Guns, Not Roses

~Chapter Nine: Extra Baggage~

Hi! So yes, I've FINALLY updated this one! Someone inspired me and so here's the result. I hope you enjoy. Vote, comment, and above all, love yourself... Eh, the last one was total bull.

***

"...and please ensure that your safety belt is properly secured. The pilot wishes you all a pleasant flight."

Anthony Dekker closed his eyes and leaned into the comfort of his seat, ready for the long flight. He felt slightly odd. Dressed in the typical tourist's travel attire – beach shorts and a T-shirt – he was more than uncomfortable. He tried to clear his mind; to think of nothing but a soothing void of blackness.

“You’d think they’d play some Beethoven or something to soothe us,” a woman’s voice said from beside him.

Anthony was forced to open his eyes and look at her.

“What?” was what came out of his mouth.

“I’m a paranoid passenger,” she said genially, fixing him with a wide, porcelain-white smile. “I’ll start to panic as soon as it’s takeoff time. Happens every time.”

I don’t recall giving a damn.

“I’m Megan,” she said brightly, waiting for his answer.

But Anthony fixed her with a cold, hard stare that sent shivers down her spine. Megan Johnson was beginning to regret ever starting a conversation with him. She was just being friendly; overcompensating for her need to be liked by everyone she came into contact with.

“I’m sorry.” Megan had no idea why she was apologising when he was being so rude.

“What for?” he asked indifferently. He knew that he’d scared her; that much was apparent, although he didn’t care.

The plane jerked into motion and Megan gripped the armrests until her knuckles whitened.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she breathed, giving him a weak smile. Her gleaming azure eyes were kind and welcoming, something he was not used to from a stranger.

“Why don’t you relax?” he said calmly, regarding her with sudden bemusement. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Plane crashes happen all the time! Of course there’s something to be afraid of!” she hissed, shaking her head. Her mop of tangled golden curls fell into her face, making her look younger than she probably was.

She was beginning to irritate Anthony. Why were women so weak, so quick to tremble? The smallest things unsettled them; turned them into quivering, pathetic masses.

Cold hatred suddenly coursed through his veins. He had been afraid of flying once upon a time, and what had his father told him, on one of their many trips to Italy?

“Imagine me stabbing your arm with this switchblade right now, and then compare that to the possibility of this plane crashing,” he told the woman, in the same manner his father had told him. He watched her mouth gape when she noticed the glimmering blade in his left hand.

“H-how’d you get that past security?”

“Which is worse?” Anthony ignored her question.

“The… the knife, of course,” Megan replied, meeting his eyes.

What are you doing, Dekker?

“So will you relax?”

She nodded in response, visibly loosening up, although the rise in altitude was beginning to churn her stomach.

“Good. Oh, and Megan?”

“Yes?”

“You have lovely hair.”

* 

Ivato International Airport was located in the capital of Madagascar, Antananarivo. It was almost void of people, and the sound of noisy construction was audible as Anthony made his way to the assembly belt to collect his measly luggage.

He was oblivious to the admiring stares from the women he passed, and only once he had his black bag in hand did he walk up to one of them.

“Where’s the nearest pier?” he asked gruffly, looking down at the tall, lank raven-haired woman before him.

She looked him up and down appreciatively, resisting the urge to lick her full, rouge lips. Her name was Pfeifer, and she had a feeling that this hunk could give her a good island adventure if she played her cards right.

“You want a ferry?” Her voice was thickly accented. It was the exotic sound common to the Madagascar inhabitants – French, mixed with something else.

“Yes. A ferry,” Tony replied, shouldering the heavy bag.

“Come with me. I’ll take you,” she said happily, linking arms with him. She matched his height inch to inch, and to any bystander, it looked as though they had known each other for a very long time. Or were about to get to know each other.

Anthony prickled at her touch. He almost regretted asking her for help. Nevertheless, he took this punishment as his due, and allowed Pfeifer to lead him outside the airport, where the blinding sunlight made him slip on his Ray Bans.

“I’m Pfeifer,” she informed him, motioning for one of the cab drivers outside.

“Adam,” Anthony lied. Well, it was half-true. He was using his Adam Pearson passport.

“Mmm… Adam, like in the Bible. You believe in the Bible, Adam?”

“Where to?” the short, pudgy cab driver asked, looking up at the both of them.

“Take us to Montreux, please. Combien?”

“One-fifty.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Fine. I knock off a ten.”

“Deal.” Pfeifer flashed the man a wide smile. Turning to Anthony, she said, “Montreux is the nearest pier. Ferries leave every half hour. That’s where we’re going.”

“We?” Anthony headed for the battered Volvo. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Pfeifer gaped at him, putting one hand on her barely-there hips. The cab driver looked her over enthusiastically, shrugged, and followed Tony to his cab.

Once the car started, Anthony switched his BlackBerry on. Immediately, a message came through:

L’Île de Savannah. Any ferryboat will know where it is.

 The number wasn’t registered, but Tony knew who it was.

Staring out the window, he contemplated how to play out the inevitable confrontation with his ex. It was best to play it by ear, he decided.

The switchblade was in his hand as he watched the buildings flash past, a reminder of his father.

***

 Ivato Airport actually exists. I checked that out. Renovations will be completed in 2020, so it will look gorgeous! I love Madagascar. Always wanted to go there. As for the rest, pure fiction. Just thought I should let you know.

xoxo