A young man in jeans and a TransFlyte golf shirt watched the last piece of luggage get picked up from the baggage claim carousel by a middle-aged businessman. He saw the single remaining girl's exasperated expression, even from a distance. When the carousel stopped, she stared at it as if trying to make it move again.
Finally, she turned and glanced around the nearly empty baggage claim area. It was late evening. Few, if any more, flights would be arriving that night. When it looked like she might leave, the young man walked out of the shadows.
She looked at him once. Then twice. She saw the logo on his shirt and turned to face him. He was close now.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Are there any more bags from flight 346?"
He had been told she was cute. The guys in Orlando had lied to him. She was gorgeous: light brown hair with even lighter streaks through it; a perfect tan; full breasts under a tight top; tiny waist; body-hugging jeans; and, long legs.
He found himself staring into her incredible eyes, saying, "No. That's it, I'm afraid. Missing one?"
"Two, actually," she said with disgust.
"Maybe they came on an earlier flight."
Her face seemed to physically brighten at the words.
"Really? Where would they be?" she asked.
"Upstairs. Behind the ticket counter. We have an office where we store them," he said nonchalantly.
"Can we check?"
She was nearly walking before she finished asking.
"Sure. I'll take you," the young man volunteered.
His leisurely pace didn't suit her, but if he took her to her 'lost' luggage, it would be worth it, she supposed.
"Been on vacation?" the man asked.
"Yeah. A cruise," she answered.
"Wow. That would be nice. It's turning so cold up here."
The got on an escalator.
"I'll need to give them your name," he said, looking back over his shoulder at her.
"Amanda Peters."
"OK, Amanda. I'm Joel."
"Hi."
At the top of the escalator, they turned left and made their way to the TransFlyte ticket counter. The near total absence of customers made the normally bustling scene seem almost eerie to Amanda. Joel led her beyond the TSA scanners and to the side of the ticket counter.
"Wait here. I'll be right back," Joel told her.
He closed the office door behind him and looked at the man behind the desk.
"Holy shit, Tom. This one is flat out gorgeous," Joel said. "My cock's throbbing already."
"Relax," Tom said with a smile. "We've got all evening. Did you see how dead it is out there?"
Joel nodded, fully realizing the consequences of the statement.
Before he could respond, a tall girl in her early twenties, about Amanda's age, came through the office's back door.
"Well?" she asked.
"Hey, Angie. She's here. She's beautiful and she's VERY anxious to get her luggage," Joel told her.
Angie sat on a couch and grinned. "How anxious?"
"I'm pretty sure she'd do almost anything to get those bags," Joel said.
"OK," Tom interrupted. "You guys know the routine. If it looks like she's going to panic, back off. Let's do it."
Joel turned, opened the office door, and called for Amanda to come in.
Tom was a thirty year old supervisor for TransFlyte and had worked with Joel and Angie for nearly a year. The trio hit it off immediately and found themselves killing time during slow periods with open discussions about their sexual fantasies. Angie, being the youngest as well as an attractive blonde, was often the target of the men's pestering; but, she took it in stride.
Tom initiated the 'baggage diversion program' six months earlier. It took some cooperation from his friends at the airlines in other cities, but the compensation he paid them in the form of confiscated liquor and cigarettes was well worth it.
When he saw Amanda enter the office, he knew the price would be very high. He stared at her model-like figure and stunning face while Joel closed the door behind her. Angie was equally transfixed on the couch, restlessly crossing her legs as she watched.
"Hello, Miss...um, Peters. Correct?" Tom said, staring at a piece of paper on his desk.
"Yes," she replied.
"It seems there was a mix up with your luggage," Tom said in a monotone voice.
"Do you have them?"
Tom looked at her intently. Without fail, this was the point where he could begin to tell if the 'victim' was going to cooperate. More than once, luggage was turned over to women who appeared ready to get combative.
"We do."
"May I have them?" Amanda asked.
"It seems, Amanda, that there was a problem with some of the contents of your baggage," Tom said.
"A problem? Like what?"
Tom nodded at Joel, who vanished into the area Angie had come from. A few seconds later, he returned with Amanda's bags in tow. He placed them beside Tom's desk.
The supervisor rose from his chair and stood by the bags.
"You realize, of course, that bags are randomly checked for drugs, explosives, and so forth," Tom said, beginning to unzip the largest of the bags. "This bag was one of those."
Amanda's stomach turned from anger as she watched the bag being opened.
"You know damn well there's nothing like that in there," she said.
"But we didn't at the time," Tom said, laying the bag completely open.
All eyes were on the contents. A layer of neatly folded clothes did not, on the surface, seem very unlawful. Tom dug his hands deep along the side of the bag.
"Ah ha," he declared.
When he pulled his hand out, he was holding a large box containing a bottle of rum.
"I'm allowed to have that," Amanda said loudly.
Tom dug on the other side of the suitcase and pulled out a second, identical box.
"You declared all this, of course," Tom said.
Amanda scowled at him.
Tom stared back at her. "Well, maybe that's irrelevant. The fact is, we all know about it. And it seems to me that you should reward our finding your bags by allowing us to sample it."
"You didn't 'find' my bags. You stole them," Amanda stated, as if she was a lawyer trying to convince a jury.
"Are you really in a position to be making accusations, Amanda?"
Tom was already opening one of the boxes and letting the large bottle slide out into his hand. Joel and Angie looked on with anticipation, knowing where Tom was probably going with this one.
"Angie, would you go get us some Coke, please?" Tom said.
Amanda was resigned to the fact some, if not all, of her expensive rum was about to be dispersed among the staff members. She chose to remain calm, if not content.
Tom opened the bottle and whiffed the contents. Soon, Angie was back with three large glasses of soda. She placed them on Tom's desk and returned to her couch.
Amanda expected him to pour her rum into the glasses. Instead, he put the bottle down and revisited the luggage.
"It's been a long day, Amanda. I think me and the staff would like to be served," Tom said, turning over several pieces of clothing in the suitcase. "You can act as the cocktail waitress. But we need something for you to wear. Something appropriate."
Amanda's throat began to tighten at the tone of his voice and the fact he was rummaging through her stuff.
"Listen," she said. "Take the rum. Both of them if you want. Just let me go home."
Tom pushed aside several articles of Amanda's clothing before seeming to find what he was after. Everybody watched him pull out a single, tiny item. It was light blue and nearly fit in the palm of his hand.
Only when he held it up did it become apparent what he had: a silk thong.
"Perfect," Tom exclaimed.
Joel smiled from ear to ear. In all the previous 'detentions' they had pulled off, they had never found a sexier item to be worn by a sexier girl. He saw the glee in Angie's eyes.
"If you don't mind...," Amanda started to say.
"Oh, c'mon," Tom said harshly. "Don't act like your so modest, Amanda. The only reason you'd pack something like this is to be seen in it. So we'll give you that opportunity."
His meaning was obvious and Amanda considered her options. She was ready to turn and leave.
"Put this on and serve us, or never see the bags again—or any of their contents."
Like the money-conscious girl she was, Amanda did some quick math in her head to try to calculate how much she'd lose. It was substantial. Twenty seconds passed in silence.
"You can walk out of her tonight, Amanda, with both bags and both bottles of rum. Well, what's left of them anyway," Tom said calmly. "Just do as I say."