A Terror In The Sky

[Disclaimer: The plot, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.]

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'He wants my chicken,' the man thought as he eyeballed the well-dressed guy across the aisle suspiciously. Sliding the family sized bucket of KFC a little closer on his tray table, he started to retrieve another chicken leg but thought better of it.

"No, maybe I'll save the rest for a snack later," the man said to himself.

With some satisfaction, the man noticed that other guy studiously ignoring him. He chuckled for having been so much more clever- bringing his own fried chicken on board this flight.

An female attendant walked down the aisle in his direction, stopped by his side. "Excuse me, sir." she said, "May I bring you anything?"

'Nice body,' the man thought as he eyed her from her ankles up. A little light in the tits, maybe. And, what's up with that business suit? Stewardesses should show some more cleavage, right? I'll have to talk to somebody about that.

The man rubbed his greasy fingers it on the seat next to him before answering. (He enjoyed making servants wait.) "See that guy over there?" he said. "I don't like him. Move him."

The woman straightened and paused a moment before turning and bending over the younger man across the aisle.

"Nice ass," the chicken man commented presuming it would be considered a compliment.

After a terse conversation, the man across the aisle shook his head but rose from the seat and took his bag with him to the back of the cabin. The attendant glanced over her shoulder with a pinched face and returned to her station in the front.

The chicken man watched her ass swaying up the aisle. He didn't like her attitude. She probably hates me. Fuck her.

'What the fuck am I doing on this trip anyway?' the man thought to himself. Some stupid meeting with Igor and Vlad? No, some stupid meeting with some French dude. Fucking pussy.

The man looked out the window and saw nothing to entertain him, so he picked up the in-flight phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Jerry!" he shouted into the phone. "What's the deal on that Singapore project?"

His face went red as he listened.

"They can't do that!" he shouted. "Tell them... tell them they will never do business with me again! Tell them they are fucked forever."

He listened again, getting hotter.

"Well, sue them back!" he again shouted. "Those fuckers aren't going to sue me. Sue them!!"

With that he slammed the phone back into its cradle.

The man rummaged around in his jacket pocket and dumped out a couple pills from a prescription bottle. He threw them into his mouth and took a swig from his diet coke.

Those fuckers in Singapore are hanging him out to dry-- after all he said he would do for them. The nerve. No, they're just jealous of me. Yeah, those chink mother fuckers are jealous and trying to bring me down. Yeah, that's not gonna work.

After a while the pills kicked in. The man calmed and leaned back into his headrest. His snores resonated throughout the cabin and drool ran down from his open mouth.

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"Oh, please sir, I want you so bad," said the attendant. She had pulled up her skirt and was offering her bald pussy.

The man could see it was slick and shiny. He grabbed a handful of the woman's hair and pulled her face close to his. "Listen, woman," he said. "You are about to be fucked by the best. Get ready."

He twisted her around, shoved her down over the cart and kicked apart her legs. His belt was unbuckled and his fly was unzipped when he heard a noise up the aisle.

A naked pregnant woman was standing there. It was his wife.

His wife caressed her distended belly and milk dripped from her engorged tits in little rivulets across perfectly tanned skin. She looked up at him and laughed. "You know I only married you for your money," she said. "And this..." as she indicated her belly, "... is not even yours." She pointed at him and laughed as though her husband was the funniest clown she had ever seen.

Blinking rapidly, the man shook with rage. He released his pressure on the girl, who turned, also laughing at him. He looked down to see his penis shrink back under his gut like a turtle head.

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Breathing fitfully, the man woke with a start.

"Sir?" said the female attendant. The man had beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip, and was diligently massaging his crotch. She recoiled, as if smelling something awful, and quickly strode back to the front of the plane,

After a short call on the phone, the pilot joined the woman up front. They exchanged words in low voices and concerned tones.

"Hey!" shouted the man. "What are you talking about?"

The both turned to him in unison and smiled. Those weren't real smiles though. Those were fake smiles. He could tell.

The pilot came to his side, leaned over and said, "Sir, we were just a little concerned because you seemed to be agitated. Maybe you were having a bad dream?"

"What are you talking about?" the man demanded with disdain.

"Well," the pilot said, "You were shouting some rather crude things while you were sleeping."

"Fuck you!" the man replied. "Go back and do your job." he said as he reached into his case and pulled out his laptop. "None of your fucking business," he grumbled.

The pilot paused, about to say more, but straightened up and walked back to the attendant. He shrugged his shoulders and they both exchanged a little laugh before he reentered the cockpit.

The man stewed as he watched the pilot and that girl laughing at his expense. As his laptop booted up, he dialed up his lawyer again.

With no pleasantries, he barked into the phone, "Jerry, I want a different crew on this airplane when we land. I want them all fired. Make it happen."

He listened a moment to the response and added, "And call up my wife. I want a DNA test on that baby."

Satisfied his retribution was underway, he slammed the phone down once again and began stabbing at the keys on his laptop.

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Browsing through his favorite tabloid news sites, the man enjoyed reading about the misfortunes of others. "Chumps! What a bunch of losers," he found himself saying again and again. He laughed with delight when reading about the public mishaps of celebrities.

But he absolutely despised charming dog pictures. A total waste of money, he thought.

One story caused some concern. One of the secret brothels he frequented had been exposed and was being investigated for tax fraud. He didn't really care if his sexual exploits were exposed in the press (people love that shit) but he'd used that institution as part of tax avoidance scheme. He certainly didn't want the IRS knowing any more about his business dealings. He made a mental note to get Jerry working on it.

His laptop chimed and a popup notification said he had a new email. He switched to his email app and opened the inbox.

What he saw there drained the color from his face.

There was no text in the email itself and it was not signed. The return email address was dummied up. (It was is own) The subject line was simply 'We are done with you.'

His heart raced and beads of sweat again popped out on his forehead, dampening his comb-over, as he imagined the words spoken with an eastern European accent.

The Dubai deal had crashed and burned and the gangsters who financed it were calling it quits. They were coming to kill him. Maybe to torture him first.

"Fuck me!" he said out loud. Then it occurred to him that maybe they were already here... already on this plane!

The man glanced furtively around and noticed the woman up front speaking on the phone with her hand covering the mouth piece. She was watching him, but glanced away quickly when he looked her way.

A few seconds later, that other man (who had coveted his chicken) appeared from the rear of the plane and sat back down across the aisle again. As he sat, something under his suit jacket caught on the chair arm-- forcing him to re-adjust himself in the seat.

The cockpit door opened and the pilot joined the attendant, both looking in his direction. The pilot whispered something in the young woman's ear. Neither was laughing.

The laptop was still open, and it chimed again. The email was from Jerry-- announcing he was resigning as legal counsel, and writing a book to (hopefully) protect himself from legal prosecution and criminal elements.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" exclaimed the desperate man.

Just then the plane shuddered and dropped, knocking his diet coke off the small table, splattering sticky foam on the carpet.

The man leapt to his feet and pushed past the guy across the aisle who had risen in alarm. He dashed down the aisle to the rear of the plane with the armed man at his heels. Other men in suits popped out from nowhere and made attempts to detain him, but he didn't know them, didn't trust them.

He shoved them all aside and just kept running down the corridor to the back until he was stopped at the rear bulkhead. Nothing there but storage for the flight crew, a tiny restroom and an emergency exit door.

He was trapped.

The man whipped around frantically looking for something to defend himself with. He spied a small parachute on a nearby seat and grabbed it-- He held it in front of him like a shield.

The well-dressed, chicken-coveter slowed and came closer with his hands up. He said, "Sir, it is alright. Please calm down."

Wild eyed, lunging forward and side to side with the parachute out front, the man replied sarcastically, "Oh, sure! That's exactly what you would say! Who are you really? Who sent you?!"

"Sir, no one is going to harm you." was the calm reply. "Please put the backpack down."

The frantic man now knew this was the end. He had seen enough 'Walker, Texas Ranger' episodes to know those words meant exactly the opposite. He reached over and wrenched the emergency exit lever up.

Now, most modern aircraft doors are locked during flight, but this exit had been modified specifically to give the secret service an egress in the event of hostile action. The door blew open and an icy vortex sucked the man out.

The crew and remaining passengers hung on as papers and unattached objects whistled through the cabin and out the door. The air was thin and even the strongest among them were weakening quickly. Yet, all of the hidden oxygen masks had popped out and were swaying among the chaos of the plane's cabin.

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A nearby pair of F/A-18 Hornets flying escort suddenly heard "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! explosive decompression..." on their radios and watched in horror as Air Force One went into a steep dive, leaving a long trail of paper chaff behind it-- and at least one passenger clutching a small piece of luggage as he fell.