Say Cheese by Michael P. Thomas Page B

complicated situation, and it certainly didn’t require a complicated explanation, but Billy equated ‘simple’ with ‘boring’, and was always on the lookout for colorful threads to weave through his narratives.
    â€œThe police are on their way.” This from the cab driver again.
    â€œThe
police
?” Brant’s big blue eyes almost sprang from his head.
    â€œYou did steal a car,” Shep reminded him.
    â€œWe gotta get out of here.” Brant untangled himself from Billy’s half-assed embrace and clambered behind the wheel. “There’s no way I’m going back to jail.”
    â€œI don’t care where you go.” Shep slid into the backseat of Billy’s car as Billy trotted around to sit shotgun. “As long as you drop me off at the airport on your way there.”
    â€œThe airport?”
    â€œI told him New Orleans isn’t big enough for the both of you,” Billy said with the littlest wink.
    â€œFor real? And he’s leaving?”
    â€œI’m trying,” Shep said.
    â€œYou
do
love me,” Brant swooned. “Oh, Billy....”
    â€œOh, Brant.”
    Shep groaned. “Oh, brother.”
    The good news? This entire episode had unfolded within spitting distance of the airport. Several jetliners had screamed over the proceedings on their way skyward, and once he was back behind the wheel, Brant drove like a madman. Little wonder he’d gone to jail, Shep figured. He careened across the road like he didn’t even know there were laws about driving. The cab driver had let out one indignant
Hey!
as Brant U-turned heedlessly into oncoming traffic, but then he must have done some quick math and decided missing out on a half-mile fare would be a better deal than copping a ticket for rear-ending Billy’s car. As they sped by, Shep saw him peer around the drooping airbag as he worked himself back into the flow of traffic.
    The not-so-good news? Among those screaming jetliners had been We’ll Take You There! Lines’ one and only non-stop flight to LAX, which was now winging its way westward—without Shep.
    â€œIt’s just that we
really
wanted pancakes,” Shep told the ticket agent. “And then there was this car accident—”
    She interrupted him gently. “At this point, it’s not so much about
why
you missed it,” she pointed out.
    â€œRight. Well, what do I do? How do I get home?”
    â€œLet’s see....” She turned her attention to her computer. She clacked a few keys, muttered a few
hmm
s. “I can put you on our ten o’clock flight to Houston,” she eventually said. “From Houston, we have a ton of flights to L.A. They’re all jam-packed at the moment, but we’ll put you on standby. You’re bound to get on something.”
    â€œYou think?”
    She shrugged. “People miss flights all the time. Take you, for example. All you need is for some poor sap to go to the IHOP in Houston and you can take
his
seat.”
    â€œThey teach you to call customers ‘saps’ in your training, do they?”
    She shrugged again. “You wanna talk to my supervisor about my qualifications, or you wanna go home? The Houston flight leaves in twenty minutes.”
    â€œNah, I’ll take it,” Shep said. “Let the next poor sap worry about your attitude.”
    â€œThat’s the spirit.” She handed a boarding pass across the counter, then yelled “
Next!
”
    Well, this won’t be so bad,
he thought as he wound his way through the security line. Missing an airplane certainly wasn’t the biggest trouble he’d ever gotten into tagging along with Billy Bonami, and Houston was only like three hundred miles away. What would he be, an hour late getting home? Two, maybe, if he didn’t get on a flight right away? No big deal. He texted Felix, mostly out of habit.
Missed my flt Billy etc, going thru Houston, b home