Читать книгу The Last Flight of the Ariel - Joseph Dylan Dylan - Страница 9

Descending mainly as a mist, a thin drizzle of rain fell the next morning in Miami. At the airport, on the runway and the tarmac, were thin and translucent and isolated puddles, iridescent with avgas. From the parking lot of the FBO, Hewlett walked down to Davis’ rusting and corroded hangar. The hangar doors were open and wedged within were the wings and fuselage of the Ariel looking like some caged exotic bird. Perched on two crates constructed of thin pine to hold oranges were two buddies of Skeeter’s. Davis was sitting on the one stool and could see the whole hangar. The three of them were all drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups. As he approached, Skeeter had one arm extended, his hand simulating a plane that was steeply banked. “So,” I said to him, “whatever you do, don’t roll the son-of-a-bitch. I’ve got eggs to deliver to Whitehorse in the back.” The two men, who were listening to Davis, guffawed, one spilling a few drops of coffee from his coffee cup.

Davis looked up and in looking up, saw Hewlett, saying, “Sorry boys, you got to go, business calls.”

“How’s about we pick this up at lunch over at the Staggerwing Lounge. Say about noon.” One was a portly man who appeared to be this side of fifty; the thinner one looked hardly younger. Neither had the old aviator’s swagger that Skeeter possessed. They nodded to Hewlett as they left.

“Sorry to break up the sewing circle like that,” said Hewlett. He was wearing chinos and a T-shirt. Davis wore Wrangler jeans and a plain white cotton t-shirt that was torn where the right sleeve attached to the body of the shirt.

“The bullshitting session was just about over anyway.”

“Well I feel a little less guilty, anyway. Let me pick up the tab for lunch at least. Say it’s interest on what Townsend owed you.”

“How’d your talk with your cousin go?”

“Well, he whined a lot. Actually, he whined a whole lot. In the end, he more or less said it wasn’t your fault. That’s not the first time I’ve caught him out in a lie. He’s just like a six year old, one you’ve just caught telling a white lie.” Then he told Davis how Townsend was the first person he had ever gotten high with. “You never offer up family. You forget Townsend’s my cousin, but he’s still my cousin.” Once or twice, as Hewlett spun his tales of all of Jake’s misfortunes, Davis would laugh. But it was a laugh with implicit knowledge.

“You talk to your people?” Skeeter asked. He tossed the contents of his coffee cup out on the cement floor of the hangar and set the cup on a carpenter’s table off to the side of the hangar doors.

“I did. You may or may not like what they had to say. The bottom line is that they’ll pay you eight hundred thousand for the haul. They refused the million. They also said no to a percentage of the profits. They said there’s another flight soon, and they’ll pay you eight hundred thousand for it, too. Then they’re done with you. Or so they say. The way they see it, you should be able to retire a rich man on 1.6 million. Rosario’s trying to make up the difference by hauling ten more bags of one-kilogram cocaine.”

A moment or two lapsed before Davis said anything, and when he spoke with resigned indignation, as if he were a farmer being told the drought would last for a few more weeks. “Well, they didn’t get no virgin here. I suppose I’ll have to live with it. I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to talk to Rosario myself?”

“Even if he’d take your call, it would just further irritate him. The decision’s made.”

“Well, when you think about it, it’s not that bad: a million, six hundred thousand for two jobs. Say that’s one day down, and one day back up each trip: that’s four days work. One point six million is not bad for four days work. Most of it’s coming from the extra cocaine, but he’s also taking it out of my piece of the action. I did all I could.”

“I know you tried. You’re sure they’re the...”

Hewlett put his hand up before he could go on. “It’s better unsaid. Let’s just say they’re always giving you a proposition you can’t refuse. In ancient times, it was taboo to mention God’s name. I think it’s about the same with them. The less you know, the better off you are. The less you think about the people you’re working for the better. Between you and me, I’m not happy with this organization either. They’ve got me by the balls, or I’d just take off myself. They won’t let me go. Trust me. When you finish these next two flights, get the hell out of Miami. That way they can’t force you to work for them again. That’s what I’d do. That’s the only rational thing to do.”

“I don’t know if I want to work for these people.”

“It’s not a matter of choice, Skeeter. You were done the moment that Townsend picked you out of all the flying services to do his dirty work.”

“A man’s always got a choice.”

“Sure you’ve got a choice: death by hanging or death by firing squad. If I were you, I would do these two jobs for them and then get the hell out. One million six looks pretty damn good to me. Then sell the plane, get out of your lease for the hangar with the FBO and get rid of your tools. They can’t force you to fly a plane you no longer own. Or hold on to the plane, but move it and move yourself somewhere way out of here. Somewhere like Arizona, where you could fly year round. Hell, you could even pick up golf.”

“You have a point.”

“Shit, if I ever get out of here I’m heading to Colorado. I’ll start a restaurant in some small town where nobody knows me. Or cares to.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

“I’ve been biding my time thinking of all my options since the first day when Rosario graced us with his presence.” Oscar came up to where they were sitting. Rubbing against Hewlett’s leg, he rolled over to get his belly scratched. For a few minutes, Hewlett scratched the cat’s belly. Then the cat began pawing at his hands with his claws, each small nick a wee bit painful. He quickly withdrew his hand. Neither man said a word.

“I tell you what: if anything funny happens to me, I want you to go to First Atlantic Bank on Saint Augustine Avenue. I have about 600 K in a security box. It’s yours, if something happens to me. In the safe deposit box, there are also four passports and drivers’ licenses. The combination is 01-30-26, my dad’s birthday.” He wrote it down on a scrap of paper and handed it to Skeeter. On the other side of the piece of paper, he wrote down the address of his condominium.

“I don ‘t want this.”

“I’m sure as hell not going to leave it to my scumbag cousin.”

“My you are observant. I never know what’s coming in the door?”

“They won’t do you much good— the passports, that is.”

“You’re not leaving any money for Jake.”

“Hell no. He’s the one who put the two of us in this jam. Let me take that back. I got myself in this jam, but Jake didn’t help any. Besides, Jake plans on staying with Rosario and his organization.”

“What the hell am I going to do with 600 K?”

“For a man with five ex-wives, you ask a lot of stupid questions, Skeeter.”

“Just what am I supposed to do for six hundred thousand? It sounds like a logical question to me.”

“Anything you want.”

The hanger doors were open and the two of them sat on director’s chairs sipping their hot coffee, making small talk. Most of the time they sat, saying nothing at all. Finally, social amenities out of the way, Hewlett said, “Can you fly Friday or Saturday?”

“You say it as though the gods have decided.”

“The gods have spoken— those cheap, scumbag bastards.”

“Sure. But the weather might be a problem. There’s a nasty storm coming down the coastline. They’re predicting it will turn to the east, but — and I emphasize but — if it turns to the west... Well, we could end up doing a lot of scud running. You don’t get airsick, do you?”

“No.”

“Well that’s good. There are few ships as stable in turbulent weather as the Super Courier. If the going gets rough, you just pull the throttle back and drop the flaps. It can pretty well weather anything. The only thing that the Ariel is not equipped for is icing. I never plan to fly into storm cells where you’d need it.”

“We leave Monday morning then.”

“We need to takeoff about four or four-thirty. No later. It’s thousand-mile plus haul to the Dominican Republic. Fuel reserves should get us there, but to be on the safe side, I’m going to lean the mixture out as much as possible and fly slower. So we’ll be up in the air for a long, long time. Be here at a quarter of four at the latest. I’ve made up some song and dance about flying someone back into the wilderness in Idaho — someone who has money to burn. Tell your cousin to inform your clients that you’re home sick for two days. Have Townsend collect your mail. Have Townsend take over your responsibilities at the office.”

“Having told me all that, I could use another cup of coffee. How about you? You had your caffeine fix for the day?”

“If it’s not a bother.”

Davis went to his office in the hangar, returning with two cups of black coffee. “There’s sugar and creamer in there, if you want any.” Indicating he didn’t, Hewlett took a sip of the steaming brew. Hewlett indicated he normally took it black and without sugar.

“I’ve got the coordinates of the airstrips too, and the appropriate sectionals. I thought you’d want to see them as soon as you could to get more of an idea of what we’re flying into.”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” said Davis as he took the sectional for Colombia and folded it out over the carpenter’s table. “But there’s something I didn’t tell you. I never forget an airstrip that I’ve flown into. The first time I was at the strip Buendia was not the boss. That only came later. The last time I was there, he was the jefe. It was not only his landing strip, he was doing some gruesome things there. Very gruesome.”

“Like what?”

“I’d rather not get into it. Not until we’re finished.”

Hewlett looked at Davis quizzically. What was Skeeter holding out on him? “The area of the airstrip is marked in red.”

“So I see.” Davis studied the sectional for a minute and then set it down. Next he unfolded the sectional of the Dominican Republic, and the airstrip where they’d do their refueling.

“Questions?”

Davis just shook his head. “You know, it’s funny how this business sucks you in. I grew up in Kansas City. My uncles were bootleggers during Prohibition. They worked for the mob. They used to run whiskey back and forth to and from the city for the mob. Then, one day they had an accident at one of the busier intersections in K.C. In the accident, they tipped the truck over on its side. Tipping the vehicle on its side, bottles of hootch went everywhere. They lost of a lot of their contraband. There were bottles of whiskey scattered up and down the road. Most, of course, were broken. Well when the police came, they arrested them for being bootleggers. They took them to jail. The first thing they did was jump bail and hightailed it to LA. I don’t know if they were more afraid of the police or the mob, but they ran as far as they could from Kansas City. They did pretty well. One of them opened an insurance agency. The other went into the liquor business. By this time, it was legal. Somehow, they evaded the reach of everyone. They were lucky men.”

“We should be so lucky. Just thinking about all that money sends a chill up and down my spine.”

“Mine, too.” Davis unfolded the sectional for the Dominican Republic. Putting on his glasses, he gazed at it as if it were an old friend. After gazing at the map for a minute or two, he said, “Well, the Kansas City winters were too much for me. I flew during the war. After the war, I went to college on the GI bill. I found there wasn’t much I liked in school. When I got out, I flew for several outfits. Then, when I saved up enough money, I bought my own plane and started my own operation. Things went well at first. Then things got tighter and tighter. One day about ten years ago, a guy asked me to fly some product for him out of Colombia. I wasn’t keen on it, but my back was against the wall. More jobs came my way. Pretty soon, I was making good money. I was making really, really good money. I didn’t see it as anything different than what my uncles had done hauling booze during Prohibition. Still don’t. The way I see it, a fella’s got a right to poison his body any way he wants, whether it’s liquor or drugs. Now, drugs are worse, I realize that. But I was too deep in. I’m still too deep in. Hell, I’ll do those two jobs for you, but that’s it. You tell your guy that.”

As Hewlett was leaving, he said to Davis, “Rosario. Know the name?”

“Rosario??”

“He’s the one who’s got me dangling from a chain. Roland Rosario. If anyone asks you if you ever heard of him, deny it. Deny it emphatically.”