And God Laughed by Joe Rielinger

Author:Joe Rielinger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, contemporary, trans, private detective, crime, murder mystery, suspense, family drama, priests, law enforcement, serial killer, religion, revenge
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2022-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

LIKE THE TRIP out, the trip back from New Orleans had its high and low points. On a pleasant note, the plane boarded on time. We were more familiar with the Cleveland airport, so Hannah and I assumed our flight had been called in error. Once we realized there was no mistake, we gathered our carry-on bags, boarded, and found our seats. Based on the sudden constriction in my arm, that was also the time Hannah’s fear of flying set in for real.

“You know,” I said, “you could have gotten something to drink like every other red-blooded American who hates to fly.”

“That would be completely unprofessional,” Hannah replied. “Besides, do you have any idea how much they charge for alcohol in an airport? Not to mention that if I drank too much, you’d have to drive my car. There’s no way I’m letting you behind the wheel of my BMW. I’m not even sure the car would let you drive it.”

“Trust me, I have a lot of experience being rejected by cars.”

Fortunately for the circulation in my arm, a young boy came to my aid. Sitting directly behind Hannah, the boy started to kick the back of her seat the moment we began taxiing down the runway.

Hannah withstood this impact to the limit of her patience—about ten seconds by my count. At that point, she turned around and gave the boy a stare. I’d seen the look before, a gaze that said, “You’re dead; you just don’t know it yet.” Hannah continued to stare, and the kid stared back. Eventually, Hannah wore him down, and the kid sort of shrank back into his seat. He looked more than a little stunned.

She glanced at me and whispered, “I guess he’s not going to do that anymore.”

I looked back at the boy. He had the dazed stare of a child forced to watch an adult horror movie just before bedtime. “I don’t think he’s going to be doing much of anything anymore. He appears to be catatonic.”

“He’s fine. Don’t be such a worrywart.”

“I don’t know. I think you broke him.”

Luckily for me, this interaction took place during takeoff, the time when Hannah would have normally been wearing divots in my right arm. I figured I owed the kid. If he showed any signs of consciousness, I should probably give him a tip.

The rest of the flight was more uneventful, although I wasn’t nearly as lucky during landing. With my friend behind us now out of commission, Hannah had nothing to distract her from the threat of an imminent crash. I tried to hide my arm, but that didn’t deter her in the slightest.

“Remember,” she said, “your arm isn’t the only thing I could grab.”

Despite my lack of what she so sweetly called “guy parts,” I still felt a shiver. In fairness, Hannah did try to take it a little easier this time. At least I could still feel my fingers after we set down on the runway.

After we exited the plane

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