Book II – Chapter 04: Airport

Posted On June 19, 2014

Sunlight baked the pavement along the Di Egidio Bridge. It was the southernmost bridge in the city, connecting the downtown area to Tennant Island. Cars rattled over the steel suspension and a ship horn groaned from the estuary, but the road was otherwise silent. Few people ever came to the weed-strewn lots that ran along the water. It was a perfect meeting place.

The bridge cast a deep shadow that Demos was happy to hide in while they waited. The Italian was especially sensitive to the sun and Ferris often suspected that he might burst into flame if exposed for too long.

“He’s late,” Demos said, brushing a lock of black hair from his eye.

“Like you’re always on time,” Ferris scoffed, folding his arms as he looked absently at their surroundings. They were flanked by chain-link fences and their car was blocked from the road by an enormous slab of concrete. There would be no sneaking up on them, at least.

The rumble of an engine drew their attention sideways. With a faint squeak of brakes and a click of the ignition, their contact stepped out to greet them.

“Sorry I’m late,” the inspector said, dusting his sleeve as he approached. Though it had been years since the three had first met, little had changed about Seong-min Lee. His face, while slim, carried various signs of his arduous lifestyle. Weary shadows hung beneath his eyes and his lips would forever try their best to smile — try, but not necessarily succeed. His rather large glasses had been replaced with a slightly more fashionable pair, yet he had still managed to retain the same slicked-back haircut for the last five years.

“It’s all right, Lee,” Demos said, shaking his head. “What have you got for me?”

“Overheard it at the precinct,” the inspector explained as he flipped through a file. “It’s a different guy from last time. He’s going to case the restaurant.”

Finding the proper documents, he handed Demos a photograph and a slip of paper.

“That’s him,” Lee explained. “They mentioned tapping — didn’t catch when, so you’ll have to pay attention.”

Demos eyed the photo, committing the policeman’s face to memory.

“Tapping?” Ferris asked, lowering his brow. “Which judge gave the order for that?”

“Wasn’t one of yours. I’ll try to get the name, but no promises.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep an eye out,” Demos said, handing the papers to Ferris for safekeeping. “Anything else?”

“That’s all this time.”

“Oh,” Demos said, removing an envelope from his suit’s inner pocket. “Before I forget.”

“What’s this?” Lee asked as he accepted the inconspicuous slip of paper.

“Reference letters — for St. Basil’s. Suki is starting sixth grade next year, isn’t she?”

The inspector stared at Demos for a moment before forcing his eyes back down to the envelope in his hand.

“One is from him and the other is mine,” Ferris explained. “But you might want to just use mine. Demos’ grades were shit.”

Lee laughed, finally snapping out of his daze.

“Well,” the inspector said, shaking his head. “Thanks. It would be amazing if she could get in.”

“If her marks are as good as you said they are, she’ll be fine,” Ferris said, then glanced down at his watch. “Ah, we’d better get going.”

“Oh right, the airport,” Demos said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“All right,” Lee said, giving a brief salute with the envelope. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

“Thanks, Lee.”

The inspector stood with a hand in his pocket, watching as the two men walked away. Their tires crackled over the gravel as they pulled back onto the road, leaving him alone beneath the shadow of the bridge.

#

Though Demos was often in his car, he rarely ever drove it. Ferris usually took the wheel, leaving his companion free to lounge about uselessly in the passenger seat. Demos was currently gazing at the passing scenery, resting his arm on the ledge.

“What time is his flight coming in?” he asked, flicking cigarette ash over the cracked window.

“We’ve still got half an hour, plus he’ll have to go through immigration. He’ll probably have something stupid in his luggage and get held up in customs,” Ferris replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Ah, I miss him,” Demos mused, giving a fond smile as he watched the city blocks rush by.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Are we going out tonight?”

“If you want. I can’t drink, though. I have to be up early for the furniture delivery.”

“So responsible,” Demos replied, rolling his eyes. “Though it wouldn’t exactly be a loss if you missed the delivery. I can’t believe I let you buy it all from Ikea.”

“What’s wrong with Ikea?” Ferris protested, though he already knew what his friend was going to say.

“You’re living in an apartment, not a dorm.”

“It’s practical,” Ferris insisted, knowing perfectly well how dull he sounded. “And much less expensive.”

“All right, well, whenever all that particle board breaks down just let me know and I’ll take you to a real furniture store,” Demos said, releasing a curl of smoke from his irritated lips. Whatever the Italian had in mind, Ferris was certain that it would be four times as costly and needlessly ornate.

“Yet I’m going to end up driving again.”

“Well, when are you getting your own car? Mine is too cool for you — you drive like an old lady.”

“I do not,” Ferris replied, carefully merging into traffic. “And I’ll look after a few paychecks. I need to save for a down payment.”

Demos fell silent, turning to watch his friend’s face. He considered his words for a moment, knowing that the wrong phrasing might ruin the other’s mood.

“Ferris,” he said gingerly. “You do have… some funds.”

Ferris’ hands tightened on the steering wheel — it was a subtle action, hinted at by a soft creak of leather. It was true — he had inherited a fair sum of money only five summers ago. Its balance had, however, been more or less untouched since the day he had received it.

“You know I don’t like using that money,” Ferris answered, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the traffic.

“I’m sorry,” Demos replied quickly. “I just thought…”

The car was quiet once more, the air seeming to petrify in the space between them.

“He would want you to be happy,” Demos finished, keeping his eyes locked on Ferris.

It was then that Ferris wished he weren’t driving. If he could only close his eyes, just for a while, perhaps the moment would pass more easily.

“I know.”

#

Elsie S. Ott Airport, more commonly known as ESO, was even more crowded than usual. Cars inched forward on the roadway between terminals, raising Ferris’ blood pressure with every tap on the brakes. By the time they found parking, the two had only minutes to spare.

They weaved their way through suits and tourists, ducking past a family of Filipinos who were, for some reason, encompassed by enormous boxes of T-shirts and assorted chocolates. By the time they reached International Arrivals, the flight in question had already landed.

“Do you see him?” Demos asked, cursing his height, or lack thereof, as he struggled to see over rows of shoulders.

“Not yet,” Ferris replied, keeping an eye out for a blond, vaguely cactus-shaped head through the crowd. “But I don’t smell liquor, so he probably isn’t here yet.”

“I do other things than drink, you know,” came a painfully familiar voice from their side. The two glanced over just in time for their guest to swoop Demos into an embrace worthy of a romance novel cover, nearly lifting the small Italian right off the ground.

“Seamus!” he said, returning the gesture with as much strength as his thin arms could muster.

“And you,” the Brit said, releasing Demos as he averted his attention. “Come give your mate a hug.”

“But I just ate,” Ferris protested, a sentence which barely left his lips before Seamus hooked an arm around his neck, swinging him sideways to ruffle his short hair.

“Seamus!” he cried, though with much less affection than Demos. “Come on, people are… people are staring!”

“Oh, let them. I want to show our love to the world!” he said with a grin, rubbing his head hard enough to dislocate his glasses.

“I take it back,” Ferris spat, struggling in vain to free himself. “I never missed him.”

“Aw, did he really say that?” Seamus asked, turning his smile to Demos. “Did he miss me?”

“So much. You should have seen his tears,” Demos replied with a smirk.

“Fuck you guys,” Ferris hissed, tugging at Seamus’ irritatingly muscled arm. It seemed that, in spite of all his hopes, things had returned to normal.

#

It wasn’t long before the three found themselves in the back of a seedy bar, one which Seamus had sworn had the best prices in the district. One look at the low-cut shirt on the bartender made the real reason obvious.

“So how was London? What did you do?” Demos asked, already on his second scotch. Aside from e-mails and occasional phone calls, neither man had seen Seamus in over six months. Life had gone eerily quiet, as if the birds were missing in the forest.

“Oh, just laid about the house, caught up with my mates from school,” Seamus replied, marking off an imaginary checklist with his fingers. “Met a few nice girls. Drank.”

“So, basically the exact same thing you do here,” Ferris said, poking at the ice in his Coke. Luckily, being designated driver gave him an excuse not to drink.

“It’s different in England,” Seamus insisted. “The women there are so fussy. You’ve got to have a flat, a job…”

“How dare they,” Ferris said with feigned disgust. “It almost sounds like they want to date an adult.”

“Being an adult is entirely overrated,” he said, tilting his head back to finish the last dregs of beer in his glass.

“You’re like a big drunk Peter Pan.”

Seamus nearly choked on his drink, doing his best to swallow what was left in his mouth. Demos was already laughing.

“I’m going to buy you some green tights and a hat,” Demos said, clasping his hands together. “It would be perfect.”

“Speak for yourself, Tinkerbell,” Seamus said with a wink.

“Speaking of flats,” Ferris said, eager to change the subject. “Where am I dropping you off? Your mother’s place?”

“Ah, no,” the Brit said with a wave of his hand. “Staying with a lady friend for now. She had work though, so she won’t be home till late.”

“I hope you plan on helping her out with the chores,” Ferris said, though he was quite aware that Seamus would have no intention of doing such a thing.

“Chores? Don’t be daft. It’ll be enough for her to come home to this every night,” he said, gesturing to himself with two cocked thumbs.

“I’ll get you a list of motels,” Ferris muttered.

#

The sun was close to rising when Demos’ car pulled up in front of said ‘lady friend’s’ apartment. Pink light glowed in the distance, reminding them of just how late it was. Silently praying that Seamus wouldn’t get himself kicked out the first night, Ferris crouched to help him out of the vehicle.

“You sure you don’t need help getting up the stairs?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Seamus slurred. “Stairs got nothin’ on me.”

“I’m walking you up,” Ferris said, adjusting his friend’s arm over his shoulder. He had lost count of the times he’d done this — it was, in a way, nostalgic.

Demos was in no better condition. Ferris found him with his head lolled back on the seat, his pale face flushed with red.

“Great. I still have to drive you home,” Ferris sighed, shutting the door as he settled back into the driver’s seat.

“Just… just take me to your place,” Demos said, his voice slowed to a drawl as he attempted, and failed repeatedly, to light his cigarette. Without a word, Ferris reached over, plucking the backwards cigarette from his lips and replacing it — right side-up. Demos muttered his thanks before searing the tip and clicking his lighter shut.

“You know there’s no furniture yet,” Ferris explained as he put the car back into drive. “All I have is a mattress.”

“It’s fine,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Just hurry, before I throw up in your car.”

“This is your car.”

“Fuck,” Demos wheezed, slumping further in his seat.

Ferris found himself especially grateful that the apartment Demos had chosen for him had an elevator. Though Demos was much lighter than Seamus, he was also much more inebriated. He wobbled against Ferris’ side as they found his door, barely giving the other enough space to pull out his keys.

The flat was, aside from the ever-present piano and a recently delivered mattress, still devoid of furnishings. Ferris knelt, allowing the Italian to collapse pitifully onto the equally pitiful bedding.

“It’s nice to have Seamus back,” Ferris mused as he gently slipped Demos’ dress shoe from his foot.

“Mgh,” Demos replied, curling onto his side. He didn’t seem to care that his movements were making Ferris’ task more difficult.

“Did you really have to drink so much?” he sighed, holding his friend by the ankle as he tugged off his socks. Demos didn’t dignify the question with an answer, only peeking over his arm to watch him fuss.

“Ferris…”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes dark in the barely-lit room.

“I know,” Ferris replied, leaning forward to ease Demos’ arm out of his suit jacket.

“Do you really?” Demos grumbled. “Or are you just quoting Star Wars?”

“Would you be mad if it were the second one?”

“Yes.”

“Really,” Ferris insisted. “I know.”

Draping the jacket over his arm, Ferris stood to find a place to set it. Though Demos didn’t seem to care now, he would certainly be upset if he woke up to find one of his favorite blazers so brutally rumpled. Demos said nothing, only watching as Ferris disappeared into the kitchen. After a moment, he closed his eyes, burying his flushed face in his elbow.

“No, you don’t,” Demos muttered, his voice trailing as he drifted off in the empty room.