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was only fair as he, Lieutenant Elvis Dundee, was their shift supervisor.
    It was Lieutenant Dundee who made the call to ground Flight 816. Despite the thug’s enthusiastic confession, Captain Larry Walder remained a person of interest and needed to be brought in for questioning. Grounding Flight 816 proved easier said than done, though, as the airplane had reached an altitude of ten thousand feet and climbing, which prompted Lucy Snow, chief purser, to perform her duty of informing the passengers of some very good news via the PA:
    “Ladies and gentlemen, at this time you may activate your electronic devices. In a few minutes, we will begin our complimentary beverage service. In the meantime, we invite you to sit back and enjoy our in-flight media, which includes popular Hollywood movies, TV shows, and albums in both English and Spanish. A guide to our media offerings can be found in the back of the in-flight magazine. Once we reach our cruising altitude, the captain will turn off the seat belt sign, but until then, we ask that you remain in your seats. Thank you again for flying Pegasus Airlines!”
    She then repeated the announcement word-for-word in Spanish. Heck, after all these years, she could have recited it in Pig Latin. Sometimes when she lay down at night, she could hear the words of the speech echoing among the shadows of her room. Once, to win a free shot of Cuervo Gold off a co-worker, she rattled off the speech in under ten seconds; to win the second shot, she recited it backward—in under ten seconds. And yet she was still single. What a cold, cold world this was.
    In the business-class cabin, Maryann and Deja took their positions on either side of their beverage cart, although half of the first row was zonked out on sleeping pills. The other half of the aisle had an empty window seat; beside it sat the old man, all kindness and gentility. He hid his mangled left hand in his sleeve.
    “Good morning!” he said. His dark eyes twinkled with good humor. “When you have a chance, I would love a cup of black coffee.”
    On the other side of the curtain, in economy class, Addison was strutting toward 29C. And why had this passenger pressed the call button? Addison never knew what to expect when it came to requests. Would they require a blanket? Would they need help with the overhead fan? She made her way past rows and rows of people who were connected by the wires in their headphones to the screens on the backs of the seats in front of them; not a one flagged her down, so involved were they in whatever programming they’d selected.
    Before reaching 29C, Addison paused to check on the memorable occupants of Row 22. These were the barely conscious duo who had required wheelchairs and the cute male aides who had accompanied them. Addison had a thing for cute male aides. Only sensitive and patient men became aides. Bonus points for the matching tattoos on their necks. Sure, they had tried to hide them with concealer, but Addison had years of experience helping her mother powder away bruises. Having a wife-beater for a father tended to make one an expert in certain matters. Addison flashed the aides her perfect smile and asked if they needed anything, but they both shook their heads. Neither of them was plugged into a screen. They just sat there in rapt tranquility like proper gentlemen should.
    Twenty-Nine-C turned out to be pimple-pocked Davey Wood.
    “Can I have a glass of water?” he asked.
    “So he can take his fat pills!” teased Kenneth.
    “Yeah, your fat pills!” teased Kip.
    Davey blushed so red that his acne glowed like embers.
    “I’ll be right back with your water,” Addison promised and made a mental note to get Francisco to deal with the kids before they got too rowdy. If anyone could settle down a pair of Grade A brats like these, it was Francisco.
    Shortly thereafter, the plane reached its cruising altitude. The anxious fliers, like Murray Bannerman in Seat 22C, allowed themselves to