Monster by Bernard L. DeLeo

boys and they don’t look happy.”
    Reskova and McDaniels watched the rest of the Syrians in commercial seating join their three companions, but not before giving everyone they passed angry, sullen looks.
    “At least the guy you said was the leader is back here with us,” Reskova whispered, leaning closer to McDaniels. “He’s staring right at you.”
    Reskova straightened in her seat. The Syrian McDaniels had picked as the leader tried to burn a hole through McDaniel’s head with his stare. Reskova watched the Syrian slow down as he reached McDaniels and lean down slightly. The Syrian’s jet-black hair was well groomed. His short beard was trimmed to about a quarter of an inch. He looked to Reskova to be nearly six feet tall and powerfully built. The Syrian continued to block the aisle, staring at McDaniels, who was ignoring him. A stewardess came up behind the man and gently touched his arm. The Syrian jerked his arm away angrily, not taking his eyes away from McDaniels.
    “You look familiar,” the Syrian said in heavily accented English. “Why have you been watching me?”
    “Sir, you must take your seat,” the stewardess urged from behind. “Sir?”
    McDaniels looked up at the Syrian with a big smile. “Oh, hi, were you talking to me?”
    “Yes, I was talking to you, idiot. Why have you been watching me?”
    Reskova noted the passengers seated around them had quieted, watching the unfolding drama. McDaniels shrugged apologetically.
    “Sorry, it’s just I’ve never seen a camel from the backside before.”

Chapter 7
    Dry Run Turns Hot
     
    Reskova gasped. More than a few people within hearing laughed out loud at McDaniels’ insult, including Tommy’s Grandfather. Instead of screaming in rage or attacking McDaniels physically, the Syrian’s face became a mask of deadly menace. He leaned down even closer into McDaniels’ smiling face.
    “You will pay for this insult,” the Syrian promised.
    “Take your seat, Sir, or I will be forced to call security,” the stewardess warned.
    The Syrian stared at McDaniels a moment longer before moving past to his seat on the aisle across from them and one seat beyond. He continued to glare at McDaniels who turned to give him a little wave. More than a few of the Syrian group began cursing McDaniels in Arabic. McDaniels avoided giving any indication he knew what they were saying. He faced the front of the plane as the stewardess began giving the required safety lecture.
    “That was smart,” Reskova complained, leaning back in her seat. “Why didn’t you just introduce yourself?”
    “Calm down. It would have been more abstract if I had tried to act all innocent. Right now he’s probably thinking I’m just another arrogant American stooge.”
    “You left out smart-ass.”
    “I wanted to see if you’d fill in the blank. Thanks.”
    “I hear a lot in Arabic now. I bet I wouldn’t need an interpreter to figure out the drift of what they’re saying either.”
    “If you guessed insulting my ancestry back to the dawn of time, spiced with invitations to do obscene acts with various animals, you’d be pretty close,” McDaniels whispered back.
    “Been there, done that,” Reskova said. McDaniels could tell she was remembering her anger after the head incident in the woods. “You have a natural talent for pissing people off.”
    “Yeah, but the kids love me.”
    “Sorry, Cold, this ain’t Romper Room, so how about reigning in your annoying side for the rest of the trip. Did you see Folley?”
    “He’s on the other side of the plane.”
    “I bet he loved the way you performed to start this trip, Cold.”
    “Your frequent use of what you think of as an insulting nickname falls short of annoying me, Dee-dee.”
    “Don’t call me that,” Reskova ordered.
    “Ah oh, I’ve pushed another button,” McDaniels said, patting Reskova’s shoulder.
    Reskova jerked away from McDaniels’ hand. “Keep that catcher’s mitt off me, Cold. Pay attention to what