Chapter Eleven
Monday afternoon, both Charleston and Gary were seated next to one another on an Airbus 320 destined for La Guardia in New York.
Seating had been arranged prior to the Lydia/labia kerfuffle. Each had driven his own car and paid to store it at the airport's long-term lot.
Gary, at the aisle, called to the stewardess. “Miss. Miss. I need to move to a different seat. Okay?”
Charleston rolled his eyes, and he stared out the portal at the other jets at the terminal.
The middle-aged flight attendant shook her head with contrition. “This flight is full, sir.”
“Look, look. Angie? Yeah. Beautiful name. I don't trust this guy. Look at him. He's swarthy. I think he could be Al Qaeda. You should kick him off the plane.”
The woman stiffened, trepidation in her face.
Charleston tu
