Free Passenger 13 by Scott Mariani

Lee.
    ‘Someone who’d like to have a word in private,’ Ben said, letting go of the other man, who quickly moved away, straightening his collar and muttering indignantly, ‘That guy’s nuts.’
    Brigman’s eyes bulged. He puffed cigar smoke in Ben’s face. ‘You’ve got one hell of a nerve, walking into my home and demanding to talk to me. You know who I am, son?’
    ‘Maybe you’d rather have this conversation in front of all these people?’ Ben said.
    Brigman stared a moment longer, then he plucked the Havana from his mouth, rolled it between his fingers and smiled. ‘Okay, you bought yourself exactly one minute. Come with me.’
    The muttering crowd parted to let them through as Brigman led him down a corridor of archways and into the cool, plant-filled interior of his palace. ‘In here,’ he said, opening a door onto a plush salon.
    There was a gasp from inside as a couple who’d strayed from the party straightened themselves up suddenly on a divan and looked round.
    ‘Clarissa, honey, this gentleman and I have some business to discuss,’ Brigman said.
    Clarissa hitched up the strap of her dress and led her red-faced beau away by the hand, her high heels clicking on the marble. On her way out of the room she flicked a look at Ben and gave him a coy little smile.
    Brigman shut the door behind her and turned to Ben. ‘I don’t believe I had the pleasure of being introduced to you, sir.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ Ben said. ‘What matters is what happened to my friend Nick Chapman.’
    Brigman’s cigar had gone out. He made a show of relighting it, puffed a great pall of smoke and said, ‘Now, are we talking about the same Nick Chapman who didn’t have the guts to face life, or the decency to check out alone someplace with a quart of Jack and a sixgun?’
    Ben slipped his hand up to his right hip and drew the Highway Patrolman out from his waistband. ‘Like this one?’
    Brigman’s eyes flicked to the revolver, but he didn’t seem unduly disturbed by its presence. ‘That supposed to scare me?’
    ‘I have a problem,’ Ben said. ‘Because I don’t believe my friend crashed his own aircraft. I think someone else is responsible for his death, and the deaths of all those people.’
    ‘And you’ve come here looking for someone to pin it on,’ Brigman said.
    ‘You could make it easy for yourself,’ Ben said. ‘Tell me how you did it.’
    ‘Should I call my attorney or the boys downstairs? I just have to click my fingers and they’ll bust your head sure and good.’
    ‘If you’re talking about Abbot and Costello on the gate, I think you’ll find they’ve already seen enough of me,’ Ben said. ‘As for the rest of the boys, you might want to call the hospital.’
    Brigman stared at him, confused. ‘What rest of them? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, son. None of my people are in hospital. Now, I need to attend to my guests, so if you don’t mind …’
    ‘That armchair looks comfortable,’ Ben said, motioning with the gun. ‘What is that, Louis XV?’
    ‘Louis XVI,’ Brigman said suspiciously.
    ‘Why don’t you take a seat on your nice little velvet throne there and tell me all about how you tried to snap up CIC last year?’ Ben said. ‘And then about how you decided that if you couldn’t have it, you were going to screw it for good and then start setting up your own? What’s the matter, Brigman, it’s not enough to rule the waves, you wanted to rule the sky as well?’
    Brigman stared incredulously for a moment, then burst out laughing. ‘Oh boy,’ he said, wiping tears from his face. ‘So that’s what this is all about. You have some balls, I’ll give you that. Especially for an Englishman. You know, my great-great granddaddy was with the Continental Army under Washington in 1781, when we kicked your Brit asses at Yorktown.’
    ‘Half Irish,’ Ben said. ‘Mine was with the 69th New York Infantry when we helped Lincoln whip the South