they reached Gate 36. They
slipped into the tunnel with the last of the passengers, just as the
man at the gate was preparing to close the door. Jane heard running
footsteps behind her, so she stopped at the curve and listened.
“I’m sorry, sir,”
said the airline man’s voice. “You’ll need a
ticket. We aren’t permitted to accept cash.”
“Can’t I buy one?”
“Yes, sir, but you’ll
have to go to the ticket counter. I have no way to issue a ticket.”
“But that’s way the
hell on the other end of the airport. Can you hold the plane?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but
passengers have to catch connecting flights, and we have a schedule.
There are five flights a day from LAX to McCarran. You could –
”
Jane walked the rest of the way
up the tunnel and through the open hatch, and she and the woman took
their seats. Mary Perkins said, “What do you call that?”
“Airport tag,” said
Jane. “I haven’t played it in years.” She sat back,
fastened her seat belt, and closed her eyes. “I hope I never do
again.”
4
“What
are you thinking?” asked Mary Perkins.
“I'm
not thinking. I’m resting,” said Jane.
“Does resting mean you’ve
already thought, and you have a plan? Because if it does, I’d
sure like to know what it is.”
“No, it means I want you
to be quiet.”
Jane closed her eyes again. The
plane was flying over the Southwest now, toward the places where the
desert people lived: Mohave, Yavapai, Zuni, Hopi, Apache, Navajo.
Some of them believed that events didn’t come into being one
after another but existed all at once. They were simply revealed like
the cards a dealer turned over in a blackjack game: they came off the
deck one at a time, but they were all there together at the beginning
of the game.
What Jane needed to do now was
to find a way to reveal the cards in the wrong order: go away, then
arrive. She reviewed all of the rituals that were followed when an
airplane landed. The fact that they were known and predictable and
unchanging meant that they already existed, even though the plane was
still in the air. The flight was a short one, and she felt the plane
begin to descend almost as soon as it had reached apogee. It was just
a hop over the mountains, really, and then a long low glide onto the
plateau beyond.
Jane reached into the pocket on
the back of the seat in front of her and examined the monthly
magazine the airline published. She leafed past the advertisements
for hotels and resorts and the articles on money, cars, children, and
pets. At the back she found the section she was looking for. There
were little maps of all of the airports where the airline landed, so
people could find their connecting gates. She studied the one for
McCarran, then tore the back cover off, reached into the seat pocket
in front of Mary, and tore that back cover off too.
“What are you doing?”
asked Mary.
Jane pulled her pen out of her
purse and began printing in bold capital letters. “Here’s
what you have to do. When the plane lands, everybody is going to get
off except you. You take as much time as you can. You’re sick,
or your contact lens fell out. I don’t care what it is.”
“How long?”
“Try to stretch it out
long enough to get at least one flight attendant to leave the plane
first. It may not work, but I’ve seen it happen, and when it
does, people watching for a passenger get confused.”
“Okay,” said Mary.
“Then what?”
“Then you come off the
plane. Walk out fast, don’t look to either side. Head for the
car-rental desk. Rent a car. Make it a big one, not a compact.
Something fat and luxurious and overpowered. They’ll probably
have lots of them in Las Vegas. Drive it around to the edge of the
building where you can see the Southwest baggage area. When I come
out the door, zoom up fast and get me.”
“What if something goes
wrong?”
Jane was busy going over and
over the printing on her two sheets, making the letters bigger
slipped into the tunnel with the last of the passengers, just as the
man at the gate was preparing to close the door. Jane heard running
footsteps behind her, so she stopped at the curve and listened.
“I’m sorry, sir,”
said the airline man’s voice. “You’ll need a
ticket. We aren’t permitted to accept cash.”
“Can’t I buy one?”
“Yes, sir, but you’ll
have to go to the ticket counter. I have no way to issue a ticket.”
“But that’s way the
hell on the other end of the airport. Can you hold the plane?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but
passengers have to catch connecting flights, and we have a schedule.
There are five flights a day from LAX to McCarran. You could –
”
Jane walked the rest of the way
up the tunnel and through the open hatch, and she and the woman took
their seats. Mary Perkins said, “What do you call that?”
“Airport tag,” said
Jane. “I haven’t played it in years.” She sat back,
fastened her seat belt, and closed her eyes. “I hope I never do
again.”
4
“What
are you thinking?” asked Mary Perkins.
“I'm
not thinking. I’m resting,” said Jane.
“Does resting mean you’ve
already thought, and you have a plan? Because if it does, I’d
sure like to know what it is.”
“No, it means I want you
to be quiet.”
Jane closed her eyes again. The
plane was flying over the Southwest now, toward the places where the
desert people lived: Mohave, Yavapai, Zuni, Hopi, Apache, Navajo.
Some of them believed that events didn’t come into being one
after another but existed all at once. They were simply revealed like
the cards a dealer turned over in a blackjack game: they came off the
deck one at a time, but they were all there together at the beginning
of the game.
What Jane needed to do now was
to find a way to reveal the cards in the wrong order: go away, then
arrive. She reviewed all of the rituals that were followed when an
airplane landed. The fact that they were known and predictable and
unchanging meant that they already existed, even though the plane was
still in the air. The flight was a short one, and she felt the plane
begin to descend almost as soon as it had reached apogee. It was just
a hop over the mountains, really, and then a long low glide onto the
plateau beyond.
Jane reached into the pocket on
the back of the seat in front of her and examined the monthly
magazine the airline published. She leafed past the advertisements
for hotels and resorts and the articles on money, cars, children, and
pets. At the back she found the section she was looking for. There
were little maps of all of the airports where the airline landed, so
people could find their connecting gates. She studied the one for
McCarran, then tore the back cover off, reached into the seat pocket
in front of Mary, and tore that back cover off too.
“What are you doing?”
asked Mary.
Jane pulled her pen out of her
purse and began printing in bold capital letters. “Here’s
what you have to do. When the plane lands, everybody is going to get
off except you. You take as much time as you can. You’re sick,
or your contact lens fell out. I don’t care what it is.”
“How long?”
“Try to stretch it out
long enough to get at least one flight attendant to leave the plane
first. It may not work, but I’ve seen it happen, and when it
does, people watching for a passenger get confused.”
“Okay,” said Mary.
“Then what?”
“Then you come off the
plane. Walk out fast, don’t look to either side. Head for the
car-rental desk. Rent a car. Make it a big one, not a compact.
Something fat and luxurious and overpowered. They’ll probably
have lots of them in Las Vegas. Drive it around to the edge of the
building where you can see the Southwest baggage area. When I come
out the door, zoom up fast and get me.”
“What if something goes
wrong?”
Jane was busy going over and
over the printing on her two sheets, making the letters bigger
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