Tell him I am being held hostage by a maniac.” Jessica ran to the cockpit door and banged on it. A moment later, the door opened. Captain James Miller stepped out. He was a veteran pilot, gray-haired with a look of exhausted annoyance. “What is going on out here?” Captain Miller demanded. “We missed our slot. Tower is asking why we aren’t moving.
” “Captain,” Mrs. Vanderhovven cried, playing the victim instantly. She pointed a manicured finger at Marcus. This man refuses to move from my seat. He’s threatening me. He’s threatening the crew. Captain Miller turned to Marcus. He saw the hoodie. He saw the dreadlocks. He made the same calculation everyone else had.
Sir, the captain said, his voice stern. I don’t know how you got up here, but on my plane, the crew’s word is law. If they say move, you move. Captain Miller, Marcus said, reading the name tag. I am asking you to follow protocol. Ask the passenger for her boarding pass. Ask me for mine. Whoever has 1A sits in 1A.
I don’t have time for a debate. Captain Miller barked. Brad, get security on the line. Have them meet us at the gate. We’re removing this passenger. You’re making a mistake, Captain. Marcus said, a careerending mistake. Are you threatening me, son? The captain stepped closer, chest puffed out. I’ve been flying for 30 years.
I don’t take orders from street trash. The slur hung in the air. The mask was off. It wasn’t about the seat anymore. It was about power. Mrs. Vanderhovven smirked. Street trash. Exactly. Get him off. Brad grabbed Marcus’s arm again, this time with aggressive force, trying to wrench him toward the door.
