A Suitcase With My Name On It.

Have you ever wanted to switch places with a different person. You might find out that you live a pretty dull existence. Or you might be thankful you are just that mundane. Samuel Sullivan would never take stale office work life for granted ever again.

It was the last trip to the west coast, to shore up the accounts before final fiscal quarter’s end. Sammy was happy to get out of Chicago. Winter was grabbing hold and not letting go of the windy city. The flight over was high class. Attendants served full meals on the finest cutlery. Sammy enjoyed the attention, and the excitement of travel. He loved the temporary feel of breaking from the monotonous, and being a stranger in someplace new. Hotels with their single stay bottles of shampoo and conditioners, captured Sammy’s attention. With the tiny bottles he adored the new feeling each bottle brought. It was no one else’s but his.

When the landing gear lowered the mechanical whirl dazed Sammy’s attention from the middle seat out to the window. Southern California and all her innate charm, spread across the valley, dotted with countless fluorescent lights. The flight was long, and Sammy yearned for his rented bed for the night.

“You are now free to move about the Cabin. Thank you for flying Pan Am.” The Stewardess spoke, a microphone hiding her porcelain smile.

With a quick jump out of his seat, Sammy stood and stretched out. He made his way to the luggage carousel. A few long moments and finally the effects of everyone aboard started to spin round and round.

“There it is!” Sammy spoke to no one but himself.

The brown leather bag, had weathered Sammy’s university years, but now as a working professional, it didn’t suit his style. It was old and worn, yet in his eyes, it was functional and worked good as new. He walked over to retrieve it, extending his hand, and waiting for the handle to fall into his grip. A quick sigh, and he would be on his way, until a stranger grabbed his bag before him.

The stranger took the bag and darted towards the exit.

“Excuse me sir! You have my bag!” Sammy yelled as he tailed the thief.

The man stopped what he was doing and turned around.

“What?” He asked.

“Look down at the tag. It has my name on it! Give it back.” Sammy demanded.

The man looked down to the identification. “No that is my name. Samuel Sullivan.”

“Wait what? Your name is Samuel Sullivan too?” Sammy was in disbelief.

“Yes, ah wait. You know you are right, the name is the same, but the address is wrong.” The other Sam said.

“Cicero Avenue, right?” The original Sammy asked.

“Yup, looks like we have the same name and taste in luggage. Sorry about that here you go.” Sam handed the bag back. “Have a good night. Mr. Sullivan.”

“You too Mr. Sullivan.” Sammy thought it coincidental he found a person named as him.

Sammy walked to the street and an army of taxis were waiting. It seemed as soon as he came into eyesight, a particular cab, sprung into action.

“Mr. Sullivan! I’ve been waiting for you. Get in.” The cabby looked rough, a five o clock shadow spattered in salt and pepper.

“You are taking me to the hotel right?” Sammy asked.

“Sure!” The cabby said.

Sammy tossed the bag in the passenger bench seat and shut the door. He glanced out of the window, mindlessly witnessing the sprawl of city. It may have been minutes or moments, but when the stretch of the city stopped Sammy worried.

“Hey! I think you missed the hotel!”

The driver kept quiet and focused on the road. Mr. Sullivan’s patience and politeness were coming to an end.

“Sir! Sir! SIR!” Sammy exclaimed between taps on the shoulder of the Cabby.

“Sit down and Shut up! You are just making things worse! The Lucchese family wants you dead.” The cabby was annoyed.

“I don’t even know who the Lucchese are! I am Samuel Sullivan, an insurance agent from Specter Insurance!” Sammy explained.

“Like hell you are! I was told that Samuel Sullivan, would be arriving tonight, and he would be carrying a brown leather bag!” The Cabby answered.

“That guy could still be at the airport! Funny coincidence really. Samuel Sullivans’ have the same style!” Sammy pleaded.

“Wait a minute.So if I say the name Paul Ricca, you say?” The cabby asked.

“Who? You mean that fellow in the mob?” Sammy replied.

“Well shit, looks like there are more than one Sam Sullivan from Chicago coming in tonight. I was so close! Damn it! I could have paid my mortgage with this hit! Do you want to go to the hotel?” The Cabby was frustrated.

“Yes, Yes, Yes Please!”