“Airport. Now!”

Typical Suze.

Two words. No explanation. No niceties.

“Sal, forget about the second coffee, love.” I wave my phone at her. “HMV!”

His Master’s Voice.

Sally christened Suze that when I first started coming to the café.

*-*

The GPS leads me quickly through the maze of anonymous side streets. Waiting to turn onto the slip road leading to the bridge, I switch the GPS to radio mode. The unmistakable tones of Big Bop Nouveau fill the car, my fingers relaxing around the first Camel of the day. In my head it’s me playing.

The time signal.

Seven o’clock.

The news. And bang goes any hope of trumpet practice.

“Pangaean Airways, one of Europe’s major airlines, has gone into liquidation. Details are sketchy but…”

Daydreams end as my foot hits the floor.

Sixteen minutes and ten seconds later, I pull up at the departures terminal, hazard lights blinking. The security guard is too busy controlling a rowdy group of strikers picketing Freedom Airways to bother about my illegal parking.

Inside the main concourse, a group of passengers look displaced, chess figures waiting for the players to arrive. Uniformed officials are conspicuous and, in the middle of it all, stands Rex, arms flaying like a child on the verge of a tantrum. Sweat beads across his receding hairline.

I walk straight up to him; the sight of me exacerbates the panic in his face.

“Where’s JJ?”

I thrust my key ring, with Dad’s three monkeys swinging from them, into the operation manager’s sweaty hand.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Why don’t you be a good boy? Go park the car.”

Upstairs in JJ’s office I flick on the screen. Suze appears, after a few seconds of snow.

Reclining in his leather chair.

Unlit cigar waving.

Trademark smile on his lips.

“Fenix, at last. So what do you think of my little machination?”

I stare back at him. He couldn’t mean…

His mocking laughter fills the room.

“There’s one thing you’ve yet to learn, Fenix. And until you do so, you cannot hope to succeed. Nothing, not even the tiniest detail, is ever down to chance. If it happens, it’s because you make it happen. You think your warnings about John Junior have come back to haunt me? Nothing could be further from the truth.”

He lights the cigar.

“The company folded because I wanted it to.”

He leans forward and pushes a button.

“Your warnings weren’t entirely fruitless. I’ve been keeping a closer eye on JJ.”

A video clip appears in the corner of the screen, time stamped 2.17am. I click to enlarge it.

A young lady removes a painting from the safe in JJ’s bedroom wall. White cotton gloved hands. Face hidden from the camera. She’s an expert, freeing the canvas from the frame, then rolling and slipping it into a long tube.

“I told that good for nothing his screwing around would be his undoing.” Suze sucks hard on the cigar. “That painting cannot see the light of day. But I don’t need to explain that to you, do I Fenix?”

“No, sir.”

“Right now, her case is under lock and key in our baggage area and she can’t do a thing about it. That, my friend, is why John Junior’s little company folded. Oh, I know, it’s a shame: the employees, the passengers, the chaos. Makes me grateful I’m not flying anywhere today.”

Suze is obscured by smoke.

“Do whatever it takes to get the suitcase. I can depend on you, can’t I, Fenix?”

Of course he can. I’m not JJ.

I smoke my second cigarette of the day and watch the video again. There’s something familiar about her… I can’t quite put my finger on it.

The fax whirrs with the press statement and it is time to go.

A barrage of questions accompanies the stutter of flashes when I appear with the press release. I hold my hand up for quiet and stare at the paper, sticking to the script.

“Ladies and gentlemen. With great regret it is my duty to inform you of the demise of Pangaean Airways due to circumstances beyond our control. Our company chairman is cooperating fully with the authorities and we apologise for the inconvenience.”

I dare to look at those present now that I’ve read the statement: officials nonplussed by the drama, journalists baying for my attention, passengers running the gamut of emotions. They don’t just want explanations—they want to be heard.

That is not my job.