Scheduled Readings

Strangers on a Plane

“Someone likes the way you think.”

I turned away from the airplane window.  The man sitting close to the aisle was almost invisible.  I’ve tried hard to remember what he wore or what he looked like but each time I come up with blanks.  He was neither fat nor thin, neither old nor young.  He had hair but it was neither black nor brown, nor was it long or thinning.  He wore no facial hair; I remember that.  I remember too that his shirt was white and open at the collar, but whether it was a pullover or an Oxford, I have no clue.  His pants may have been navy blue or black, very dark jeans or Dockers.  He was as close to a living breathing non-entity as I’ve ever run across.

“Pardon me?” I asked, and immediately kicked myself mentally.  If you’ve flown enough times, you know you don’t want to encourage weirdoes who always seem ready to babble out their life story on long flights.  You know these things and you learn to put up a standoffish “don’t mess with me” front and do your best to hold it in place.  Trouble is, every now and again one of these bozos has a quirky enough opening line to get an automatic response from you.  Like this guy.

“I said, someone likes the way you think.”  He smiled at me.  It was, to my best estimation, one of the most sincere and non-phony smiles that I’ve ever seen in my life.  I’ll never forget it, which makes the fact that I can remember nothing else about the guy more disconcerting.  “I’ve been sent to recruit you.”

“Back up,” I said, giving myself another swift mind kick for egging him on.  “I’m already lost.”

He chuckled and then let out one loud guffaw into his hands.  “You’re a man who hates injustice.  You don’t screw around.  There are certain jobs that require your attention.  You are needed.  My employer has decided to recruit you for several jobs and you are going to enjoy doing them, although you won’t really relish the sweetness until after.  Then you’ll be ready for more.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said.  “I don’t know if you’re a kook or somebody’s idea of an expensive practical joke, but I’m diving into my book now.”

The stranger laughed softly.  “That’s fine, but consider yourself hired.”

I stared at him for a long time before I spoke again.  “I have a job.”

“We know.  Keep your job.  My employer’s work will be more sporadic – but satisfying.  He is very careful with the selection process.  You’ve passed all screenings.  Your conversation with your friend the other night clinched the deal.”

“I’m not for hire.”

“Yes you are.  You like money.  You love money.  You’re a spendthrift.  There is very little you wouldn’t do for the right kind of money.  You’ve said that before.  You are about to cash in on your boast to the tune of a little over a million.”

The stewardess came by with her cart and there was a high-pitched sound of air whistling through the jet as we moved ever closer to Houston, where I would hop another plane to Corpus Christi.

I sipped my coffee.  “You’re saying you’re going to give me a million dollars?”

“No.  One-point-one million.  Not all at once.  Several thousand a job, depending on how – challenging – it is.”

“You’re bonkers!” I nearly shouted, but what came out sounded strangled.  “I’m cutting this off now, for real this time.  You’re hinting at murder and you’re scaring the shit out of me.  I’m going to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams.”  He leaned over the empty seat between us and that catlike grin expanded even further; the genuine happy expression of earlier was gone and what was left on his mug was an ear-to-ear throat-slash passing for a smile that put a chill deep inside me.  “Dreams of one-point-one million.  We’ll speak again.”

I watched the figure amble down the isle to the tiny restroom in the back of the plane.  He never came out.