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"YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION, JIMMY," Santana begun, finding her seat in JJ's lap as the plane was overcrowded, "What's got you out here?"
"I got a little guide outfit in Saint Vincent, I was spotting fish," He answered, preparing the plane for takeoff. JJ instantly furrowed his brows, "What were you spotting?"
"You know, the usual," Jimmy replied, "Wahoo."
JJ and John B had shared a distinct look, one that minorly unsettled the Pogues. Jimmy cleared his throat, "I'd hang on to something, 'gets a little spicy on takeoff!"
Soon enough, Poguelandia was starting to look like a little blob in the sea. Jimmy was taken with his radio and sight on the sea, the Pogues able to speak quietly enough that he wouldn't hear, "Wahoo don't run in September ever. Whoever this man is, he's not a fisherman."
"Te lo dije," Santana taunted as her voice went a higher pitch. JJ awkwardly smiled, "I got that one, she said told ya so!"
"You didn't know he wouldn't be a fisherman," Pope argued, Santana scrunching her face. He questioned, "Maybe the run just starts earlier out here?"
"Are you sure about that?" JJ retorted, "In the damn Caribbean?"
Santana watched as Sarah grew uneasy, fidgeting in her spot, "No, no, I know what this is. He's working for my dad... He's probably been looking for us the entire time."
"The bag," Santana mouthed as JJ quietly said, "We've gotta search for clues."
She hoisted herself from JJ with a groan, squeezing herself into the small cockpit. She sat beside Jimmy, "Hey man, we totally got off on the wrong foot. I gotta tell you, my friend JB here's so into planes. He's too shy to ask, how long you been flying? When'd you get this bird?"
"What?" John B scrunched his face up, mouthing to JJ. That was until they noticed Santana stretching, knocking Jimmy's bag off the side of his chair, "Shit my bad Jim! Let me get that for ya!"
JJ luckily swiped the spillage from the fall, allowing Santana to put the near empty bag back on the edge of the seat. She kept Jimmy entertained, eavesdropping on her friends in hopes of a clue.
Nothing quite alarmed her, she scanned the dashboard and whatever was closest to her. There was something peculiar though, a group photo tucked into the corner of dashboard. Santana leaned forward, "Are they your friends?"
"What?" Jimmy snapped out of his dazed journey, he quickly turned over the photo, "Thought you were asking about planes for your friend."
"Looked like a nice picture," She shrugged, curious as ever. The two shared an uncomfortable stare, "Eyes on the skies, Portis."
She skimmed over the rest of the cockpit, a small journal visible to her eyes. It was embedded with the initials M.D, a small Santos-esc cross carved into the leather.
