the computer terminal. “You really should consider joining our frequent-flyer program. It keeps all your information handy to speed up this process. Plus you get miles toward trips, so as you zip right through the process, eventually you’ll travel for free!”
The woman looked up and smiled broadly at the nicely dressed young woman with the pleasant face, intense green eyes, and, under a GEORGETOWN HOYAS ball cap, chestnut brown hair that fell softly to her shoulders. There was a backpack hanging by one strap over her right shoulder.
Will you please just hurry up and get me on the plane!
“Perhaps later,” the young woman said.
The agent nodded, then turned her attention back to the computer terminal.
I wonder what she’d say if she knew I’m a platinum-level member and have enough miles banked in my account for probably ten first-class tickets.
“You also should seriously look at getting yourself a passport,” the desk agent added helpfully. “It’s not required for Saint Thomas—your valid driver’s license is all the ID you need—but it does speed the process, too.”
Got one.
But sirens would probably go off if you scanned it.
“You’re just going to love the Virgin Isles,” the agent went on. “Hurricane season is as good as over, and you’re there right before the high season starts, mid-December, when it gets really expensive.”
I know. I was just there for two weeks.
“Do you like living in Philadelphia? So much history.”
And crime. Can’t forget that.
Just like our nation’s capital.
The young woman looked as if she were trying to be patient. But the talkative agent, who seemed to be attempting to single-handedly deliver friendly customer service for the entire airline, unfortunately was coming across as increasingly annoying.
Okay, I’ll play along.
“I prefer living here on the Hill much better,” the young woman said. “I don’t know what I’ll do when my internship ends, but Georgetown Law sounds like it might work.”
“Politics. Now, that must be exciting. You know this airport was named for John Foster Dulles, who was secretary of the State Department.”
Now she’s giving a history lesson? Ugh.
Can I just get my ticket, please?
