Chapter Forty Five

 

“Miss Vontgomery.” Johnny greeted Vicky making sure to use the correct title for her marital status. “And this must be young Geoffrey?”

“Yes,” was all she could reply. Things were happening too fast for her. She had earlier that day received a call from a total stranger named Wayne Bankhead. He informed her that Dirk had been killed, and that he was an attorney and friend of Dirk’s. He relayed some rather detailed information regarding their relationship. Mr. Bankhead said Dirk had told him to use this information in order gain her trust.

Wayne had called her just before the meeting in the Arnett boardroom began. He explained that he was working with a group of people that was making every effort to bring Dirk’s killers to justice, and asked if she would be willing to help them. She said she would as long as the safety of her son could be assured. Wayne satisfied her concerns in this area by providing her with access to Johnny’s jet. She mentioned that she could not leave the office right away as there was an important meeting about to begin, and felt it would attract unwanted attention if she left too early. Wayne asked about the purpose of the meeting, and determined the investors would be attending. He asked for the names of all those in the boardroom, and suggested she call him after the meeting began when she felt it was safe to leave the building. It was during that phone call that he also gave her Johnny’s phone number and the rest of her travel instructions. As she stood in the lobby of the FBO shaking Johnny’s hand, she still had no idea what she and her son were going to do with the rest of their lives.

“The aircraft is being refueled, and we will be able to depart in about twenty minutes. You’re welcome to wait in here or on the aircraft.”

“I think I’d just as soon wait on the airplane,” Vicky said.

“Right this way. Have you ever flown on a jet airplane before?” he asked Geoffrey.

“No sir,” the boy politely replied. “But I’ve flown one many times on my Play station.”

“Well, let’s go and get you acquainted with the real thing.”

The three of them exited the FBO lobby, walked the short distance across the ramp area, and climbed the stairs of the aircraft. Johnny helped Vicky and Geoffrey stow their suitcases and settle into their seats.

“Geoffrey, you don’t happen to have the game with you do you?” he inquired.

“It’s in my suitcase.”

Johnny retrieved the boy’s suitcase and helped him extricate the game. “It just so happens that we’ve got a TV right here that you can plug your game into.” Johnny opened two highly polished mahogany doors on the end of the credenza that faced aft into the aircraft cabin. He took the cords from Geoffrey’s game and plugged them into the jacks on the front of a twenty seven inch high definition TV. He then turned on the TV and announced, “Captain Geoffrey, you are cleared for takeoff.”

Geoffrey leaped out of seat, turned on the game, and began to play. Johnny settled into an adjacent chair, mesmerized by the expressions of joy and happiness on the boy’s face. He turned and observed a sense of calm and contentment that had come over Vicky’s demeanor as well.

Johnny once again found himself considering the prospects of growing old alone. He was at least twice Vicky’s age, but for some reason he found himself momentarily wondering, what if?

“John, the fueling is complete,” Timothy said. “If you’ve got the flight plan, I’ll load the box and we’re out of here.”

“Uh . . . it wasn’t ready when I was inside.” He refocused his attention on the task at hand. “I’ll go get it and be right back.” Johnny entered the FBO lobby to ask the receptionist if she had received his flight plan, but she was nowhere in sight.

“Looking for this, Johnny?” Wakefield Trotter inquired. Johnny grimaced as he realized his escape plans for Vicky and Geoffrey had been compromised.

“Mr. Trotter. It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure. Is that my paperwork?” He stepped forward in an effort to secure his flight plan. He wasn’t sure if Wakefield could read the complicated routing format of the plan. It consisted of perhaps four linear feet of single-spaced print that included everything from the route, to weather, to the status of airport facilities, and numerous other bits of information that only a trained pilot could decipher.

“Yes it is, Johnny,” Wakefield said.

“Have you made a career change to FBO receptionist?” Johnny retorted. “That’s quite a switch from your last occupation.”

“Actually, Johnny, the young lady on duty at the desk tonight has been temporarily detained,” Wakefield calmly responded. “But I believe she is available now. Mike.” He called out to his accomplice.

Mike pushed the receptionist around the hall corner with a small caliber pistol pressed against her head, and forced her to walk into the lobby.

“I see you’re still in your same line of work after all.” Johnny attempted to maintain an upper hand in the conversation. “Now I don’t know what your plans are for the evening, but I’ve got a customer outside waiting to—”

“Go to Dallas Love Field, as I read your flight plan here,” he said. Johnny knew he and Vicky were in serious trouble now. Johnny stepped forward in an effort to take the flight plan from Wakefield’s right hand. As he did, he realized Wakefield was holding a semi-automatic handgun in his left hand behind the paper work. Suddenly the situation seemed hopeless.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I am having extreme difficulty in getting my cab to begin running again.” Vance walked excitedly into the room. Johnny noticed that his turban was on backwards, and the mustache was loose on one side of his mouth. Fortunately, he was approaching Wakefield and Mike from behind as they faced Johnny, and they were unable to observe this. “I have just been contacted by my dispatcher and informed that I must proceed with the greatest of haste to pick up a most important customer.”

Wakefield placed the flight plan paperwork back over his gun, and Mike lowered his from the head of the receptionist to the small of her back. Their efforts to conceal their weapons were all for naught, as Vance had already observed Mike escorting the young woman into the room as he sat in the cab. When he saw the gun at her head, he grabbed his turban, stuffed it on his head, and applied the beard to his face as best he could as he ran toward the building.

“I am so sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but I must most expeditiously place a phone call to an automotive service so that they might assist me in starting my cab.”

Johnny noticed that Vance was approaching Wakefield from the opposite side of the triangle formed by the three men. This tactic would provide the optimum advantage for neutralizing opponents when outnumbered, as it was easier to shoot across the triangle from the outside than from the inside. Vance stopped at Wakefield’s right shoulder, placed his hand together as if he was about to begin a prayer, and bowed.

“Once again, kind sir, I am most sorry to interrupt your conversation, but do you by any chance have a cell phone with which I could briefly utilize to contact an automotive repair facility?” Vance’s back was now parallel to the floor. He was poised to strike like a coiled snake.

Johnny took a few steps back, smiled, and got ready to enjoy the show.

“There’s probably a pay phone in the hall,” Wakefield curtly replied and nodded in the direction of the hallway where Mike was standing with his gun pressed firmly into the back of the receptionist.

“Bad move,” Johnny thought.

“Thank you kind sir for dat suggestion, but I’m afraid that time is of the essence in these dire circumstances with which I find myself this evening.” Vance abruptly raised himself from his bowed position and struck a severe blow with both fists that were now clasped in an interlocking finger position to the underneath side of Wakefield’s jaw. As Wakefield’s knees buckled, Vance grabbed the gun from his hand and fired one round into the forehead of Mike Lynchburg. Mike fell to the ground. The receptionist fainted and fell on top of him.

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” Johnny perused the bullet hole in Mike’s forehead.

Vance removed his turban, scratched his head, and once again pulled the beard from his face.

“John, what’s taking so long with the flight . . .” Timothy entered the lobby from the ramp. He stopped his inquiry into the status of the flight plan in mid sentence as he surveyed the carnage on the floor. “I gotta give it to you, John,” he confessed. “I thought our approach in here this evening was gonna get us in trouble, but I’m fairly certain when the D.C. cops see this, we probably won’t ever be invited back here again.”

“I made that approach knowing full well it would be my last one into Reagan National. I believe you came in here for this.” Johnny bent down over the prostrate body of Wakefield Trotter and picked up the flight plan.

Timothy was still attempting to comprehend the fact that there was a dead man on the floor, surrounded by an ever increasing pool of blood, and a woman lying on top of him. Another man, immaculately attired in an expensive business suit, also lay prostrate on the floor with no visible sign of injury. And finally there was a man standing calmly next to Johnny with a turban and fake beard in one hand, and a gun in the other.

“John, you’re getting too old for this,” Timothy said. “Hell, I’m getting too old for this.”

“I’ll be out to the airplane in a minute.” Johnny handed the flight plan to Timothy, and then turned to Vance. “By the way, nice shot. Any thought at all as to the fact he might have shot the girl?”

“None whatsoever,” Vance replied confidently. “You probably didn’t notice, but I actually hesitated for a bit after I pointed the gun at his head before I shot him. It’s a natural instinct for a trained shooter like him to defend himself when attacked. I knew he would raise his gun from her back and try to kill me, so there was no chance he would shoot her. Besides, I like to make these little altercations somewhat fair. So I always give them a chance to get a shot off.”

“Really?”

“Well, not really,” Vance said. “But as I get older, I do find I need some sort of means to rationalize the taking of another life. So in this case, I’ll just go home tonight and tell myself it was him or me.”

“I’ve got to go,” Johnny said.

“What about this mess here?” Vance asked as the pool of blood around Mike’s head continued to spread across the floor.

“Take the girl with you. When she comes to, explain to her that it would be in her best interests if she left town. You work out how much money she wants and send me the bill. When Mr. Trotter wakes up, I’m sure he’ll know what to do with his friend here. He knows how to make sure this entire event will never come to the attention of anyone.”