"Just verifying the seat," Brett mumbled, handing over the license like he was glad to be rid of it. Wilson took it without looking at it. "First class, huh?" He let the words hang. "You fly up here often?"
"When I travel, yes." Owen kept his voice even. "Is there an issue?" "That depends." Wilson finally glanced at the ID, a half second, then slid it into his own shirt pocket.
"Tell me your seat number." "It's 2A. It's on the pass in your agent's hand and on the license in your pocket." "I asked you." Wilson stepped closer, blocking the aisle, his belt buckle level with Owen's face.
"Don't get smart. Just answer the question." "2A." Owen said quietly. "See, that wasn't hard."
Wilson smiled without warmth. He spoke slowly now, a little too loud, the way you'd talk to a child or a dog. "You understand me okay, chief?" "You following along?" A few rows back, someone snickered.
Owen felt the old heat crawl up his neck. He breathed through it. "I understand you fine." "Good." "Because something about you isn't sitting right with me."
Wilson tapped his own temple. "20 years doing this. I get a feeling about people. And I'm getting a real strong feeling about you. I'm reading a book and waiting for my flight, Owen said.
That's all I've done. That's all you've done so far. Wilson leaned on the seat back. How did a guy like you afford a seat like this anyway? Points?
Somebody else's card? The cabin was silent now. Owen heard his own pulse. He heard the woman in pearls whisper to her husband. He heard Brett shift his weight, suddenly unsure of the thing he'd started.
I paid for it, Owen said. Same as everyone up here. Sure you did. Wilson straightened up and keyed his radio. Yeah, it's Wilson.
I'm going to need a second unit at gate B14. Got an uncooperative individual on board. Uncooperative. Owen hadn't raised his voice once. He hadn't moved from his seat.
He looked down at the face-down card on his lap, at his own steady hands, and understood exactly where this was going. Because he'd been here before. In a hundred smaller rooms his whole life. He just never thought it would happen on one of his own planes. Wilson clipped the radio back to his belt and folded his arms.