Her Birthday Celebration Was My Exit novel · Chapter 13 of 24
Chapter 13: The Binder
"Then we go get it," Ryder said.
"We don't do anything. You've got fourteen stitches."
"I've got a whole other hand."
"Ryder." I turned my hand over under his and held on. "That hangar belongs to men who carry guns to birthday parties. You're not walking in there with your hand in a bandage."
"And you are?"
"I've walked in there every day for two years. They know my face."
Tommy pointed his spoon at me. "Then I'm coming."
"You've got a shift."
"I'll quit the shift."
"You'll keep the shift. You just got the shift."
The landlady blew smoke at the ceiling.
"Take your father," she said. "Men like that don't shoot anybody's father in front of a witness. It's bad for business."
Nobody had a better idea.
In the morning I called the number on the agent's card.
The woman answered on the first ring.
"I know where the original is," I said. "I'm going to get it. I'm telling you before I leave the state, like you said."
There was a pause on the line.
"Where?"
I told her.
"Don't take it off the shelf," she said. "Don't touch it. Whoever hands it over, I want to take it from their hand myself. I'll be in the parking lot."
On Monday, December 14, Pop drove me to Chicago Executive in the Buick.
He'd put on his good flannel shirt and his O'Hare union jacket.
"I spent thirty-five years walking into hangars," he said. "Nobody stops a man in this jacket."
"Pop, these aren't ramp guys."
"Everybody's a ramp guy, Lali. Some of them just have nicer cars."
The agents' sedan was parked by the fence with the engine running.
The woman lifted two fingers off the wheel at me.
I didn't wave back.
The hangar door was open a crack, letting out heat and light.
The Gulfstream sat inside where I'd left her, white and silver, the crest on the tail.
Somebody had washed her. Somebody else was flying her now.
Two men stood inside the door in long coats.
I knew them both. One of them had carried my suitcases up to the manor the day I moved in.
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