Greyson
Morning traffic had picked up by the time I parked my car a few blocks from The Wasteland. Even though I hadn't slept, I felt rejuvenated by the information concerning Cecilia's whereabouts. I would do more research on the plane and while waiting at O'Hare. A direct flight to Boston on such short notice was more than I could ask for.
It should go without saying that my plan for greatness included a private jet.
At least I was flying first class.
Did that count?
The sky above me was crystal clear and a vibrant shade of blue as I walked past one of the marinas. A big blue cigarette boat caught my attention. This wasn't the marina where I was taken last night; nevertheless, I was certain I was seeing my transport.
My gaze went up and down the pier, searching for the driver f
