DEADLINE

by Jerry Donaldson

493 words

On the Super Constellation from Tokyo I was seated in non-smoking. As soon as I hit the tarmac at O’Hare I lit up a cigarette. Inside the terminal I lit another from the butt of the first.

The immigration officer told me to put it out.

“Can’t smoke in here, sir.”

“Fair enough.”

“The purpose of your trip to Chicago?”

“Just passing through. I’m going to Winnipeg then Vancouver. I had to leave Tokyo in a hurry and I could only get this flight.”

“Problem in Japan?”

“Something like that.”

“You have a connecting flight booked?”

“Yeah, open ticket. Thought I might poke around Chicago a bit before flying on.”

“Can’t allow that, Mr. Kane. I’m going to ask you to go with an air marshal. He’ll travel with you to Winnipeg.”

“Right you are, then.”

“Checked baggage?”

“Nope, just what I’m carrying.”

“A shaving kit and a typewriter?”

“I travel light.”

“Go with God, sir.”

She waved over a blue-uniformed hulk. “Air Marshall Murphy, see that Mr. Kane gets to Canada.”

Murphy and I flew to Winnipeg on a DC-4. From our seats over the wing we watched flames belch from the exhausts of the big radial engines. We were in the smoking section and I puffed away.

At Winnipeg International we were last off the plane. “Gotta see you safely into Canada,” Murphy said.

“Fair enough.”

I spent three hours in the lounge drinking Mai-Tais. I typed fifteen pages, then tore it all up and put my Remington away. They were calling my flight anyway.

The plane to Vancouver was an Electra. As we ascended to cruising altitude I examined the contents of the pouch on the seat-back ahead of me. Barf bag, airline travel magazine (“Visit Spectacular Spain!”) and the Electra information card. (“Best Safety Record of Any Commercial Airliner”).

I was feeling edgy, so I took two valiums. A stewardess finally showed up with the drink cart.

“Beer, please.”

“Cup?”

“No, thanks.” I hate those plastic cups. They make me feel cheap and nasty.

She snapped the cap off a Dow and handed it to me.

“Be sure and stop on your way back.”

“We’ll see how it goes, sir.  You get some rest now.”

I drank my Dow and then another. I stared out the window until we landed in Calgary and exchanged some passengers.

I took my Remington out of the overhead compartment to have another go at the story. I typed steadily while a brat seated behind me fussed and whined and finally settled in to kicking the back of my seat.

“I’m going to have to kill him,” I thought. Instead I flagged down a stewardess and had another Dow.

I was re-reading the ten pages I’d produced when the captain announced we’d begun our descent into Vancouver. I tucked the finished pages neatly away and closed up the typewriter case.

I turned to the little monster behind me and said, “Quit kicking my seat, shorty.”