Chapter 122: Fatale, Part 2

Klempner

In Arrivals, the baggage carousel takes fucking ages to produce anything at all. After fifteen minutes, it vomits a small overnight case from the chute which travels a 360 circuit, drawing no more attention than muttering and complaints from the waiting crowd.

The ceilings are low and the air suffocating.

Could murder a beer...

Bored, I lean against a wall, ankles crossed, fishing my phone from a pocket.

Anything new?

A message pops up: James.

Hmmm...

The last time we spoke, he blasted me out for fucking up his life.

The Sender has requested a Read Receipt - Yes/No?

I let my finger hover, then tap, Yes.

Shading the screen with a cupped hand against possible observers, I read James' message. Then, I re-read it.

Grandad K?

There's a thought that hadn't occurred to me.

Still... I think I rather like the idea of being Grandad K.

A slightly silly smile skirts my lips and firmly, I suppress it.

Should I reply?

?