The Launch

Chapter Three

"Citizenship?"

"Two Canadians and one American."

"Who's the American?" The customs officer peers into the car, scrutinizing our faces.

"Him in the back." I point over my shoulder. "Ray."

"Where are we all going tonight?"

"London."

"And where have you been?"

"Ray met us in Buffalo and he's coming to stay with me in London."

He ducks his head down to peer at Ray in the back seat. "How long are you planning to stay in Canada, sir?" Ray doesn't move or say anything.

"He's a little drunk right now. He and JC had a few drinks before we got on the road. Typical American — can't hold his booze." I smile at the guy. He doesn't smile back. They learn that in basic training for border guards.

"Wind down the window, sir." He slides open the door of his booth and out he comes and holy shit he's going to go right over there and talk to Ray himself. JC watches him move across the front of the car and smiles at him as he walks by his window. When he gets to the door, he reaches his hand in the window and jostles Ray's shoulder a bit. "Good evening, sir. How are you doing tonight?"

Ray's head lolls over to face the window and his eyes flutter open and closed. He groans and belches. I can see from the dude's face that he smells the Wild Turkey wafting out at him. I can smell it from here. He looks over at me.

"Do you have any I.D. for this gentleman?"

"Yes, here's the driver's license." I pass the license across to Ray's window and he has a look at it.

"He doesn't have a passport?"

"He didn't bring one."

"Well, you tell him when he wakes up that as of June of 2009 he will need a passport to make a land crossing into Canada."

"I'll tell him."

"How long is he planning to stay in Canada?"

"Just the rest of the weekend. He'll be back to work on Monday. He's flying out of Buffalo on Jet Blue Sunday night. I'll be dropping him off."

"Uh-huh." He knocks on JC's window and I roll it down for him. "You're heading to London, too?"

"Yeah," says JC with a big goofy grin, drawing out the syllable a bit. "That's where I live."

"I.D.?"

JC looks at me. "He's got everything. Except a buzz, because he's driving." He laughs. JC, that is. Not the border dude.

"Uh-huh," he says again. Eloquent in its simplicity.

"Here are our passports," I say. I'm ducking my head down to see him out there and it feels like we're going to be in a little room soon. We're not selling this at all. I pass him the documents out JC's window. He takes them without looking at them.

"Will you pop the trunk, sir?"

"What? Oh, sure." I press the button and wonder if I'll think back on this day every single minute I'm in prison or if it will eventually fade from my memory. JC is resting his head on the back of the seat and staring out the front window. There is no sound back there for a second, then some shuffling noises and then the trunk slams closed. The car bobs up and down a bit. Here he comes. I think his name badge said "Doctor Doom" now that I think of it. He steps back into his little hut and looks at our I.D., then types something into his computer.