Root (30 page)

It was the guy in the sports coat. He had cut
into line behind me.

“
You and me need to talk,” he
said.

“
What?”

“
Remember me? Cleveland?”

Shit! He was one of the guys from the garage.
In fact, he was the one who had handed me the envelope.

My instincts told me to run. But we were only
ten feet from a couple guards with automatic rifles, along with a
whole slew of TSA types. They wouldn’t dare kill me here, would
they? Was he bold (or dumb) enough to carry a concealed weapon into
an airport?

“
How’d you find me?”

“
Wasn’t hard. We got friends in
Pittsburgh. Now all I want you to do is stay calm and follow me
outside. There’s a man outside wants to talk to you.”

I took a giant step forward to make up the gap
that had formed in front of me.

“
About what?”

“
Stop with that shit. You know
exactly what I’m talking about. You fucked up, Jim. Come on. Don’t
cause a scene. Come on and get this over with.”

“
What do you all want from me? You
know I don’t have the truck anymore, right?”

“
Mr. M wants to talk to you. He
wants an apology.”

“
For what? I did my job. You guys
stiffed me.”

“
Listen, kid. You’re lucky. You’re a
newbie. Maybe he’ll cut you some slack. He probably just wants to
see you show him some respect. Apologize. Make sure you understand
there’s no way you will ever pull that shit again.”

“
Tell Mr. M to go fuck
himself.”

The guy rolled his eyes and sighed. “Kid.
You’re just digging yourself a deeper hole. Now, I won’t tell him
you said that. So come on. It’ll just take a minute.”

”
Yeah, right.”

“
Honest. An apology. That’s all he
wants. We already got the stuff back. All of it.”

“
So, I apologize to this guy, then
what? He gonna make me say a bunch of Hail Mary’s and let me
go?”

The line crept forward. I was only a few
passengers away from being screened. Security guys were starting to
look our way. I saw one guy nudge another and get on his
walkie-talkie.

“
Come on, kid. You really don’t want
to be on Mr. M’s shit list.”

“
Why not?”

“
He knows where you
live.”

What a crock of shit.

“
Hah! Lot of good that does him. I
ain’t never coming back to the States.”

“
Don’t forget your family … your
parents. We know where they live, too.”

My eyes widened. This asshole was bluffing.
What else was he making up?

“
Apparently, you don’t know shit, do
you?”

“
What are you talking about? Come
on!” He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of line. I twisted around
and squirmed free.

“
Help! Somebody! This pervert’s
hassling me!

Two guards rushed over. “What’s going on? You
know this guy?”

“
He knows my name somehow, but no,
I’ve never seen him before.”

“
Both of you, let’s see a picture ID
and boarding passes.”

Mr. Sports Coat had this dazed expression,
like a boxer fighting to stay alert after taking a
punch.

“
I ain’t flying
anywhere.”

“
Well buddy, then you need to leave
this line. Only passengers allowed here.”

He backed away slowly, looking me straight in
the eye. “Expect us,” he spat. “Somebody will be in touch. No
matter where you go. Mr. M’s got connections. And he ain’t one who
forgets … or gives … an insult.”

He pulled out his iPhone and snapped my
picture. “Have a nice flight.” He smiled, turned and walked
away.

Chapter 26:
Roma

I spent a good half hour in the men’s room
trying to make myself look and smell presentable. I rinsed out my
muddy socks and sneakers in the sink, wringing the socks as dry as
possible before slipping them back on, stuffing paper towels into
my sneakers to absorb some of the moisture.

I practically showered under that tap, washing
my hair with that medicinal-smelling soap from the dispenser. I
didn’t care about the stares, and I drew plenty.

I emerged from that washroom a much better
representative of humanity that the one who had entered. At least
folks wouldn’t be as disgusted to sit next to me on the
plane.

I was still giddy over the idea that I was in
a weapons-free zone. Here, past security, no one could touch me. I
hadn’t felt this relaxed since Florida. I had almost forgotten what
it felt like to be calm.

It seemed unbelievable, but it was true. By
this time tomorrow, I would be walking through the same city as
Karla, breathing the same air, watching the same clouds. That made
me positively giddy.

Feeling so up, of course, negated any chance
of seeing her in Root any time soon, but I if I ever saw Root again
if I could link up with Karla in the flesh.

I wandered the terminal, too restless to sit.
I had thick wad of cash in my jeans but resisted the temptation to
load up on a bunch of junk from the gift shops. I would have loved
to have gotten a travel pillow and a fresh T-shirt but they were
way overpriced.

I passed by a display of junky earrings and
immediately thought of Karla, but an airport was a ridiculous place
to buy a gift like that like that. I was sure I would have plenty
of opportunity in Rome.

I did pick up a newspaper, though, along with
a Peach Snapple and a Kit Kat. I thought I might as well catch up
on what was going on in the world and calm my hunger pangs. I
didn’t want to stumble into the middle of a war or a natural
disaster, not that either were likely in a place like
Italy.

The front page had a big article about the
Occupy movement. I still had no idea what that crap was all about.
All I knew were the jokes and quips I had overheard in public and
by DJs on the radio—in other words, folks as ignorant as me. At
least I had the sense to keep my mouth shut until I had a chance to
figure out what that deal was all about.

Apparently, a big protest march had just
gotten busted up in DC with hundreds of people getting arrested on
the National Mall. And now there were solidarity protests popping
up around the world. My take on it? Good for them. At least someone
cared enough about what was going on in the world to do
something.

The chocolate bar only made me hungrier. I
couldn’t help myself and grabbed a slice of Sbarro pizza from the
food court. When I returned to the gate, I saw the pilots and
aircrew arrive in their green and gold uniforms. I couldn’t take my
eyes off them. They were real African pilots, not some European
mercenaries. Cool.

When the boarding announcement came, I
couldn’t believe this was actually happening. My heart thumped with
anticipation. I could feel Root retreating from my consciousness at
light speed, making for the weirdest mix of triumph and worry. In
one sense, Karla and I were getting farther apart in one world, and
closer in the other. I just hoped I was making the right choice
about which one mattered more.

I stepped through the gate and onto the weird
little bus with benches that would take us to the plane. Good bye
America.

***

I had only flown a couple times before. The
first time was with Mom and Dad just before we moved to Florida.
They told me we were just going to Disney World but in actuality we
had gone to close on the house.

I went down the aisle, looking for my seat.
For an African airline, it seemed as professional as any. I’m not
sure what I was expecting. Chickens in the overheads? Goats in the
aisle? The seats even had a video screen embedded in every headrest
with a selection of on-demand movies.

I had a middle seat, and both of my seatmates
were Ethiopian, as were most of the passengers, it seemed. They
didn’t seem to notice my sogginess, or the musty odor that still
permeated my clothes. To tell you the truth, one of those guys
could have used some deodorant.

Only about a quarter of the passengers were
American or Italian. This was supposedly a brand new route for
Ethiopian Air, though they had long been stopping in Rome to
refuel. Only recently had they started letting passengers off and
on, before continuing on to Addis Ababa, which I guess is their
capital.

The in-flight magazine had an article about
some tourist destinations with the most exotic names—Axum and
Gondar and Lalibela. There was a crossword puzzle too, but someone
had already completed it.

I was more sleepy than hungry by the time the
flight leveled off and the stewardesses came around with the food.
But the darned stewardesses woke me up every time they had
something to give. Man, were they pushy, practically shaking me by
the shoulders until I opened up my eyes. But it was probably a good
thing I forced down a meal while I could. Who knew how long my cash
would last in Europe?

I drowsed off before they had even taken my
dinner tray, waking only when the stewardesses had come around with
breakfast. I was startled to see the location screen with that
little plane superimposed over a map. We had already crossed much
of Spain and almost in Rome. It was as if we had been teleported
across the Atlantic.

That sure got my heart pittering again. Only a
few more hours and I would be on the ground. I wish I’d had the
time to buy a map or something. I had no idea about the layout of
this city or its transportation options. I knew more about Root and
Luthersburg than I knew about Italy or Rome.

But I was confident I could get it all sorted
out. Once I found Karla, everything would be fine.

***

I raised my seatback in preparation for
landing. The plane banked over a bunch of dry looking fields and
orchards. That was fucking Italy down there! Oh my God!

People clapped after the wheels touched down,
as if some had not expected to survive the trip. I sat there all
nervous and sweaty as we pull up to a gate.

I got up when the door opened and retrieved my
CVS bag from the overhead bin and waited to exit the place. Most
people stayed put in their seats, traveling on to Ethiopia, which
despite the tourist propaganda, I still thought of as a place
filled with starving people and scrubby deserts. I was glad to be
getting off here in Italy.

I stepped out into the terminal in a daze,
grateful for all the signs in English. I had no clue how to speak
or read Italian. The only words I knew were pizza and spaghetti. If
Mom’s home schooling had been deficient in any area it had been the
language department.

I cruised through immigration, which was
basically a rubber-stamp affair. I had no baggage to claim other
than the anxieties weighting my brain. I approached a crowd of all
these anxious, waiting faces greeting passengers.

And then there was a guy there, tall and tan,
with a cruel smirk that stood out from all the other expressions.
He held a placard bordered in black and gold. In block letters, my
name was written in Sharpie. ‘James Moody.’

***

I nearly peed my pants. I forced myself to
look straight ahead, but out of the corner of my eye I could see
this guy looking at people and glancing at his phone. The fucker
probably had my picture.

Why would they show their hand like that? Did
they actually think I was stupid enough to walk up and say hi? Were
they just taunting me?

I ran into the nearest rest room and locked
myself in a stall. These weren’t like American toilet stalls, they
had no gap below or above the walls, so I had this little
sound-proofed closet all to myself. I felt pretty safe in there.
For nearly an hour, I didn’t dare come out.

When I did emerge, that guy was gone. There
was a new crowd of people greeting the arrivals. I shuffled past,
turned the corner towards the ground transportation area and took
off running.

I found a map posted on a wall with train and
bus routes. I wanted to go to straight to Vatican City, but I was
shocked to see how far the airport was from the city proper. It was
like 30 km away, which is about 20 miles. I wasn’t even in Rome
yet.

The train—the Leonardo Express—cost fourteen
Euros, way more than I was willing to spend. The bus was like one
third the price, so I found a currency exchange booth and handed
over five twenty-dollar bills. It was a bit sickening to get back
only about seventy Euros. I hoped the prices I had seen so far
weren’t representative of the overall cost of living here, or I
would be screwed. I wasn’t feeling as good about the deal I had
made with those guys in Pittsburgh.

Euros in hand, I started walking away and
spotted that guy with the placard over by the taxi stand. The
fucker actually thought I was flush enough to hire a
taxi.

I left him behind, rushing down a hall that
led to a bus terminal, bought myself a ticket from a machine, and
pretty soon I was on a bus heading the right direction. I didn’t
know where exactly it would bring me, but I was pretty sure it was
headed towards Rome.