The baggage proceeded down the belt like a line of squared coffins in outlandish colours and fake crocodile hide, interspersed with a few lumps of ecru and charcoal. Leon and Bullwick, graveyard shift workers, yawned in unison over the beige hulk. They had to shout to hear one another over the gigantic belt feeding the baggage into the x-ray machine.

“What you up to tonight?” Bullwick fixed beady eyes on Leon. He mopped at the sheen of sweat on his brow and shifted his portly frame on the comparatively tiny stool.

“It’s Mindy’s birthday. I’m going to take her out with what’s left after rent.”

Leon had been with Mindy for six months, while Bullwick couldn’t keep a girl beyond the drunken haze of the occasional Saturday night.

“Where do you plan on taking her out? The Crown? We could meet for a pint or two?”

“No, not a pub. No. Marco’s maybe, or that new place—Kiri-something or other… I don’t know.” Leon shrugged his thin shoulders. “I still need to get her a present. I spent too much on video games last week. I’m hoping this overtime is enough to get her something nice.”

“I know girls,” Bullwick said with a wink and leaned in closer. “You buy her flowers, right, and then she’s all yours for the night.”

“She’s allergic to flowers, Bull,” Leon said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I was thinking of getting her something a bit nicer.”

“Nicer than flowers?” Bullwick slid off his stool with a grunt and shuffled to the belt to straighten a piece of luggage that had turned sideways. “Whisky?”

“This is why you’re still single, Bull,” Leon snorted, glancing up at the conveyor belt. “You’re bloody hopeless.”

The procession of baggage was fairly abbreviated this morning. Perhaps he’d go on an early break, smoke and grab a cuppa. He needed the lift. His sleep was sporadic at best.

“Maybe a necklace. Scottsky’s has a sale on emeralds.”

“Does this look like a full flight’s worth of luggage to you, Leon?”

Leon opened his mouth to say something but his jaw clamped shut when he saw Bullwick’s eyes widen at something behind them.

“Gentlemen.”

It was the super, flanked by two men he’d never seen before. Bullwick stopped the belt and jumped to attention. With the din from the machinery halted, they could hear a murmuring commotion rising from the terminal side.

“What’s going on?” Leon asked, and eyed the silent men. They wore suits. Suits were never good news.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to get your belongings and take the rest of the day off,” the super said, his face even redder than usual. Mr Pinkerton, Leon remembered. He didn’t come down to the x-ray area often. His job was the paper-pushing sort, angry fliers with lost luggage and complaints about invasive body checks.

“Why?” Bullwick asked, before Leon could open his mouth.

“The airline has… ceased operations. Temporarily,” he said, cutting his eyes at the men at either side of him. “You’ll be paid for the rest of today but tomorrow we’ll need to see if you can be reassigned to another airline. You have fifteen minutes. Please leave your stations and exit by the employee entrance. I mean it—it’s a madhouse in the terminal.”

Without staying for questions, he turned on his heel and led the men back up the metal stairs and disappeared through the door.

“Well, that’s a load of shite,” Bullwick growled, scowling and sweating again. “Who does he bloody think he is, shutting us down like that?”

“Relax Bull, he said he’ll have us reassigned–”

“No, he said he might have us reassigned. You know what that really means?”

Leon started to pull down the black vinyl cover over the control panel of the machine and then dropped it.

“What does it mean Bull?” He asked the question flatly, mostly to humour the brute. He wasn’t in the mood for another of Bullwick’s union speeches.

“We’ve lost our bloody jobs over this shite!”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Right, well in that case I’m off to get my bag. You coming?”

“In a minute,” Bullwick said, pulling a case off the belt.

“What are you doing? That’s a passenger’s case!”

“Right, and a nice sturdy one. Might have some valuables in it.”