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Dixon watched as the flight attendants first made sure that the unbelted passengers were all right, then cleared the aisle of spilled luggage. The cabin was filled with chatter and nervous laughter. Dixon watched and listened, his heartbeat returning to normal. He was tired. He was always tired after saving an aircraft filled with passengers.
The rest of the flight was routine, just as the captain had promised.
5
Mary Worth hurried after her luggage, which would be arriving on Carousel 2 downstairs. Dixon, with just the one small bag, stopped for a drink in Dewar’s Clubhouse. He invited Mr. Businessman to join him, but Freeman shook his head. “I puked up tomorrow’s hangover somewhere over the South Carolina–Georgia line, and I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Good luck with your business in Sarasota, Mr. Dixon.”
Dixon, whose business had actually been transacted over that same South Carolina–Georgia line, nodded and thanked him. A text came in while he was finishing his whiskey and soda. It was from the facilitator, just two words: Good job.
He took the escalator down. A man in a dark suit and a chauffer’s cap was standing at the bottom, holding a sign with his name on it. “That’s me,” Dixon said. “Where am I booked?”
“The Ritz-Carlton,” the driver said. “Very nice.”
Of course it was, and there would be a fine suite waiting for him, probably with a bay view. There would also be a rental car waiting for him in the hotel garage, should he care to visit a nearby beach or any of the local attractions. In the room he would find an envelope containing a list of various female services, which he had no interest in taking advantage of tonight. All he wanted tonight was sleep.
When he and the driver stepped out onto the curb, he saw Mary Worth standing by herself, looking a bit forlorn. She had a suitcase on either side of her (matching, of course, and tartan). Her phone was in her hand.
“Ms. Worth,” Dixon said.
She looked up and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Dixon. We survived, didn’t we?”
“We did. Is someone meeting you? One of your chums?”
“Mrs. Yeager—Claudette—was supposed to, but her car won’t start. I was just about to call an Uber.”
He thought of what she’d said when the turbulence—forty seconds that had seemed like four hours—finally eased: I knew we were going to die. I saw it.
“You don’t need to do that. We can take you to Siesta Key.” He pointed to the stretch limo a little way down the curb, then turned to the driver. “Can’t we?”
“Of course, sir.”
She looked at him doubtfully. “Are you sure? It’s awfully late.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Let’s do this thing.”
6
“Ooh, this is nice,” Mary Worth said, settling into the leather seat and stretching out her legs. “Whatever your business is, you must be very successful at it, Mr. Dixon.”
“Call me Craig. You’re Mary, I’m Craig. We should be on a first-name basis, because I want to talk to you.” He pressed a button and the privacy glass went up.
Mary Worth watched this rather nervously, then turned to Dixon. “You aren’t going to, as they say, put a move on me, are you?”
He smiled. “No, you’re safe with me. You said you were going to take the train back. Did you mean that?”
“Absolutely. Do you remember me saying that flying made me feel close to God?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t feel close to God while we were being tossed like a salad six or seven miles up in the air. Not at all. I only felt close to death.”
“Would you ever fly again?”
She considered the question carefully, watching the palms and car dealerships and fast food franchises slide past as they rolled south on the Tamiami Trail. “I suppose I would. If someone was on his deathbed, say, and I had to get there fast. Only I don’t know who that someone would be, because I don’t have much in the way of family. My late husband and I never had children, my parents are dead, and that just leaves a few cousins that I rarely email with, let alone see.”
Better and better, Dixon thought.
“But you’d be afraid.”
