I.D. (6 page)
No, I couldn't think that way. I was okay. No one was going to notice my haircut. The Visa went through, no problem. Ashbury obviously hadn't reported anything missing yet.
But why? It had been three days since I found that wallet. Why wouldn't he have reported it? He might not have cared about the seventy-five bucks, but no one wants their Visa floating around on the street. Someone could find it, rack up a whole bunch of charges.
I wondered if Ashbury was away somewhere and hadn't noticed his wallet was gone. Or maybe he was sick in bed and didn't need it.
Or maybe he was dead.
That gave me goose bumps. Looking in the mirror, seeing Ashbury's face, thinking he was dead.
It dawned on me that maybe this was like reincarnation. Maybe Ashbury really was dead. Maybe I was meant to take over
his identity. Maybe no one would ever know the difference. Chris Bent would just disappear and be replaced by a new Andrew Ashbury.
That was too weird to even think about. I got the creeps. I dried myself off and left the washroom.
I had three hours to kill. I decided to call Brandon and tell him I was coming. I found a phone, but then I realized I couldn't call him collect. He'd never accept the call. I had some money but I didn't want to spend it. I had to be careful. I didn't know when I'd get more. I could have used the Visa, but that was starting to make me too nervous. I didn't know what my limit was. From now on, I was only going to use it for emergencies.
I decided I'd just call Brandon when I got there. It would be a local call. It wouldn't cost much. That was better anyway. If I called him from Edmonton, he couldn't turn me away. He'd have to let me stay.
I was going to call my mother and tell her I was leaving. Part of me didn't want
her to worry. Another part, though, thought it served her right.
In the end, I didn't call. Ron might have picked up. I'd buy Mom and Mandy something nice as soon as I got a job. I'd mail it home with a letter. Someday I'd buy them tickets to come out and see me. Mom always wanted to visit Edmonton.
I wandered around the airport. There were lots of stores. I looked around for a while but then it got boring. Why go to a store if you can't spend any money?
I started to feel tired. I just wanted to sleep, wake up somewhere else. I found a place to sit down. Some people were passed out on the benches. They looked like bums. There was no way I'd do that. It didn't matter how tired I was.
I couldn't get comfortable. I was worried my jacket was going to get wrinkled. I would have taken it off, but I could feel my shirt was still sweaty. That would have looked gross. I really wished I had something else to put on. I needed to save my suit for job interviews.
That made me think of something. I wasn't sleepy anymore. That slip of paper Ashbury had in the wallet. Wasn't it for luggage?
No one was looking. I opened the wallet and took it out.
I remembered right. It was a baggage claim for the airport. This airport. I read it. It didn't say much.
No: 3904. One duffel bag. To be held until May 23. ID must be shown to collect all articles of luggage
. There was some other stuff about what you could leave there and what you couldn't, but that didn't mean much to me.
I folded the paper back up and put it in my pocket.
A duffel bag. Ashbury probably kept his casual clothes in it. Jeans, T-shirts, that kind of thing. Stuff he didn't mind getting wrinkled. Stuff that would be comfortable to wear on a plane. That's probably why he left it there.
There was a little key in the wallet too. I bet it was for the duffel bag. He didn't want anyone stealing anything.
It was May 22. I knew that for sure because the dance was on the twenty-third. I thought of Alexa for a second. I realized I didn't care who she went to the dance with. That had nothing to do with my life.
This was my life now. There was still time. I could get out of this wet shirt. I could keep my suit looking nice.
It was just too perfect. I felt like my grandmother was smiling down on me again. I wondered if she'd arranged this somehow too. Nan always made sure she looked good even if she didn't have much money.
I found a sign with a map of the airport. The baggage claims office was on the main floor. I had plenty of time before I had to be at the gate.
I was fine until I got to the escalator. More than fine. I was happy. Then, out of the blue, I started getting nervous again. I kept thinking, “id must be shown.” That zit on my chin was really big now. I guess it was nerves. Ashbury didn't look like the type to get acne. What twenty-five-year-old even gets pimples? A cop was coming
up the escalator as I was going down. He looked right at me when we passed. I was sweating again, bad.
I almost turned around. Then I realized how stupid I was being. The lady who sold me the ticket had looked at my ID. Think how careful she had to be! She had to make sure she didn't let terrorists or criminals on the plane. She really looked at the picture on my licenseâand she didn't notice anything. She still sold me my ticket. This time, I was only going to pick up a duffel bag. Who was going to care about ID for something like that?
The office was easy to find. There was a bit of a lineup but that was okay. I had lots of time, and anyway, the guy at the counter was moving people through pretty fast. He sure wasn't studying anyone's ID to see whether the guy in the picture had a zit on his chin or not.
I was being a jerk. Zits come and go anyway.
Then I remembered the earring. Why didn't I get my ear pierced like Ashbury's?
There were plenty of places that would have done it in the mall. It would only have cost me about five bucks! It seemed like such a stupid way to get caught.
I couldn't think about that right then. There was nothing I could do about it.
There was only one more person ahead of me. The baggage claims guy was joking with her. That made me relax a bit. The guy didn't look like he was too hard-ass. If he noticed I didn't have an earring, I'd just say I wasn't wearing it that day.
How come I didn't have a hole in my ear then?
This was stupid. I had to be disciplined, act natural. The woman took her red suitcase and left.
“Next!” the guy said. “Yes, that would be you, sir. May I see your baggage claim?”
I handed it to him. He looked at it. “
Well, you got here just in the nick of time.” He keyed the number of my claim into the computer.
“Hmm,” he said. “I wonder why this is taking so long.” I felt like puking again.
He stared at the screen for a while, typed a few more things in.
“I'm going to need to see your ID, Mr. Ashbury.”
I took out my driver's license. The guy looked at it, looked at me and nodded.
“Yup. That's you all right.”
I had to relax. I couldn't take this roller coaster anymore. The guy knew it was me. I was okay. It was just a duffel bag.
The guy said, “Wait right there. I'll be back in one sec.”
It wasn't one sec. The guy was gone for like five minutes. He came out carrying a small brown duffel bag. It looked heavy. I hoped I could take it on the plane.
“Is this yours?” he said.
“It looks like mine,” I said. It had a little lock on the zipper. I was pretty sure the key would open it.
He handed me the bag. I said, “Thanks,” and turned around to leave.
The cop I'd seen on the escalator was right in front of me. He was pointing his gun at my head.
He didn't need to say anything. I was pretty sure I knew what had happened. I'd been waiting for it all along. Ashbury must have reported his cards missing. The bank must have got my picture from that ATM. The cabdriver and the lady at the ticket counter must have called me in too. I figured they all knew I wasn't Andrew Ashbury. I bet even the waitress knew it. I was just some kid from the crap side of town trying to act like the big man. They must have all been laughing their asses off.
But I was wrong.
The cop went, “Andrew Kirk Ashbury. You are under arrest for two counts of murder, forcible confinement, procurement of drugs for the purpose of trafficking, and possession of a firearm. You have the right to counsel. If you cannot afford counsel, it will be...”
I didn't understand him. He called me Andrew Kirk Ashbury. It didn't make
sense. Two other cops had me cuffed and on my knees before it sank in.
I tried to tell them that I was Christopher Earl Bent. That I just found the wallet on the street. That they had the wrong guy. That I didn't know anything about murder or drugs or firearms.
But they just said, “Yeah, sure,” and threw me in the back of their cruiser.
I looked out the back window. I could still see the airport.
I couldn't help it. I smiled. I'd almost made it.
Vicki Grant is the author of another Orca Soundings novel,
Dead-End Job
, and the recently released
Pigboy
, an Orca Currents novel. Her comic legal thriller,
Quid Pro Quo
, won the Arthur Ellis Award for Best Juvenile Crime Fiction and was shortlisted for the Edgar Allan Poe Award. Vicki lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Titles in the
Orca Soundings series
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Dead-End Job
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Titles in the Orca Currents series
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