“I’ll show you where it fits,” Skink growled.
“Just check the tanks into baggage,” Decker said.
“They’ll bust ’em,” Skink protested.
“Then I’ll buy you new ones.”
“Our handlers are very careful,” the flight attendant said brightly.
“Troglodytes!” said Skink, and stalked onto the airplane.
“Your friend’s a little grumpy this morning,” the flight attendant said as she took Decker’s ticket coupon.
“He’s just a nervous flier. He’ll settle down.”
“I hope so. You might mention to him that we have an armed sky marshal on board.”
Oh, absolutely, Decker thought, what a fine idea.
He found Skink hunkered down in the last row of the tail section.
“I traded seats with a couple Catholic missionaries,” Skink explained. “This is the safest place to be if the plane goes down, the last row. Where’s your camera gear?”
“In a trunk, don’t worry.”
“You remembered the tripod?”
“Yes, captain.”
Skink was a jangled mess. He fumed and squirmed and fidgeted. He scratched nervously at the hair on his cheeks. Decker had never seen him this way.
“You don’t like to fly?”
“Spent half my life on planes. Planes don’t scare me. I hate the goddamn things but they don’t scare me, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He dug into a pocket of his black denim jacket and brought out the black sunglasses and the flowered shower cap.
“Please don’t put those on,” Decker said. “Not right now.”
“You with the fucking FAA or what?” Skink pulled the rainhat tight over his hair. “Who cares,” he said.
The man looks miserable, Decker thought, a true sociopath. It wasn’t the airplane, either, it was the people; Skink plainly couldn’t stand to be out in public. Under the rainhat he seemed to calm. Behind the charcoal lenses of the sunglasses, Decker sensed, Skink’s green eyes had closed.
“Pay no attention to me,” he said quietly.
“Take a nap,” Decker said. The jet engines, which seemed anchored directly over their heads, drowned Decker’s words; the plane started rolling down the runway. Skink said nothing until they were airborne.
Then he shifted in his seat and said: “Bad news, Miami. The Rundell brothers are on this bird. Picking their noses up in first class, if you can believe it. Makes me sick.”
Decker hadn’t noticed them when he boarded; he’d been preoccupied with Skink. “Did they see you?”
“What do you think?” Skink replied mordantly.
“So much for stealth.”
Skink chuckled. “Culver damn near wet his pants.”
“He’ll be on the phone to Lockhart the minute we’re on the ground.”
“Can’t have that,” Skink said. He stared out the window until the flight attendants started moving down the aisle with the lunch trays. Skink lowered the tabletop at his seat and braced his logger’s arms on it.
“Ozzie and Culver, they don’t know your face.”
“I don’t think so,” Decker said, “but I can’t be sure. I believe I stopped in their bait shop once.”
“Damn.” Skink smoothed the plastic cap against his skull and fingered his long braid of hair. Decker could tell he was cooking up a scheme. “Where does this plane go from New Orleans?” Skink asked.
“Tulsa.”
“Good,” Skink said. “That’s where you’re going. As soon as you get there, hop another flight and come back. You got plenty of cash?”
“Yeah, and plastic.”
“It’s cash you’ll need,” Skink said. “Most bail bondsmen don’t take MasterCard.”
Whatever the plan, Decker didn’t like it already. “Is it you or me who’s going to need bail?”
“Aw, relax,” Skink said.
But now it was impossible.
When the stewardess brought the food, Skink glowered from under his cap and snapped: “What in the name of Christ is this slop?”
“Beef Wellington, muffins, a fresh garden salad, and carrot cake.”
“How about some goddamn opossum?” Skink said.
The flight attendant’s blue buttonlike eyes flickered slightly. “I don’t think so, sir, but we may have a chicken Kiev left over from the Atlanta flight.”
“How about squirrel?” Skink said. “Squirrel Kiev would be lovely.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not on the menu,” the stewardess said, the lilt and patience draining from her voice. “Would you care for a beverage this morning?”
“Just possum hormones,” Skink said, “and if I don’t get some, I’m going to tear this goddamn airplane apart.” Then he casually ripped the tray table off its hinges and handed it to the flight attendant, who backpedaled in terror up the aisle.