Unorganized Crime

2

The airport wasn't extremely busy, to my dismay. It seemed like a normal day, especially at noon. People at baggage claim searched for and grabbed their various luggage and whatnot. The TSA kept moving, as usual; parents helped kids take off their shoes and thr employees confiscated water bottles. Jet-lagged passengers hailed taxis and lugged their suitcases into the trunks of the cars. I sat in the lounge with a coffee in my hand and my phone in the other. A briefcase sat at my feet, picked up to make me appear like a businessman. My gun was in my suit coat, and I could feel the cool metal through my dress shirt.

My eyes flitted from arrival to arrival, glancing over their wrists and hands and luggage, looking for whatever indicator of a member of the group. The capo hadn't described what the tattoo was supposed to look like, but I figured I'd know it when I saw it. A good amount of people waiting at baggage claim had gloves on, unfortunately. It shouldn't have been too much of a surprise since it was cooling down here in Chicago. Someone sat a chair away from me and I instinctively shifted in my jacket as to hide my weapon. My attention was soon driven to a commotion near the baggage claim. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a pale complexion was raising his voice, talking with an employee from the airport. He wore a leather jacket and a ushanka that covered his ears and he spoke with a thick accent, making it harder to understand him as his voice rose.

"I don't understand why you can't let me through!" He looked angry. The employee shook a bit, clearly not equipped to deal with a situation like this.

"Sir-sir, you only have your passport on you. I can't, um, let you go unless you have some sort of visa or-or even an ESTA... I don't know how you even got here without one, but-but I need proof of some sort of authorization"

I noticed a mark on the inside of his right hand, on his palm, a tattoo. It looked like a... winged arrow? It was hard to see from where I was sitting, but that was what it appeared to be. That must be it! Setting down my coffee, I shoved my phone into my pocket and picked up the briefcase by my feet and straightened my bowler. I walked over to the scene, where the man was waving his hands and arguing with the employee. I slid in between the two and cleared my throat, catching the attention of both parties.

"Ma'am, ma'am! There is no need to tell off my friend here! He's simply misplaced his ESTA and had asked me to bring it for him." I said politely, putting on a slight smirk and trying my best to downplay the situation. I materialized the document from my briefcase, filled with fake information. I printed it out the night before, in case I needed one.

"Wait, what?" The employee stuttered out, grabbing the document and scanning over it. She sighed, her eyes wide. "Okay, okay, this is valid, you can go."

I turned to the man, who looked confused and said, "C'mon, let's go." I started walking to the doors and glanced back quickly, to see if he was following me. The man followed obediently, which surprised me. We made it outside, standing alongside people carrying suitcases and backpacks while waiting for their rides to arrive. I put my hand out and smirked.

"Your name?"

He cautiously took my hand and shook, his grip firm. His hands felt calloused and cold, and I noticed another tattoo on his knuckle, an X.

"Boris." He answered, short. Even through his accent, I could understand him now that he wasn't yelling. I tightened my grip, my eyes narrowing.

"Well, Boris. I'd suggest you be more careful around strangers, you never know who you could be dealing with." I let go of his hand and straightened my jacket, opening it slightly, making sure he could see my gun. His face remained partly stoic, but his eyes narrowed just a bit.

"I come here seeking an escape from that lifestyle and as soon as I'm off the plane, I am threatened." He huffed. "What do you want from me?"

I hailed a taxi with a whistle, spooking some other people. "Get into the taxi and you'll see."