Deftly Disruptive Dexter

It never ceases to amaze me how simply bringing a box of donuts into work each morning will make everyone your best friend. Right now, I'm just the nice guy who brings everyone an unhealthy breakfast of Bavarian cream and bear claws. An entire building full of Miami's finest, and not a single person ever suspects that there's a calm, patient monster hiding in plain sight. Just darling, delightful Dexter with a box full of donuts.

As I make my morning rounds, the new sergeant, Daniel Rykers, steps in front of me and takes the last raspberry glazed in the box.

"Hey, Dex," he says around a mouthful of thick jelly; it's no surprise the man's still single. "My sister in law's cousin just started producing this show up in California, and he wants me to send him a blood expert."

Well, that wasn't exactly what I expected. "Why?" I ask, knowing that there was probably a better way to say that.

"Well," Sergeant Rykers says after another tactlessly large bite, "I guess they're doing an episode on blood, or something." Way to state the obvious.

"Yeah, but," I start, still trying to figure out where this is going, "why me?"

He pats my shoulder in what's sure to be some sort of gesture of friendship, but all I can think about is the jelly he's smearing on my new bowling shirt. "You're the best in the state, Dex," he says. "Probably one of the best in your field. Three weeks up in San Francisco. Nice escape from all this damn heat."

I don't mind the heat so much. But I do have to admit; a free trip to California does seem nice. Save one hunting trip with Harry, I've never even been outside of Florida. "So... you want to send me all the way to California to do some TV show for your sister in law's cousin?"

Rykers shoves what's left of the donut in his mouth, dripping some of the jelly on his own shirt. "That's about it," he says, nodding his head. "I'm glad you're on board. Your flight leaves at six."

"Six... six tonight?" I ask. Something about his smile tells me he intentionally waited until the last second to tell me about this. I wonder if this means I get the rest of the day off.


I've heard about the horrors of the Miami airport, but it seems like Rykers decided to send me on assignment during the busiest time of the year. Everyone and their mother's dog seems to be running around trying to find the right gate. No one warned me that security makes you take off your shoes. I knew they like to dig through your bags, but it is a little embarrassing to have some over worked, under paid woman who probably has three kids at home yell at you for not taking your shoes off. Once you get past her, the airport's not so bad, though. The terminal spreads out enough that the tired, groggy mob is able to spread out, leaving plenty of room for one confused first-time flier to wander around, trying to find the right area. I'm not quite sure how it is that I'm able to stalk someone in pitch black darkness, but counting to 18 is beyond my level. I need D18, but for some reason, the terminal seems to stop at C23. That's it. There's just a wall with a lot of windows. As I stand in the middle of everyone's way, checking my ticket for the tenth time, I'm certain that someone made a seriously bad typo.

Someone taps my shoulder, genuinely startling me out of my confusion. I must be seriously out of my element among so many law-abiding citizens.

"Excuse me, sir," a friendly-looking older woman asks. "Are you lost? You've just been standing there for a few minutes now."

I glance down at my ticket again before deciding that a little help would be, well, helpful.

"Yeah," I say, adopting a trained smile as I point to the nearest gate number. "I'm looking for D18, but... well..."

"Oh, sweetie," she says. "You're on the wrong end. You need to go back to security and take a left."

What?

I try to laugh lightly, but I can't understand why the exhausted security guard didn't tell me to take a left. Okay, maybe I can. "Oh," I say stupidly. "Thanks."

Picking up my bag, I nod politely to the woman and turn back around, sulking back through the terminal as I try to find the right gate. Somehow, the walk back to security feels even longer than the trip to the wrong gate. I check my watch, realizing that I only have about twenty minutes before take off. What happens if you miss a flight? Do they just put you on the next one? I'd rather just find the right gate and get there on time, rather than finding out. I don't even want to think about how Rykers would react if dopey, dawdling Dexter missed the flight and had to get another ticket. God forbid he find someone else to ship up to California for three weeks.

Making a conscious effort not to full out run across the terminal, I arrive at the elusive gate just as a young stewardess makes the first boarding call for flight 124 for San Francisco. I line up with the rest of the travelers, eager to get out of the airport. The line moves slowly, eventually moving through a small corridor and onto an even smaller plane. It's not one of the puddle jumpers that are popular in Miami, but it's not a big jumbo jet like I'd expected. The seats are all crammed into two lanes, with a small aisle running in the middle. At least I have a window seat. Sliding in past a business-type looking man, I slip my laptop case into the compartment above our heads and take my seat, immediately buckling my safety belt. I probably don't have to yet, but the guy next to me already did... as well as already fell asleep. I don't understand how a person can fall asleep with so many strangers in such close quarters.

When I was in high school, one of my classes took us all out for a week to go spend time at this camp in the woods. Harry said I was strong enough to be able to handle myself, but I couldn't sleep. Half way through the third day, I passed out at the mess table, and the camp councilors sent me home. I know Harry was disappointed, but he never said anything about it. Of all the things we worked on, that was the only thing I could never learn to control.


It's not long before the pilot starts going over the pre-flight speech, and it's remarkably similar to what they say in movies. I find it almost humorous how the flight attendants act out his speech in pantomime, being extra careful not to muss their hair with the oxygen masks. As soon as the speech is done, the small plane suddenly begins to roll backwards, carefully taxiing out to the runway. I've gone pretty fast on the freeways, but I don't think I could ever get my poor little car up to the speed the plane is going already. It's not long before there's a slight bump, and we're officially airborne. Looking out the small porthole next to me, I'm almost nervous about how quickly the ground is getting farther away from the plane. We've only been airborne for a few seconds, and already, we're above many of the buildings in the city. Some of the other passengers around me seem to be getting nervous. I wonder if I'm nervous. I place my hand on my chest, trying to feel out my heart beat, but I can barely detect anything. Even the knowledge that the plane could suddenly fall from the sky for no apparent reason seems to do nothing for me. Quickly growing bored with the idea, I pull down the screen over the porthole and dig my book from my messenger bag, ready to wait out the six hour flight to California.