Life of a Teenage Assassin [ON HIATUS]

8) Life of a Teenage Assassin ~Airport

            Brrr…it was chilly tonight. I wrapped my thin sport jacket tighter around, shivering as I lugged my suitcase onto the side walk. Then, as if by magic, a bright yellow taxi was there when I turned around. A rather large man stepped out, with a frizzy brown mustache and some gross dandruff (coming from the large white flakes on his shoulders and parts of his hair). Ew. He sized me, looking me up and down…considering me no threat since I was so puny looking. And yes, I am only 5’2 for all you stalkers out there.

            In an icy voice I said coolly, “It is polite to introduce yourself first to your client rather than stare at them like a retard. Wipe that drool and get your piece of shit started. I’m in a rather hurry.” I smiled sweetly, but my lips (stained a blood red to add to the affect…just kidding—it was lipstick) cracked in a kind of half smile, giving off a spooky affect.

            It did the trick. He jerked out of whatever he was thinking and unlocked the door with his keys. “After you ma’am.”

            “I would rather not be told to do so, thank you. And your name is…?” I asked as I climbed in. He moved to grab my baggage, but I quickly pulled it in after me. I had some tools that I’d rather not loose. Wriggling into a comfortable spot, I pulled on my shades even though it was night and slid them on. I could feel the cool, cold metal of my blade against my leg, where I stowed it. I smiled evilly under my shades…I was in the mood for some blood. Too bad it had to wait for another few weeks.

            He slammed the door on my side and quickly jogged to his and climbed in. Buckling the seatbelt, he quickly pulled it out of park and started zooming down the street. After we were on the highway, he seemed to have calmed. Angling his eyes in my direction he replied, “As to answer your question ma’am—”

           I waved a gloved hand, “None of the ‘ma’am’ business please…it makes me want to puke. I don’t look that old do I?”

            He laughed, “No ma—er lady, of course not…on the contrary you look quite young.”

            “Thanks,” I patted his arm on the steering wheel, “Call me Taylor.”

            “Of course, Taylor. My name’s George Harrison.”

            I slid one of my gloves off, my painted black nails glittering oddly in the moonlight, “Yes, I already knew that.” I looked up at his surprised expression, “Oh, I saw your business card here,” I pointed to the small white card in the ash tray in the cup holders. “I just asked you out of sport and manners.”

            George snorted, his eyes trailing on the road, muttered something like, “Manners, my ass,” under his breath. I chose to ignore this, as much as I wanted to pound someone…this wasn’t the moment.

            There was a lapse of silence, until the car slowly skid to a stop and he broke it by saying, “We’re here ma—er, Taylor. Have a very nice trip wherever you’re going.” He helped me heave my bag out and shut the door, waving as he zoomed off. I waved once and headed into the Los Angeles Airport.

~

            “You are kidding right? That’s my Sweet Pea lotion and you’re going to throw it all away? Because it’s too large? Like hell it is. Give me a fucking break! It costs a whole $24.00! Let’s see you pay that. Fine, throw it and give me 24 and I’ll forgive you. If not, well Mr. Police, how do you like a knuckle-sandwich?” I glared at the bored officer who was about to throw one of my best lotions in the trash.

            “The name’s Troy, Lady. I do not appreciate you talking back to me Miss. I suggest you keep the pretty mouth of yours shut and quit holding the line. Let me repeat: This substance goes over the size limit. Sorry Ma’am, but it’ll have to part.”

            “Shut the hell up with those petty nicknames. I am not ‘Lady’, ‘Miss’, or ‘Ma’am’. I’m none of your business and part of the AI,” I watched in deep satisfaction as his eyes widened. Shock played on his features…Hmm, AI must have worked up a reputation or something. “So I suggest you keep your trap shut, give me back my so-called substance and quit holding up the line before you get in trouble for bothering me and making certain impatient people miss their flights.”

            He had his bored expression on again, although it looked rather forced now, “I don’t believe you. You’re much too young to be in such a highly talented police force.”

            I felt a wicked smile spread across my features, “Would you like me to show you?”

            He coughed slightly and waved me on, “Uh, I’ll pass now. Here’s your lotion, La—I mean, sorry to bother you.”

            I passed an angelic smile, “You’re forgiven,” and skipped to put on my shoes and jacket. My knife had been stored in my checked luggage bag. It felt weird without the usual smooth metal by my foot though. I grabbed my over-the-shoulder purse and stored my precious lotion in its original spot. Looking around, I thanked my lucky stars no one was looking at me oddly. I already broke one of Drew’s rules (‘No telling other’s who you are’…as in an AI), but we had been talking in quiet voices, so I’m pretty sure no one heard.

            One protective hand on my purse, I quietly strolled down the aisles, looking for suspicious people and my flight number at the same time. In what seemed like infinity, I finally found C2 – flight to Denver. I was taking two flights, one to Denver and another from Denver to Fargo. I sighed in relief and plopped onto one of the hard plastic seats and checked my watch. It was only 7:15ish. I had about half an hour minutes before the first boarding call. You know? I could make do with some of that coffee at the Starbucks I had just walked by. Godammit, I’m too tired…but I want coffee too. Ain’t life unfair?