“There are kiosks by the gate that sell food,” Lula was told.

I looked at the fried chicken displayed on the examining table. A leg and a breast. I guess security was on the lookout for chicken leg bombs.

“I don’t like this,” Lula said, shouldering her bags. “Had to take my shoes off, my jacket off, got felt up under my bra clip. Had to take my belt off. And look at this, I can’t button the top snap on my stretch pants and now everybody knows. This here’s been a humiliating experience. And on top of it all they took my chicken.”

Connie had breezed through without a hitch. “That’s the way it is now,” Connie said. “You want to be safe, right? This is just a small thing to keep us safe.”

“Shut up,” Lula said. “I hate people who don’t get searched.” Her eyes were wild and her lower lip was jutting out. “I’m feeling a lot of anxiety,” Lula said. “If this was supposed to make me feel safe it isn’t working. All I can think of now is terrorists. I wasn’t thinking of terrorists before. I need some ham. Where’s the place they sell ham?”

It was announced that our plane was boarding and Tank still hadn’t cleared security. I knew he didn’t have weapons on him. He’d locked everything in the truck when we parked. They brought a dog in and two armed guards moved closer. Apparently they were picking up traces of explosives on his shoes and clothes. Wow, big surprise there. He had his identification displayed, including a license to carry, but security was having none of it.

He cut his eyes to me and I sent him a blank-faced look back. No way was I going to come to his rescue. I wasn’t taking any chances on guilt by association. I was afraid the airport gestapo would haul my ass off to a back room and give me a body cavity search.

I grabbed Lula and pulled her along. Connie followed. We only had a couple minutes until boarding.

“What about Tank?” Lula asked.

“He’ll catch up with us.” Maybe.

We got to the gate and Lula was wide-eyed, looking everywhere. “I don’t see no kiosk with fried chicken,” she said. “I just see doughnuts and ice cream and bagels and big pretzels. I can’t eat none of that food. Where’s the friggin’ meat?”

“Maybe we’ll get something on the plane,” I said. “We’ll be in the air over dinnertime, so maybe we’ll get some dinner.” Yeah, right. If we were flying first class we might get a bag of peanuts.

We were seated three across, six rows back in coach. Lula was on the aisle. I sat next to her. Tank’s seat was empty. Connie sat on the other side of the aisle.

I called Morelli and told him about the photos.

“And here’s the thing,” I said to Morelli. “I’m sort of on a plane. Singh is in Vegas and I’m going out to apprehend him. So I was thinking maybe you could just let yourself in and, uh, take charge.”