Known Crewmember

Killer's Coffee

       My crew is already waiting for me in the lobby when I step off of the elevator. Two of my coworkers look like they may have pushed the limit on the unlimited drinks in the casino.

      Gets them every time.

     I smile at an older woman in a wheelchair as she rolls by me heading for a slot machine. It's 4:30 in the morning and the casino is still as lively as it was a few hours ago when I was down here.

     Funny how no one looks twice at you when you're carrying a luggage trolley down the halls at 2 in the morning. Even less when you push it down to the garbage bins out back. Gotta love Vegas.

      I walk over to the front desk and smile at the man as he takes my keycard. A quick 'have a good day' from him and I turn my back to walk off. I catch the tail end of his conversation as I round the corner to grab a cup of coffee.

     It's not like Rachel to just up and leave without telling someone she was going to flake on her shift today.

    If he only knew. A missing shift was the least of little red's worries last night. The coffee is hot and helps a lot with making me more alert. After all...I'd had a long night.

    The crew smile at me as I climb into the van and sit next to Riley who is savoring her cup of coffee as if its her last meal.

    Hmm. I wonder what Rachel's last meal was?

    "Do you feel as bad as I do?" Greg asks from his seat behind us. I laugh at my coworker.

    "Worse," I joke.

    "That's not possible. I'd kill for a real cup of coffee right now instead of the watered down hot ground water they pass off as a cup of joe," Riley says.

    I've killed for less.

    The van ride is quick. Soon we're outside our terminal assembling our bags on the curve. I thank the van driver as I hand him a dollar. He accepts it graciously and adds it to the wad of bills he pulls from his pocket. He makes a face when Riley meekly apologises for not having any ones to give him.

    He probably has half my paycheck worth in his pocket from tips. And here he is acting as if it's a crime for her not to be able to tip him.

    Her face has a slight pink tint to it and it makes me angry. She's one of the most geniuine people I've ever met or worked with in my 5 years. How dare he make her feel bad.

    Van drivers are the real crooks if you ask me.

     He turns to me handing me my last bag.

    "What's your name?" I ask. He smirks.

    Kevin.

    I smile turning away to hook my last bag onto the j hook attached to the front of my suitcase.

    "Thanks Kevin. Have a good day." And a good life too as long as you never run into me again under different circumstance. Bet you have the most beautiful crying face when begging for your life.

      "Since we're early. I'm gonna go grab a coffee from Starbucks. That cup from the hotel was nowhere near satisfying," I say to my crew as we walk into the LAS airport. People sit at slot machines trying their luck one last time. Or maybe trying to win enough for a plane ticket back home. I don't judge. We all have our vices.

     "Sure Nora. I'll come with you. I could use a shot of expresso. Anybody want anything?" Chris, our first officer says as he moves to follow me towards the coffee shop. Greg and Riley give their orders and we pause for a second as the captain and his wife decide on what they want. The captain hands his co-pilot 40 bucks and smiles at us all.

     "Coffee is on me. Bring us back two large coffees, cream and sugar," he orders. Chris nods.

     "Will do, Mitch. Meet you guys at the gate," Chris says. Mitch, our captain waves us off.

      "No rush. The plane hasn't even parked at the gate yet. Take your time."

        People move aside as they see the two of us. It can be a pretty intimidating sight. I hate this uniform but I love the way it makes others feel...insignificant.

       Chris orders the request from the rest of the crew then turns to me.

      "What about you? Captain did say it was on him. Better take advantage," he says. I turn to the barista behind the counter. She's smiling at me expectantly.

      "Hi, I'll have a black coffee," I order.

     "Black coffee?" Chris asks beside me.

      "Just like my soul," I retort. He chuckles as he pays for the order and we step aside to wait.

     "You know they say black coffee drinking is a sign of a psychopath with sadistic tendencies. Should I be worried?" Chris asks jokingly. I smirk.

     "Nah. You're a decent enough guy. I'll let you live."

      The world needs as many people like him it can get. Men like my Bradley.

       He chuckles. "Thank you so much for sparing me Miss Flight Attendant."

      You're welcome.

     "Order number 22," the barista shouts.

      "That's us," I say moving to grab the carrier. Chris beats me to it.

       "I got it. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you carry all that?" He says, taking the carrier from me.

If only I'd met him before Bradley. He seems like a nice enough guy.

       "Let's get back before they decide to try and leave without us."