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Smoke

They had begun to notice him, the man in the aisle seat. His jacket lay crumpled over the armrest. Sweat stained his unbuttoned shirt. The tightly rolled sleeves revealed two nicotine patches. The man's large mouth pushed around a hefty wad of nicotine gum.

Charlie Nichols shifted his bulky frame uneasily in the airplane seat. He tapped the patches to release more chemicals, if that were possible. Impatiently, he opened another piece of the gum.

Charlie could not put himself at ease. Nervously, he waited for this nightmare to end. He had been a chain smoker for the last twenty years. Taking the redeye, he believed, would be a good idea because he could sleep through it, therefore killing the need for a smoke. At the moment, however, Charlie was trying to distract himself from his the cigarette demons that called him. Shuffling through his briefcase, he looked for such a distraction. He found one match and one cigarette.

Charlie didn't care where they came from; he saw them as a gift from the tobacco gods. His goal now was to use them. Airplane rules prohibit smoking, though. There was also the issue of the need to quit. Smoking one cigarette could set back his progress, but, he reasoned, it would make the flight endurable. Charlie looked down at the short, white, filtered piece of heaven in his hand. Unholy thoughts of smoking it continued to race through his brain. Out of the blue, an idea came. There was one place on the plane that he could have privacy and an exhaust fan. Yes, it was the restroom. He could already feel the cigarette between his lips, and the decadent smoke filling his tobacco-starved lungs.

"Can I get you anything, sir," asked a smiling irritation that was the flight attendant. She seemed to materialize out of thin air. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine," growled Charlie inadvertently.

The smile disappeared from the woman's face. "I was just asking," she said, her Chicago attitude breaking through. "You ain't gotta yell." She continued down the aisle, mumbling.

That flight attendant was Carla on her first day on the job. She, along with Tammy and Felix, was brought in by the airline to replace the crew that was on strike. Carla and her companions had a hasty two hour's training before the flight. The airline felt that any training at all was better than pulling their birds from the sky.

Carla, Tammy, and Felix were serious about the care of their passengers. They even had a thick manual ready to help with any problems. By take-off time, the pages were beginning to show wear. It was the close reading of the suspicious passenger section that prompted Carla to approach Mr. Nichols in seat 16A.

She tried to mask her blue collar dialect, but Charlie's disposition made the mask come off. Carla had stopped herself, however, and thought of apologizing. She continued on instead.

The interruption by the flight attendant jolted Charlie back to reality. What am I doing, he asked himself. The attendants wouldn't allow me to smoke. Trying to get by them wouldn't work.

Tucking the cigarette and match back into his briefcase, he reclined in his seat. Charlie relaxed as the in-flight movie began.

It was a recent flick that featured Charlie's favorite actor. The movie had action, and a little skin. There were also several characters walking around puffing on a cigarette. Even his favorite actor held a sexy, smoky little cigarette.

Charlie couldn't control himself. The nicotine called him. He stood up abruptly, and raced to the restroom.

Carla, Tammy, Felix didn't miss Charlie's hasty escape. The three worried heads fell together. "There he goes," Felix said. They all turned to see Charlie's wide girth wedge into to the restroom.

"What do you think is wrong with him?" asked Tammy.

"He was cranky when I talked to him," said Carla. "Maybe he is having some ... stomach problems."

"Do we need to check on him?" asked Tammy.

"I don't know," said Carla. "What does the manual say?"

"No time to look, gals," sighed Felix. "The movie's over. We got a schedule to keep." Knowing that he was right, they left the matter alone, there were things to do.

Seated on the toilet - lid down of course - Charlie struck the match. He held it to the cigarette between his lips, inhaling as the match touched the cigarette. But, something was wrong. The match lit momentarily, fizzling out before igniting the cigarette. He was inhaling air! Looking down at the cigarette and match, he discovered this problem.

"Damn," he shouted, punching the wall with his fist.

Charlie went back to his seat and wracked his brain for a way to light his cigarette. He couldn't ask anyone, lighters weren't allowed on the plane. Charlie tried to think, but all he got was a headache. Someone was drumming on the seat with pencils. The relentless tapping, from the seat in front of him, wasn't helping.

But, an idea materialized. He needed a couple pieces of wood, and then he could make a spark. He could then use a little the toilet paper like straw to catch the spark ablaze. That's what I can do, he thought. He sprang out of his seat, grabbing the pencils from the pencil drummer and sprinted to the bathroom once again.

Carla saw him snatch something from another passenger and waddle quickly to the bathroom. She hurried after him, afraid that of his intentions.

"Sir, sir," she called as she banged on the bathroom door. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Carla pressed her ear to the door, hearing nothing but silence. What he is doing? she thought. She pounded on the door again.

"I'm fine," growled a tense voice from behind the door. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Alright, sir, if you need anything let us know." She wanted to tell him to get his ass out of the restroom, but that wasn't doable. She had to be proper and by the book. Carla pressed her ear to the door again, hoping to hear something. There was a scratching noise and heavy breathing. Felix and Tammy had crowded around her, trying to see what was happening. The three of them headed over to their station to consult the manual.
In their curiosity, they forgot the rest of the passengers.

The man did not fit the behavior patterns for a suspicious passenger, and the manual didn't have rules for handling someone who wouldn't come out of the bathroom.

"What do we do?" asked Felix.

"Don't ask me," said Tammy.

"I wasn't," he snapped. Turning to Carla he asked, again, "What do we do?"

"I'm with Tammy, who didn't deserve the attitude, by the way." Carle glared at Felix before continuing. The animosity between him and Tammy was a mystery, but one for another day. The current situation was getting out of hand. "The manual don't say nothing. This dude ain't cooperating. I don't know what to do." Her mask of propriety was slipping off. "Anyway, what are you asking me for? I got as much training as you two did."

Tammy looked up from the manual. "It says here that we call the pilot if we have any problems."

"Okay, Carla can do that," said Felix.

"What? Why me?" she cried.

"Because, you're the only one who's talked to and looked at the guy up close."

"He's right, Carla," agreed Tammy.

"Nobody asked you."

The redeye's pilot was a veteran of the sky. Recruited along with the copilot to fill in during the strike, he was on his first flight carrying live cargo. Both men were from the airline's airfreight division. They relaxed in the cockpit, expecting an uneventful flight. Drowsy passengers had boarded the plane, which was nonstop. No problem, they thought.

"What," the pilot answered Carla's call.

"Sir, "she began hesitantly. His gruff acknowledgment caught her off guard. "We have a passenger out here who's acting creepy. I think that he's up to something, but we don't know what to do. We checked the manual, but his behavior doesn't fit anything in it."

There was a pause and sigh from the other end. "So what am I supposed to do about it, "he asked. On cargo flights, there was nothing to take his attention off his flying. He could see why the regular pilots wanted a raise.

"Well, sir, the passenger has been acting strangely since takeoff. He's been running to and from the bathroom, squirming, and acting, well, weird. I really think something's going on, but like I said, I don't know how to handle the situation."

"Where is he now," the pilot groaned.

"He's in the restroom. He refuses to come out."

"He could just have to go. Why don't you leave him alone?" The irritation began to show. She can't be serious about this, he thought.

Be professional, Carla, she told herself. "Sir, we believe that the situation is more involved than that. We need you to advise a proper course of action."

"Shit," shouted the pilot. There was a bit of silence, and then he said, "Does he look like a terrorist?"

"No, sir, he's actually an overweight Caucasian male ..."

He cut her off. "Well leave him alone. Let him use the john in peace. And don't call me again unless someone wants to blow the plane." The line went dead.

Burn, baby, burn, Charlie sang to his budding fire. His immense body was crouched on the cramped floor of the airplane bathroom. The smells of urine and disinfectant assaulted his nostrils, but Charlie didn't care. He was only moments away from his luscious cigarette.

"Sir," called Carla as she knocked on the door, "please open the door. We need to speak to you."

"In a minute," she heard him say. She could hear the tension in his voice. Inside, there was a spark and some smoke. He was almost there.

Carla and Felix stood outside the door, watching as smoke began to seep beneath it and into the galley. Again, they tried to put their heads together for a solution. Fear hung over them like a dark cloud.

"In here it says that there's an air marshal on board," said Tammy walking up to the scared pair. She was holding a bulletin she had found in their station.

Carla spun around to face her. "Say that again."

"There's an air marshal aboard this flight", Tammy repeated.

"Go find him then," Carla yelled. Tammy tripped down the aisle. Carla and Felix turned back toward the smoking bathroom.

The smoke was growing wilder by the minute. A white cloud filled the tiny room. Charlie's eyes were burning; he was almost there.

Tammy returned with a man that was hairy and huge. His swollen gut flopped over a belt that held a gun and some handcuffs. He had the look of a wild man: long hair, scraggly beard, the gut.

"He won't come out, and the smoke is getting thicker", said Carla, sizing up the marshal as he sauntered toward them like a sheriff out of an old western. The only things missing, she thought, were a silver star and spurs "I've tried everything to get him to come out, but he won't budge. I just know that something terrible is going on in there."

The marshal looked at the thick smoke pouring from beneath the door. "I'll take it from here," he said to Carla shoving her aside and hiking up his sagging gun-belt. "Now mister," he said pounding on the door, "you can come out on your own free will." He unholstered his gun. "Or, I can bring you by force. It's your choice."

"Will you people just leave me the hell alone," shouted Charlie. He was coughing, so his words weren't clear. "Just give me five minutes, just five minutes. Please!"

The growing crowd outside the bathroom started to panic. Word spread wildly throughout the plane. The smoking bathroom became a freak show attraction. Everyone gathered had something to say; advice, questions, etc. Someone even asked if he could light a cigarette, since there was smoke in the air already. Another shouted, "shoot the bastard so we can go back to sleep!" Adding to the noise level to the thickening smoke created a panic. People thought there was a threat coming from the room, but no one knew for sure. The man's cough cut into his speech, this and, the noise made understanding him not possible. The air marshal, who had his ear to the door, threw up his hands. He turned to Carla, Felix, and Tammy and told them to get rid of the crowd around them. He then sent Tammy to inform the captain of the situation in the coach bathroom. She came back quickly with his reply. "He said that it sounds as like you've got some work to do," she said, mimicking the man's cynical tone.

"Come on, come on. Yes, yes, there it is." Charlie had fire. He turned on the exhaust fan to clear out the blanket of smoke in the room. Charlie found himself shouting when he finally saw the small flame through the haze.

The marshal could hear shouts coming from inside the room. Tammy got scared and moved behind the big man to shield herself. He stood firmly, intending to negotiate further.

Charlie retrieved the cigarette from his shirt pocket and bent down to touch it to the flame. "That's it," he said as he took the first drag and leaned back. Lazily, he tried to stamp out the fire using his foot without moving from his seated position.

Tammy heard a loud bang that was accompanied by a tremor. Scared, she threw her arms around the air marshal's body and squeezed. This caused him to pull the trigger on the gun he had trained on the bathroom. No one knew what happened. They heard the shot, and flew into a panic. Someone yelled bomb, and an even bigger riot started. There was screaming; bodies pushing in all directions.

The pilot could hear the panic, even heard the word bomb. Coolly, he looked over at the copilot, who slowly shrugged. Picking up the intercom, he made a dry announcement. "There is no bomb aboard; no one is going to die. Please return to your seats. We will be landing shortly. And, thank you for flying Bud-Jet Airlines"

The marshal yelled, "Get off me," as he shook Tammy off. He pushed aside the bewildered passengers before cautiously opening the door. People suddenly remembered the man who started this mess. They tried to squeeze around the marshal for a look. Inside was Charlie Nichols, who sat on the closed lid of the toilet. The cigarette hung from his lips, still lit. Blood wove a web-like path down his face, originating at the hole in the center of his forehead and flowing down -----onto a peaceful smile.