I tried to keep my composure calm and cool, just like Rocco taught me after a score.

Not that it had done Rocco much good in the end.

Still, it would suck to get this far, almost out of the country,

only to get grounded by airport security for suspicious behavior.

The hours leading up to the boarding are agony. My nerves grind

in my stomach like a cement mixer. Somehow, I managed to keep the signs of unease down to sweating

through my shirt and a nervous twitch of my knee. All that can be blamed on the heat and jitters

before flying. As my passport shows,

it's the first time I'll be flying out of the country, my first and last international flight.

Time passes slowly until we're finally able to board, and then it's like my life hits fast forward.

Luckily, this early in the morning, the flight is empty, and I have a seat to myself. After storing my scant luggage overhead,

I collapse into my chair and stare out the window. I'm waiting for it to show up and finish me off,

just like it did Rocco and the others.

Sweat rains through my body, and my mouth goes dry.

Someone says something on the overhead speakers,

but I don't hear the words.

I'm too engrossed, staring outside,

waiting for the telltale glimmer of white metal.

And, of course, every fucking plane in the airport has the same paint job as my would-be killer.

The plane lurches forward, and I brace myself for the end, but we're rolling down the runway.

My hands tighten as the rocking increases, and my ears pop painfully as the plane lifts off the ground.

Even as the runway disappears, I keep staring outside as we rise into the early morning sky.

...