I was much younger this morning as I moved our suitcases into the seemingly endless baggage check line at the airport.  It wasn’t moving and concerns of missing our flight back to Indiana were evident.  We had left for the airport early, with plenty of time to make the 7:30 boarding. OK, maybe were 10 minutes behind schedule, but the dogs needed attention.  They were noticeably anxious, having somehow seen us pack our suitcases in the secrecy of the closet.  Traffic was not a problem and we cruised along with the bright sunshine in our eyes the only obstacle. It was a three-peak morning – Mt. Hood, St. Helen’s, and even Mount Rainier off in the distance.  However, there were no parking places in the economy lots, and my wife was starting to panic.  Thankfully, with the help of an attendant, we finally found a spot and quickly made our way to the buses.  Several had already passed and the one that stopped filled quickly.  Once we arrived at the terminal, we immediately spotted the long line of suitcase-toting travelers.

I could feel myself aging as we waited, but the flight was moved back fifteen minutes, easing some of the frustration.  We moved a few steps at a time, as those ahead of us shifted their baggage forward.  My wife was counting the steps.  When we got to 39, I was reminded of Alfred Hitchcock, hoping that a flock of evil birds would frighten everyone away.   Was I getting my movies mixed up?  “Inch-by-inch,” step-by-step, we approached the counter, as my imagination replaced my impatience.  I prayed security wouldn’t find the dead body in my suitcase.

We arrived at the gate just in time, having taken separate paths through the scanners.  She was TSA Pre, while I had to brave the next cattle call.  I was next to naked, without my shoes, belt, phone, watch, and wallet before they pulled me aside for additional screening.  Fortunately, the dead body was already on its way into the cargo area of the plane.  I had nothing to worry about at that moment, except for maybe the drugs. I would offer to share if they found them.  Truthfully, It always makes it more interesting if you pretend that you are carrying contraband through security.  Can they see it in my eyes?

My wife even had time to stop at McDonalds while I was cuffed and hauled away for questioning.  I explained that when I get bored waiting in line, my imagination gets the best of me.  They reluctantly let me go before my Egg McMuffin got cold.  She asked me what took so long, and I told her about the bust and how I had shared with everyone.  I went on to thank her for the food to satisfy my imaginary munchies.   It must be tough for her to deal with a retiree who has a mind like a child.

It’s so relaxing once you drop into your seat on the plane and realize that you just have to sit there.  No more packing, dog duties, driving, sunglasses, buses, waiting lines, or anxious wives.  She’s calmly sitting next to me playing one of her video games.  Very child-like in my opinion!  I, on the other hand, am writing this serious post, knowing that the dead body is securely stowed below. We don’t even have the hassle of a connection.  Chicago is about four hours away and the Diet Coke will keep me alert and imaginative.  We’ll grab a rental car, move the body and drugs into the trunk, have an early dinner at Joe’s Stone Crab, buy some guns, and make our way into Indiana for the night.  The outskirts of Chicago make me think of Al Capone and other gangsters like myself.  They’ll never find us!

After a good night’s sleep and breakfast at Cracker Barrel we’ll make plans for the next bank job.  The bags of cash help supplement my pension and social security in retirement.  It’s also good to have hobbies to help pass the time I now have on my hands, along with the blood.  My “work” keeps others gainfully employed like detectives, forensic specialists, and medical personnel.  As a public service, I typically flush the drugs so others can’t use them.  It’s the least I can do since there’s just too much crime already in the world!

It’s time to fess up!  I’m not Clyde and my wife’s name isn’t Bonnie.  We’ve never actually met Al Capone, but we honestly own some of his crystal dishes that were bought through an estate sale.  We’re simply traveling back to Indiana to see family and help my wife’s 95 year-old mother with some doctor visits.  I haven’t killed anyone yet, nor robbed any banks, and I don’t even own a gun.  I am, however, retired and enjoy writing stories.  A trip back home is never filled with much drama, except maybe trying to catch a plane, so I made some things up to make this story more interesting.  I would probably continue making more things up, but I have to stop writing for now to relieve the pilot in the cockpit.