DESPERADOS
After waiting near a lagoon under Sugar Alpha’s planned flight path the rest of the afternoon and all night, Roger and Rudy gave up their effort to warn the pilots. Roger hoped for the best—that the flight had been delayed enough for Mickey to get his wave-off message—and pushed out of his mind the many worst-case alternatives for the plane’s failure to show. With pressure to flee increasing by the hour, they drove to Corozal Town for messages and news. He was elated to hear Mickey’s message but the feeling evaporated as they refocused on their own situation.
“How much do you think they know?” Roger asked Rudy. He knew the answer would be pure speculation, but it would give also him a little glimpse the judgment, thinking and integrity of this new friend he didn’t really know.
“Can’t say for sure, of course,” Rudy said, eyes focused in the distance as he ran over things in his mind. “A lot depends on if they caught George or Manu or some of your crew bosses. But even if they only have Jacob, I’m sure they know what you look like, and that’s too much for you to be safe here.”
“Agreed,” Roger said. “We best get to the border. It’ll be easy for me to cross and safer figure it out from there.”
Later on that morning, December 23rd, Rudy dropped Roger off in Santa Elena, a town that straddled the Belize-Mexico border. Roger gave Rudy his radio. Rudy gave Roger his phone number.
Roger was tired and apprehensive when he approached the bridge over the Rio Hondo, wondering if the authorities were looking for him. He mingled with a group of peasants as he passed through the customs checkpoint, hoping that he looked like an American college student hitchhiking around Latin America on winter break, crossing his fingers that there would be no unwelcome questions.
He discreetly checked the customs officers for stares and signs of tension or extra alertness and saw none; he just paid the $5 departure tax like everyone else and, staying close to the other pedestrians, walked into Mexico past their customs point without stopping. He was amazed and more relieved than he’d ever felt before. For a moment, he felt as if he’d collapse after all the strain of his escape, but then he felt a second wind of energy fill his body and soul and he walked with a renewed spring in his step toward his next destination: Chetumal Airport.
He soon faced another problem; his limited Spanish was a distinct handicap. Unlike Belize, where English remained the language of government and almost everyone spoke and understood English at some level, almost no one in this part of Mexico knew even the most basic English words or phrases. He became rapidly flustered by repeated failures to communicate and only found the bus stop because it was marked with an international sign. The schedule only indicated route numbers, so he didn’t know where the bus went, but he knew the airport was northeast of Santa Elena so if the bus went that general direction, he knew he’d end up there. Still, he’d rather be sure, so he eyed his fellow travelers while pointing to the sign and asking “Chetumal? Chetumal?”
“Sí,” said an old woman with a cage holding two chickens. She led him onto an old bus and he dug in his pocket to pay the driver. He had nothing smaller than an American ten so he handed that to him and nervously signaled that he had no change. The bus driver looked at him curiously but otherwise made no move, so with one eye on the driver, Roger walked to the rear. He saw the driver stuff the money in his pocket.
Roger plopped down in a seat and the bus headed to Chetumal. They entered the bustling town a few minutes later and the driver stopped at a fancy tourist hotel in the center of the business district and waved him forward. Roger shook his head and made jet sounds while holding his arms out, but the driver and the other passengers looked at him like he was crazy so he gave up and got off.
Feeling like an alien on an unknown planet, Roger went inside the impressive building. The beautiful lobby gave him a sense of security, and he took a seat near a huge supporting column by a fountain. He sat quietly for a long while, gathering his composure as he listened to the tinkling fountains, its sound reflecting off the blue mosaic tiles that covered every wall. Then he opened his gray Cordura bag and inspected his last few resources. The first thing he found was the second half of a round-trip ticket he’d so confidently bought in New Orleans that was to take him home on Christmas Eve. He stared at the ticket, wondering if he could exchange it, when he spotted a young couple who looked American. Roger approached them and they smiled at him.
“Excuse me, do you know what city this is?” he asked indirectly. “I got a little confused on the bus.”
They frowned at him and looked at each other, then the man looked at him with disappointment in his eyes.
“No English,” he said haltingly. “Dispiace signore, non possiamo aiutarti.”
Roger’s enthusiasm faded quickly, and he held up his hands and smiled in thanks. Without a translator or contacts, Roger started thinking his chances might be better if he went back to Belize—especially since he was also a wanted man in Mexico from previous affairs. Surrounded by uncertainty, he knew for sure that he didn’t want to become another lost gringo rotting in a Mexican prison.
He lounged around the hotel until near sunset, then took a bus back to the border. From the shadows, he watched the customs officers search a large truck, then sneaked around them without checking in. After he made it back across the river, he handed the Belizean immigration officer his fake birth certificate and was quickly processed.
Once again on familiar ground, Roger felt much better as he walked through town to the Northern Highway. A cool sea breeze slowly dropped the temperature while he thumbed for a ride. His efforts were rewarded when a truck stopped and a smiling Belizean Indian picked him up.
“Thank you,” he said as he climbed aboard. “How far are you going?”
“Orange Walk,” said the driver, “to deliver some miniature bananas.” He pointed to a bag between the seats. “Have some.”
“That’s great! I’m going to Orange Walk, too,” Roger said, unable to suppress the smile that spread across his face as he grabbed one bunch. “Do you happen to know an Indian named Rudy?”
“This is your lucky day, amigo. I can take you to his house. I’m Emilio.”
“Wow, thanks,” he said. “I’m Freddy,” he added, using the name on his fake birth certificate. Then he tried not to look as hungry as he was while he ate the bananas. When he finished eating, they exchanged small talk as they cruised down the smooth highway until Emilio turned onto a small street with Rudy’s station wagon parked alongside a small house.
“Thank you so much for the ride, my friend,” Roger said as he climbed out, and laid a twenty on the seat. “And for the bananas.”
“You don’t need to give me any money,” said Emilio, waving him off. “You keep it.” Then he smiled and handed the exhausted American another bunch of bananas.
“I can tell you’re a little hungry, no?’
“Yes, a little,” Roger said. “Thank you,” laughing inwardly at his failure to hide it from the Belizean. He waved goodbye and knocked on Rudy’s door, thinking to himself how ironic it was that the poor were often so much more charitable than the rich. The small-framed, dark skinned Indian’s eyes widened when he saw Roger, dirty, tired, and unshaven. He looked around to see if anyone was watching.
“Go wait in the car,” he said quietly, then shut the door. Roger collapsed into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. Rudy seemed to appear in the same instant, and drove away quickly from his house.
“Why did you come back?” he hissed. “It’s too dangerous here for you.”
“It was worse in Mexico,” Roger replied wearily. “Better to be here where I have friends and people speak English.” Rudy smiled grimly.
“I’m sorry, my friend. I’d forgotten it’s all Spanish on the other side of the river.”
“No problem, it was probably good to get away for a day or so. Maybe things have cooled off just a bit around here.”
“A little, that is true,” said Rudy, “but they were hotter than we thought when you left. What started it all was George and Manu getting into a gunfight at a roadblock.”
“You’re kidding,” Roger said, incredulous that George would so blatantly disobey his “no guns” order. “How do you know this?”
“I saw bullet holes in the police Jeeps, and other growers confirmed it. That was why the van blew up; the police shot at them as they ran the checkpoint and hit the fuel tanks.”
“And they didn’t know it,” Roger, talking mostly to himself. “Then they stopped at Jacob’s and the fuel leaked onto the hot exhaust and that was it.”
“Some people in San Felipe said they could see the fireball even from there, so the cops went to Jacob’s house and beat him.”
“And he talked,” Roger said flatly.
“Not until they threatened to hurt his wife.” Roger gritted his teeth in anger.
“Cowards.”
“But effective. He took them to the camp and they took the weed and blew a big hole in the middle of the runway. You cannot land there now.”
“Did you check it out?”
“Not me! I wouldn’t go anywhere near that place now. No, the growers trying to steal your load from the police, they talk to the cops and the cops are talking a lot. They are very proud of this bust, and they are now hunting the man they now call Señor Heuvos Grandes.
“Great,” Roger muttered. “What about George and Manu?”
“Both are still loose and they may not know about Manu, but they are hunting George because he talks too much and sells too much. It was because of him that they put up the checkpoints in the first place.”
“Well, at least they don’t have them yet,” Roger said, wondering how much weight to give Rudy’s account, given how he wanted to replace George as Roger’s Belizean connection. As if on cue, Rudy continued.
“Mr. Roger, I speak Spanish, English, and Mayan, I have many contacts, and we can use the international airport for landing and fuel. Let me help you.” Rudy’s persistence grated on Roger, and American government-tainted connections made him more than a little paranoid.
“Listen, after what’s happened, I can’t tell you what I can do. Right now, my priority is to get back to the States and re-group. And I gotta tell you, man, I don’t like the idea of working with any government. It gets real crazy when you do that.”
“Okay, then,” Rudy said, nodding, “I understand, get you out of here first, then figure out how we can work together later, yes?” Roger nodded. “Then we must hide you until morning when your flight leaves.” Roger held out his hand to Rudy. They shook and then Roger settled back into his seat, more tired than he had ever been.
Rudy pulled into a narrow alley in the center of town between rows of old, two-story wooden buildings. They climbed a rickety staircase and entered a small apartment that doubled as an office. Rudy gave the owner $2 for the night, then carefully led Roger over planks in the middle of a rotten hallway floor to his room. Roger walked inside and turned on the light. Roaches scattered in all directions and the stench of sweat and urine assailed his nostrils. Flies buzzed around him and the sounds from the street and other rooms drifted in unimpeded. A flattened mattress slumped across rough boards unevenly spaced on a rusted metal frame. A sink with no faucet drained into a rusty can. The room had no water except probably for probably the sink, and there was no toilet. There was no lock on the door, either.
“They won’t look for you here,” Rudy said proudly. “This place is very safe.”
“From the cops maybe,” Roger said wearily of the surroundings that weren’t fit for a stray dog—but he was a stray human and Rudy thought this was the best solution, so he didn’t argue. “Thanks for the help,” he said instead. “Much appreciated.”
“You’re welcome,” Rudy said. “I come get you tomorrow morning at six.”
Roger sat on the edge of his bed after Rudy left, soaking up his surroundings, getting a feel for the place. He could easily hear his neighbors, not just in his building but throughout the neighborhood. He heard no excited talk, no engines racing or tires squealing. No police knocked on doors, barking orders or demanding answers. Despite the grinding poverty in which he was immersed, the place felt peaceful, serene even.
Finally, he had the strength to chew on a crushed granola bar and washed it down with the bit of water left in his bottle. He considered going out for a street vendor meal, but as he pondered the notion, he fell asleep in a sitting position and fell back onto the bare mattress, oblivious to the flies and bedbugs.
Christmas Eve dawned sunny and hot, and Roger woke at first light, feeling like newspaper at the bottom of a bird cage. He cleaned up the best he could at the pathetic sink, reminding himself that at least there was running water, then he relieved himself in the corner that stank most of urine. When Rudy showed up, he felt half-way human and more or less presentable, and he didn’t feel nervous when they bought bottled water and enough food to calm his stomach before they left. After they started down the Northern Highway to Belize City, he felt better with each added mile they put between them and the debacle in San Felipe.
“Sure hope they haven’t figured out my traveling identity,” he said to Rudy after they went through the toll station. “It was easy to pass the border, so it shouldn’t be a problem at the airport security.”
“Maybe they just didn’t get the word up there,” Rudy teased. “Not a very active crossing.”
“Gee, thanks,” Roger said. “I’m trying to be optimistic here.” Rudy winked.
“But you still look so intense. Try to relax a little, my friend. It is the best thing to do, even in the face of death.”
Roger laughed out loud, remembering how many times he had told young skydivers the exact same thing. So he took Rudy’s advice—and his own—and kicked back in his seat to clear his mind of everything else and enjoy the view for a while. It was a beautiful country after all.
His plan worked for a while. Then he started surveying straight sections to be used as runways and when they rounded one huge curve, Roger recognized the long straightaway as the one he’d picked out from the air during his Islander tour. Roger looked over his shoulder to see how the landmarks looked from that angle when Rudy swerved off the road and thumped something with one wheel. He braked to a quick stop and jumped from the car.
“What are you doing?” Roger barked, startled at the sudden twist in their trip.
“Armadilly, Roger, armadilly!” Rudy shouted joyfully, as he ran behind the car and picked up a now-dead armadillo from the side of the road. Roger shook his head in wonder at Rudy’s antics, then took advantage of the brief halt to get out of the car and feel the place around him. He could see no dwellings, animals or even fences in any direction. No cars passed while they sat on the side of the road.
He paced off the width of the pavement as Rudy flipped the armadillo through the rear window onto the station wagon’s spare tire.
“Now isn’t this sweet,” Roger said to himself as much to Rudy. “Just wide enough for the landing gear of a Three. We could block the road on the blind side of both curves and nobody would see anything.” Rudy looked dubious.
“It’s really wide enough?” he asked, looking at the soft shoulders and trees that grew not too far from the road. Roger nodded.
“The pilot I have can handle it. Shoulders won’t support much weight, but the trees are so close he has to dead center the landing anyway.” He pointed to a dirt road that led off the main road through a cleft in a rock face. “Where does that go?”
“Gravel quarry. They made it to build the road.”
“They still use it?”
“No. Only for the road. Just sits there now.” Roger smiled.
“We could hide the load in the quarry and have the plane stop right at the road.” He studied it for another moment, then headed back to the car.
“Yeah, that would work. Let’s get an odometer reading on this stretch.”
They measured three miles from curve to curve, then continued on their way.
“The road is a better runway than the international airport,” Rudy said, “and if that spot doesn’t work out, I know there are several more.”
During the rest of their trip to Belize City, Rudy kept pointing out other suitable sites and hitting on Roger for a commitment to work. When the new Northern Highway rejoined the old one at Sand Hill junction, Roger decided to give him a try.
“All right, Rudy, let’s see what you can do. I want you to line up as much weight as you can from your contacts. Put together a team of about ten good men who can load a plane in case I get back to do something. Right now, everything’s up in the air, but just in case. All right?”
“You’ll be pleased with what I can do, Mr. Roger,” he said with a smile. “Even more, I will bring you together with Martin Gillette, the head of the anti-narcotics squad. That is insurance worth having.”
“Take care of the other stuff first, and then we’ll see about speaking to him.”
“You need not be concerned,” Rudy said. “He’s trustworthy. I will speak to him while you’re away and see how he feels.”
They stopped a few miles down the road at Sand Hill’s new telecommunication facility, and Roger called Mickey.
“Sorry Sally was sick,” Roger said, “but you didn’t miss anything. Pretty boring party all around,” knowing that Mickey would take that to mean the exact opposite.
“Oh well, more fun next time,” Mickey said. “Pick you up tomorrow morning as planned?”
“You got it. Thanks.” Roger hung, smiling at their pickup protocol. Morning meant afternoon, tomorrow meant today. He dialed his message service.
“I can’t believe you’re still gone so close to Christmas,” said Jeanie’s testy voice. “The kids keep asking where you are, so you better be here before Santa comes.” Roger hung up and sighed, then flashed his devil-may-care smile at Rudy.
“Now for the last hurdle.”
Rudy dropped him off at a hotel shuttle stop near the airport and promised to fulfill his mission by the time Roger returned. Roger rode to the terminal on the hotel shuttle surrounded by Americans and Europeans, and mingled with them as they disembarked and went to their respective airline counters.
Roger ducked into a restroom, soaped and wetted several paper towels, then took those and several dry ones into the stall farthest from the door and did as thorough a cleanup as he could, starting with his face and skin, then scrubbing as many smudges as he could from his shirt, then wiping down his pants and backpack, then using what was left of the towels to clean up his shoes. He checked the mirror when he left the stall and smiled at what he saw: a clean-cut young American who looked tired from a great Belizean vacation. He was good to go and the Roger who walked out of the restroom was much more confident of his chances of getting home for Christmas than the Roger who had walked into the restroom a few minutes before.
His confidence was justified. The customs officials were neither tense nor alert and clearly not looking for anyone in particular. As he passed through the gauntlet with routine ease, he wondered if the cops up north were keeping the whole bust secret so they could cash in on it themselves. That would be par for the course, Roger thought. Governments are almost always more corrupt than the criminals they chase.
He settled wearily into his window seat near the rear of the plane where few people would pass by him, stashed his backpack between his feet and went to sleep.
“Merry Christmas, buddy,” a tired and depressed Mickey said to Roger when they met in the New Orleans airport.
“Sugar’s fixable, right?”
“Blew a motor,” Mickey said, nodding glumly. Roger smiled and slapped his partner on the back as they headed for an airport lounge.
“Then it is a Merry Christmas. I dodged the Man, Sugar dodged the Man and the Reaper, and I’ll be home in time to see my kids open their presents.”
“Yeah, I guess it coulda been a lot less merry. At least she broke at the right time and place.”
“Never been happier to hear an abort message,” Roger said as they entered the lounge and sat down in the most secluded corner they could find.
“So where do we go from here, man? I got less than thirty grand left, we have people strung across the country, and Christmas is tomorrow.”
“Plus we lost the load, drew incredible heat, and our plane is missing a motor.”
“Like I said,” Mickey responded with a gallows smile, “Merry Christmas. Jeff found one in Florida for twenty-two large that’s set up for a quick engine change. He’s there now waiting for our decision—and let me tell you, Blind Jeff’s a real warrior. Never lost his cool, never lost his heart, kept Billy cool and kept me hot to trot, so I sure don’t want to give up now. How about your end?”
“Let’s finish your end first. How long before Sugar’s ready to go?”
“The crew in Hamilton says they can have her back in the air twenty-four hours after they get the engine.”
“Yeah, right. Mark couldn’t do it that fast even if a skydiving meet depended on it.”
“These guys can do it. They have the tools and equipment through Hogan, and said they’ll work on Christmas if you give the word.” Roger sat back and pondered.
“Gotta admit, man,” he said after a long moment, “things are more together than I thought they’d be. I can see this gig isn’t as close to death as I’d thought it was, but before I get too excited, who’s ‘they’?”
“Jeff, Jason the mechanic, Paul, and his helpers.”
“Paul?”
“Yeah, man, he heard we were down, and felt kinda guilty that she blew on our way ‘home,’ and he needed the money, so he not only volunteered to help, he steered us to this motor when we were having no luck. It fell in our lap, and I have enough money left to make it happen so I couldn’t pass it up.”
“All right,” Roger said, and he felt hope building in his bones again, “that sounds pretty solid. Great work, man. Great work.”
“Thanks,” Mickey replied, so do I pull the trigger with Jeff?”
“Let’s say we can hang the motor in two days. Add one more for test flying and tweaking. Are the boys still set at the Ranch?” Mickey nodded. “All right, then, that leaves Belize. We lost our load, the cops blew up our runway, and it’s way too hot up there now anyway—but the crops are coming in, and there aren’t many buyers, so we can pick up all we need for about fifteen a pound U.S.”
“What do we do for expense money?” Mickey asked.
Roger grabbed a calculator from his bag and punched in the numbers.
“Eight thousand will cost one-twenty and I need at least thirty-five to work with, and throw in fifteen for you. That’s one-seventy, so let’s just say we need two hundred grand.”
“Okay, that’s what we need—where does it come from?” Roger grinned wolfishly.
“Tony.”
“No fucking way!” Mickey snarled. “No way I’ll work with him, no way he’ll work with me.”
“Who said you gotta work with him? All we need is cash, right?” Mickey nodded reluctantly. “All right, then. He’s been hounding me to get involved, so I work out a deal using his money. He doesn’t even have to know you’re involved.” Mickey pondered Roger’s plan for a long moment, then shrugged.
“I’ll take his money as long as I don’t have to look at the fucker,” he said. Roger smiled and held out his hand for a seal-the-deal shake. Mickey held back.
One more thing,” he said. “Where’s Sugar gonna land?”
Roger left his hand out as he eyed Mickey steadily.
“Let’s see if Tony’s in first or we got nothing anyway. If he is, then I’ll tell you about the new runway.” Mollified, Mickey grabbed Roger’s hand and they sealed the deal, then went to a phone bank across from a boarding gate. Tony picked up after two rings.
“Hey man, how ya doing?” Roger said. “Ahh, you got time to give me a call?”
“Give me fifteen.” Roger hung up and smiled at Mickey.
“So far, so good,” he said. “He’s interested.”
“Okay then,” riposted Mickey, “where do you put her down?” Roger looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them, then spoke softly.
“Remember the aerial photos I showed you of the new road?”
“You want to land on the fucking highway?” Roger nodded. “That’s a big risk, isn’t? Dude, we can’t afford to lose another load, not to mention another plane and two more pilots—and you want to land on the only north-south road in the whole fucking country. Are you fucking nuts?” Roger flashed his devil-may-care smile and paused for effect before answering.
“We’ve already decided this is for all the marbles,” he said patiently, “and we’ve put too much into it to quit here, so yes, we’re gonna land on the highway, and sure, there’ll be some risk multipliers doing it there, but there are some minimizers too. I haven’t worked it all out yet because I didn’t know Sugar’s status, but yeah, it’s very doable.”
“Fucking A,” Mickey exclaimed, savoring Roger’s confidence. “One thing I love about you, man, is when you set your mind on something, there’s no stopping you.”
“All right, then, call Jeff and let’s get on with it.”
Mickey nodded and stepped over to a pay phone. Roger sat down in a nearby chair and closed his eyes.
“Okay, we’re rolling,” Mickey said what seemed to Roger to be an instant later. “Took a while to get him on the horn ’cause he was in a hangar getting ready to load it up.” Roger snorted and rubbed his eyes.
“The blind man who sees everything.” He looked at his watch. “If we can forgo the fuel, I can be ready in three days. Since I’ll be working with a different group, let’s figure in one extra. If Tony comes through and I can get there by the day after tomorrow, we can do it on the thirtieth.”
“That should work,” Mickey said. “We already planned to haul round-trip fuel, but that doesn’t cover rule-of-three contingencies, so if you can fit in a couple of drums to top off the mains, that’d sure be cool. You may also want to swing by Ohio before you go for a little moral support. Like I said, Jeff’s been holding down the fort, but even he must be feeling a little low.”
“I’ll try,” Roger said, “but I gotta make sure I do enough family time.” Mickey nodded his understanding. “Anyway, we missed knocking it off before Christmas, but if we get her done on the thirtieth, I’ll be back in time to tip a glass of champagne with you for New Year’s.”
“Looking forward to it, but how about Jeanie? How’s she holding up?”
“Not so good. Really frustrated about me being gone during the holidays and the kids aren’t happy either, so that’s stressing me out too and it gets worse by the minute because I sure can’t call her and tell her what happened. Gotta do that in person—and even then I gotta be vague.”
Mickey grimaced sympathetically as Roger got up and went to the phone to get Tony’s number from his message service.
“So what’s happening?” Tony asked after picking up on the first ring, Roger felt his interest and gave Mickey a thumbs up.
“If you’re interested, something may be happening. Good numbers, but if you want in, you have to move quick.”
“What are we talking, a phone number?”
“Nah, this action’s too sweet to go there,” Roger said, understanding “phone number” to mean seven digits—$1 million or more. “We’re talking Johnny Walker,” he added, meaning a fifth of that.
“Are you riding on this too?”
“You betcha! Listen, man, it’s no big deal either way. There was a little room, so I thought of you.”
Mickey laughed into his sleeve at the way Roger worked Tony.
“Okay, then,” Tony replied, taking the bait, “if you think it’s that good, I can be ready tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Christmas.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Then the day after.”
Roger held up two fingers to Mickey, who slumped into a nearby chair and flipped him a thumbs up.
“All right, but that’s the deadline ’cause I’m leaving that day too so we so can you meet me somewhere?”
“I doubt it, man, I forgot about Christmas. You’ll have to come here.”
“All right,” Roger agreed. “I’ll call later with the flight number.”
“Okay, see you then.”
“Merry Christmas,” Roger said, and hung up and sat down next to Mickey.
“So now all we gotta do is work out a fair repayment schedule with that fucker,” Mickey said. “You know of course he’ll try to burn you on it.”
“You leave Tony the Snake to me.”
“Gladly, but listen, you’re gonna be home for Christmas, then to Ohio and Tampa the twenty-sixth and fly to Belize the same day. Sure you’ll be ready to pitch the thirtieth?”
Roger arched his eyebrows at him. Mickey chuckled.
“Okay, never mind. I guess by now I should know better than to doubt you.”
They stood and slapped together their traditional scammer handshake.
“Merry Christmas, man,” Mickey said warmly.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” Roger replied in kind.
Christmas lights blinked from the eaves and picture window of Roger’s house when he returned late in the evening to the frozen farmlands of middle America. The combination of ice, snow, cold and Yuletide ambiance made him again feel like an alien on another planet after his grueling adventure in the tropical jungle of Central America.
He walked inside to the warm glow of Christmas tree lights washing over the living room, presents already stacked under the tree. Unlike Santa, he thought, his sack contained mostly dirty laundry, though, fortunately he’d had time to buy Jeanie some very chic perfume at the airport duty-free store while he waited for his connecting flight. He went upstairs to look in on his family.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, and Jeanie was slumbering too. He retreated quietly and took a long shower in the downstairs bathroom, watching the water turn brown as it rolled over him, then clear again as the last of the Belizean dirt swirled down the drain. He hand-washed his clothes and pack too, to get the worst of the filth and smell out of them, then hung them on the faucets to drain after he got out.
He luxuriated in the feel of the soft fluffy clean towel as he dried himself off, stopped in the kitchen for a long drink of orange juice he found in the fridge, then, towel-wrapped, went into the living room with Jeanie’s perfume in hand. He had no idea where the wrapping paper was, so he stole the bow from a small, elegantly wrapped present with his name on it and stuck it on the top of the box, then snuggled it in with the rest of the gifts.
He went upstairs quietly, put on his pajamas and tried to climb into bed without waking Jeanie, but she stirred and looked at him with sleepy eyes.
“Merry Christmas, honey,” he said softly, but when he tried to kiss her, she turned a cold shoulder to him. He sighed and pulled the covers around him. He wished he could tell her how his week had gone, how hard he’d fought to get home for Christmas, but he knew he never could. To protect her and his family, he could never say more than the most general things about his “work.” He sighed and started thinking about what it would be like to sleep every night in his own bed, to see his children every morning, to… he fell asleep before he thought any farther.
Roger slept late on Christmas morning, glad to be back in his own bed, glad to be clean, glad to be free of roaches and bedbugs and the threat of arrest and a long stay in a hellhole foreign prison. He looked out the window at the bright, bitterly cold day. Frost wrapped everything in icy beauty and a cutting wind had dragged the thermometer outside the window well below zero.
Roger’s first thought was not of Christmas, or his wife, or his children, but of his crew working in the same weather to hang a motor on a DC-3, giving up their Christmas in hopes of a big payoff. The responsibility of making that dream come true for them weighed heavily on him.
The dark moment evaporated as the sound of children laughing wafted up the stairs. He smiled and got up, went into the bathroom and grabbed his electric razor.
When he got downstairs, he saw Missy and Rook surrounded by toys and new clothes and shredded wrapping paper scattered everywhere.
“Daddy, Daddy!” shouted Missy, her eyes shining as she held up a Barbie doll. “Look what Santa brought me!” Rook paid his father no attention; he was engrossed with a shiny toy airplane.
“Well, look at that,” Roger said, smiling brightly. “You must have been a good little girl.”
She ran into his arms and he gave her a big hug and a smooth-faced kiss. Jeanie smiled for Missy’s sake but her crossed arms and legs told the real story of her still-frosty feelings. Roger gave her space for the moment, tousling Missy’s hair instead.
“Mama and I didn’t think you’d be home for Christmas. You must have a lot of work, huh?”
“Yes, honey. It’s been really crazy for daddy.”
Roger looked into his daughter’s blue eyes and brushed her blonde curls from her face. He felt so distant from his loving family, felt more connected to Rosa and her family than he did with his own. That was the main reason why he wanted to quit; he was tired of feeling like a stranger in his own home. Still, he worried that deep down, a normal family life wouldn’t be exciting enough to keep him happy, that the restrictions and routines of being a “family man” might make him resent them. But he’d worry about that later. Today he’d try to be that guy he hoped he could be every day; a father and husband who was there for his family.
“Roger,” Jeanie said gently, though her arms and legs were still crossed. “Santa brought something for you, too.”
“I’ll get it!” Missy said, bounding from his arms over to the tree, where she found the elegantly wrapped little present and handed it to him, looking slightly puzzled.
“Gee, I wonder why it doesn’t have a bow?”
“Looks like Santa put it on Mommy’s present.” Missy’s eyes widened.
“Mommy’s present? Where?” She scampered over to the tree again, where she quickly found it and gave it to Jeanie, giggling at getting to be a gift giver twice.
Jeanie finally thawed out as she cradled his present, her face cracking into a smile like pond ice breaking up in springtime, arms and legs easing into a more welcoming posture.
Roger opened his own present; it was a gold watch, engraved on the back with the words: “Congratulations on your retirement. Love, Jeanie.” He looked up to see his wife eyeing him slyly. He eyed her back just as slyly, then went over and kissed her. This time, there was no cold shoulder, she embraced him warmly and their kiss lingered.
It ended only when Missy tugged on their arms.
“Come on, you guys,” she said impatiently. “Can’t you see we still have presents to open?” Roger looked at her and laughed, then sat down between his children and immersed himself in Christmas. He saw Jeanie smiling at him and suddenly realized that he couldn’t tell her he was leaving again tomorrow. No sense ruining what little holiday time they had together. No, he’d just bail in the morning and leave her a note.
Mickey picked up Roger at the Cincinnati airport at 9 a.m. on the 26th. When they got to the south side of Hamilton Field 45 minutes later, they could see Sugar Alpha’s front quarter draped in plastic sheeting that fluttered lazily in an icy breeze.
“Park here,” said Roger, indicating a spot by the fence behind a hangar. “This end of the deal’ll fall apart if Paul knows I’m involved.”
“Good thinking,” Mickey said.
When he returned several minutes later, he started up the car as soon as he got in.
“Paul’s in town chasing down some parts,” he told Roger. “We got time for you to see what the boys are doing—and for them to see you’re on the case.”
Mickey drove in and parked by the plane. Roger got out and went through the protective plastic walls wrapped around the wing and scaffolding. He smelled cigarette smoke and felt the slight warmth from the salamander heaters when he got inside. He looked up and was amazed to see the new motor already mounted and Billy and Jeff camped out on the scaffold, Jeff with his ever-present cigarette, hooking up the remaining connections. He raised a thumb to them and grinned.
“Amazing job, guys,” he said, grinning appreciatively. “Especially in these conditions.” They raised wrenches in acknowledgement and salute as Mickey joined Roger.
“Determined motherfuckers, aren’t they?” Mickey said proudly. Roger nodded in hearty agreement. “Okay, guys, he shouted up to them. “Take a break.”
They came off the scaffold and everybody shook hands. Roger and Jeff looked at each other with a happy gleam in their eyes that spoke of tales best left untold until they were in a more secure place. Roger also noticed that Jeff was tired and stressed—but he seemed to noticeably relax as soon as he saw Roger.
“Really appreciate the way you’ve been hauling the freight since you came aboard, Jeff,” Roger said quietly. “We’d be nowhere if you weren’t along, so more thanks than I can say.”
“You’re welcome, pardner,” Jeff said, “my pleasure.” He lit another cigarette.
They piled into Mickey’s car and went to the hotel and parked themselves in Jeff’s room. They sat down and decompressed for a few minutes and Jeff started some coffee. Then Roger turned to Billy and handed him two twenties.
“Would you please go pick up some breakfast?”
“Sure thing, Roger,” Billy said with a smile. He hopped to his feet and out the door.
“What’s up with that?” Roger asked, surprised at Billy’s behavior. Mickey grinned and nodded in Jeff’s direction.
“He sees how a real professional operates and some of it seems to be rubbing off on him. He’s pretty tolerable now, believe it or not.”
“Heck, sometimes it’s almost a pleasure to have him around,” Jeff said, then he settled back in his chair. “But I must say, it sure feels good to be with two real smugglers at the same time for a change. This new generation isn’t cut out of the same mold.”
“No, they’re not,” Roger agreed, “but then again, we may not even remember some of the things we did when we were just starting.” They all laughed like old soldiers.
“And probably best left that way, pardner,” Jeff added.
“Like our little episode in Texas, eh?” Roger said, grinning.
“Texas?” Jeff deadpanned. “Never been in Texas.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Roger, “what was I thinking? But if I don’t remember correctly, that time I didn’t see you in Texas was the last time I saw you.” Jeff chuckled.
“Indeed,” he said, “I hadn’t heard a word about you until you hooked up with Mickey. I thought you were mad at me or something.”
“At you?” Roger asked incredulously. “If I ever get mad at you, that’ll be the day when I know I’m wrong about something.”
“Well, thank you, pardner,” said Jeff, genuinely touched at such praise from Roger. “Means a lot coming from a feller like you—and quite the subtle motivator, too.”
“If you noticed, then I guess it wasn’t so subtle,” Roger laughed.
“Yeah it was,” said Mickey. “The problem is, Blind Jeff sees everything.”
“Didn’t see that bad jug,” Jeff corrected. “Good thing it didn’t bite us too bad.” He looked at Roger. “So I hear the dogs of war have been nipping at your heels and you’ve had to change the itinerary a little.” Roger smiled at Jeff’s imagery.
“More than I have time to tell you about right now, but the bottom line is, we lost our beautiful little Shangri-la in the hills, so my question is: How comfortable do you feel in Sugar? How straight a line can you drive with her?”
“I can slip her through the eye of a needle drunk and in the dark.”
“That’s what I had to hear, ’cause you’re gonna slick her onto and back off of a three-mile stretch on the new highway they just completed. Five feet of leeway on either side of the mains and nowhere to turn around.” Jeff and Roger held each other’s gaze for a long moment, then Jeff lit another cigarette and looked back at him through his fragile wire rims with the thick lenses.
“So what’re you asking me that for, pardner? Is there a curve in the middle of it or something?”
“No, it’s an arrow, but the shoulders are unsettled gravel that’ll suck you in the ditch if you get a wheel on them.” Calmly, Jeff took another drag.
“And you’re telling me this because…”
“It’s a subtle motivator,” Roger said, cracking a big grin, “for both of us.”
“Okay, then, pardner, let’s see what you got.”
Roger dug some maps from his bag and handed them over.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. There are trees on both sides a few feet off your wingtips.”
“Billy’s gonna love that,” Mickey chuckled.
“How big?” Jeff asked.
“Those young shrub types that grow in the swamps. If you clip a few it might leave a little wing rash, that’s all.” Jeff nodded.
“Should be pretty easy to find,” he said as he spread the maps on the bed.
“Easier than the other one, yes,” Roger said, pointing out a spot on one map. “Ten miles south of Orange Walk give or take. This red line here that I drew shows where the new highway goes. It starts right here by this little river. Fly one-eight-five from town and you can’t miss it. Helen Keller could find it.”
“Hey, now,” said Jeff, adjusting his glasses.
“We’ll be right about here a third of the way down the longest straight away,” Roger continued. “Start calling when you cross the coast and set up for landing over Orange Walk. I want you to come straight in, no passes. There’s an active military base at the airport, so we have to go fast. We’ll block off the road at each of the curves, so nobody will be able to see you land. I’ll paint a big white spot in the center of the pavement about a half a mile from the first bend. That’s your pre-touchdown point. The actual threshold will be a three-foot-wide white stripe across the road. Set down anywhere near there and we’re good to go. We’ll be about four thousand feet from the stripe here on the left, on a trail that leads to a quarry. I’ll stand in the middle of the road and tell you where to stop. We need to line up the door so we can back right up to it from the dirt road. The big thing is, if you go past the stopping point, we won’t be able to get the truck around the tail.”
“Thereby doubling or tripling our ground time,” Jeff said, blowing smoke through his nose. “Everything else the same?” Roger nodded. “Well, then, I’d say we’re about ready for breakfast.”
Almost on cue, Billy walked through the door carrying a bag of Egg McMuffins. Jeff tossed the maps on one bed and Billy set the food on the table.
“Ho ho ho,” he added, and handed Roger his change. “Santa bring you everything you wanted for Christmas?”
“Not yet,” Roger said, “but it looks like one of his little helpers is growing up right before our eyes.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Mickey chuckled.
“Fuck you,” Billy said lightheartedly and grabbed an Egg McMuffin. “What’d I miss?”
Roger repeated the operational outline in more general terms for Billy and didn’t mention the trees. Billy sweated the small stuff too much as it was.
“Here’s another thing you guys’ll be happy to know in case you didn’t guess it yourself—”
“You got the Belize government in your pocket!” Billy blurted out, only half kiddingly. They all laughed, knowing it wasn’t totally out of the question that Roger could indeed pull off such a thing.
“Better,” Roger grinned. “I found out that the Feds take New Year’s Eve really seriously.”
“For patrolling?” asked Billy, alarmed.
“For partying,” Roger answered, laughing. Billy blushed. “So we break in on New Year’s Eve when they’re waiting for their shift to end. They sure won’t want to do any work, let alone kick off a major interdiction that eats their party time.”
“Bunch of fucking alkies,” Mickey snorted. “All they’ll be thinking about is getting hammered somewhere.”
Billy glanced at Jeff, who nodded and smiled at him, then at Roger.
“Sounds like the perfect New Year’s Eve, pardner. Quiet and no guests.” He finished his breakfast and stood up. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, we need to get back to Sugar so I have something to land on that new runway the Belizean government built for you.”
Roger and Mickey fine-tuned their plan on the way to the airport after dropping Billy and Jeff back at Sugar Alpha.
“I’m telling you,” Roger said, “I’m really starting to like all these flights. Lets me catch up on my sleep. Last night was good but I’m still way behind.”
“You can sleep for a week when this is over,” Mickey replied without sympathy, “but first,” he added more earnestly, “you gotta take care of yourself down there. The shit you stirred up will still be hanging over your head when you get back, and your eyes tell me we’re really pushing it landing on the road. So I know this is really out there, even for you, but inside I can feel it—this is gonna be the one!”
“Appreciate your confidence, man,” Roger said quietly. “I’m just marching onward. No time for looking back and trust me, there are places I won’t be going. Our biggest advantage will be the element of surprise. That’s why the ground time’s gonna be so critical. Sugar’s gotta be down and out fast and after she flies, it’ll still take me twenty minutes to get clear, to get around whatever traffic built up at the roadblock and onto a spur road that goes somewhere. But I feel it too; this one’s getting in!”
They laughed at the wildness of it all, then Mickey turned morose.
“I just hope we’re not getting ahead of ourselves counting on that motherfucking snake to come through. A lot riding on his word.”
“Yeah, but he’s got a pile of money and not much to do and he knows I’ve been doing good weed work—and that I’ll cut him away in a heartbeat if he strings me along or burns me on this.”
“Just don’t let him get the better of you in the negotiations,” Mickey said wearily. “If he plays any games, I’d rather delay the gig until we can work something else out.”
“He is a snake,” Roger agreed. “He was all right at first, but you’re right; he’s gotten pretty evil, so I’ll be sure to be on my toes every second I’m with him. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
Mickey stopped in front of the terminal.
“Charles will be waiting in Tampa to pick up that fifteen,” he said as Roger got out of the car, “and I’ll see you New Year’s Eve for that drink!”
“It’s a date,” Roger said and headed to his gate, thinking as he walked about how crazy his life had been during the past half-week: like a high-flying businessman, he’d held meetings in Belize, New Orleans, Chicago, Cincinnati, and now was on his way to Tampa—all within three days. On top of all that, he’d squeezed in Christmas Day with his family. The stress and fatigue was beginning to take its toll. The pace of the regroup had allowed no relief, and Roger was reaching the limits of his endurance. Only his determination to come through for his team kept him from collapsing in exhaustion—that and the frequent flying. He dragged himself aboard his flight, stowed his bag and settled into his seat. He was asleep before they closed the door.
Roger woke up two hours later when the pilot stuck the jetliner to the runway. He met Tony outside the terminal, driving a brand new Ferrari and wearing a big grin.
“Hey man, welcome to Tampa!” he said warmly as Roger got in.
“Nice to see you again, Tony,” Roger said as they shook hands. Tony concentrated on weaving through the airport traffic, then sprinted onto the freeway and rocketed into the fast lane. He grinned at Roger.
“You want to see my new toy?”
“You mean this isn’t it?”
“Nah, I’ve had this for a month.”
“All right, if it doesn’t take too long.”
As they drove, Tony detailed his latest adventures. Roger listened actively, and filed away several useful bits of information about the feds and their operations before they passed through a gate at the south end of the Tampa Executive Airport. Tony parked in front of a beautiful Super King Air 200.
“Got her last week,” he said as they got out of the car. Roger circled the craft, admiring the new 13-passenger turbine twin.
“Hey buddy, check this shit out!” Tony said as he opened the door and showed Roger the luxurious interior.
“Wow, this is real nice.”
“Yeah, she’s a beauty. C’mon, check out the cockpit.”
Roger already knew what a King Air 200 cockpit looked like, but he wanted to appease the guy who was about to lay two hundred grand on him, so he sat down in the pilot seat and studied the well-appointed instrument panel.
“Good stuff, man, but we gotta get down to business.”
“Yeah, yeah, Sure. Let’s go.”
Tony kept talking as they left the airport for his house.
“Guy at Sunny South lined it up for me. Only paid one point two.”
“How’d you cover that?” Roger said, startled by the figure.
“He takes cash,” Tony said, laughing devilishly.
“You didn’t.”
“Sure did! Four grocery bags full of twenties.”
“Cool,” said Roger, humoring his reckless companion. Inside, though, he wondered how long Tony could go before he got himself caught doing something stupid.
“Dumped another plane off for him to sell after my last trip and told him to find me a 402C. I started an aircraft sales company to cover my ass, specializing in mid-size twins. Having them around’ll come in handy for toot runs from the islands, and with all the scammers I can sell to, I’ll make a fortune.”
“Smart,” said Roger, schmoozing the snake next to him. “A good business front makes sense, but a 404’s the only way to go.”
“No way man, a 402C is where it’s at.” Roger knew Tony had more ratings than he did, but not as many facts. He couldn’t help himself.
“A 404’ll go fifteen hundred miles with factory tanks, costs one-fifty to two hundred, lifts two thousand pounds, and operates from the same strip 402s do.”
“I know that,” Tony said, trying to save face. “That’s why I have two of them on the ramp. A 402 has its own niche, though, and nobody else is filling it.”
“Glad to see you’re thinking it all through,” Roger said, smoothing things over. “A 404’ll gross between three quarters and a million with what we’re yanking out of Belize.”
“Okay, then, man, tell me about what you got going.”
“Big load coming out of Belize that I’ve been working for a while. Hottest scam I’ve ever found—better product than Colombian and it’s five hundred miles closer and it turns as soon as it’s unloaded. There’s some room, so I wanted to see if you wanted in.”
“How much can I invest?”
“Two hundred max, and if you go there, I’ll have to cut another dude out.”
“What’s the return on two hundred?” Roger smiled inwardly. He could tell already that this would end well, but he could still blow it if he didn’t play the game well and he knew Tony was a good gamer himself, even when he played straight. Roger reminded himself to hold tight to negotiation rule number one: Never be first to commit a figure.
“If we lose the load, we both lose. If it gets in, I double your money in thirty days or less.” Tony laughed dismissively.
“Forget it man. Three-to-one, and if there’s any problems a guarantee on half.”
Roger flashed his famous grin and looked him right in the eye.
“I didn’t come to ask you for a job, buddy. I’m doing you a favor so you can make some money.”
“I can do better on a toot gig.”
“No doubt, but this isn’t a toot gig, and all you’re doing is putting up some cash. Anyone else offering to double your money without you having to raise a finger?”
Tony made a face and concentrated on the road for a while. He weaved through traffic to an open space in the flow and looked at Roger again.
“You already told me you’ll make a killing. Don’t be so greedy.”
“You’d offer the same to me if it was your scam, buddy,” Roger said, hoping he hadn’t oversold it, “so don’t even try the greed rap. I’m telling you straight up what I can do. I’m not going to bullshit you and then have problems later. You know I don’t work like that. Besides, I don’t need you or your money.”
“Then I’ll send a plane. Let’s talk about those numbers.”
“Sorry, no, but if we can settle this now, I’ll load you up one time after this one’s in, so make up your mind.” Tony nodded at Roger’s pot sweetener.
“That plus half a mil and we got a deal,” he said as he turned off the main route into a middle class sub-division.
“Four hundred, and on your run, you provide the plane and pilot, I’ll unload it in the States and give you four hundred a pound.”
“Give me a second to think about that,” Tony said as he pulled into a driveway bordered by street-parked Mercedes, Porsches, and other expensive vehicles and stopped in front of the garage of his one-story house as his wife Tiffany Mae walked out the front door with her mother. She kissed Tony as he and Roger got out of the car, then drove off in a red 450 SL. The men went inside and Tony flipped on the stereo.
“Come on, man, I need to get a half out of this,” he said, and Roger could tell The Snake felt stronger in his own den. “Give me a half and I’ll give you the Titan after I do mine.” Roger arched his eyebrows at the notion. The 404 was a highly marketable item.
“I’d have to clear that with my partners first.”
“Your partners don’t need to know.”
“No thanks,” Roger said coldly, reminded again why he disliked this man and was always be on his guard around him. “You know I work straight with my partners and only work with others who do the same.”
“Hey, don’t get so excited, man. I was only kidding. Make it four fifty and I’ll do it.” Roger paused, seemingly pondering, but doing it just for effect because that was exactly the number he was ready to pay.
“Deal,” he said and stuck out his hand. They shook emphatically and Tony smiled.
“Fair deal, and I want you to know you can count on me. Any time you need wings for a scam, I’ll get it for cost, and you don’t have to pay me until you get one in.”
“I appreciate that, let’s keep that separate, all right?”
“Right, separate deal. Just saying, man, I’ll be turning planes, and that will move another, so keep it in the back of your head. Now let’s check out the kitchen.”
Tony’s mood turned positively cheery as he walked into the first class kitchen and stood next to a steaming double boiler.
“Wanna get high?”
“What are you doing?” Roger asked, mystified at the change of course.
“Cookin’ rocks!” Tony said gleefully. He pulled off the top pan and spooned a clump of the mixture into a glass pipe.
“Converting toot to freebase. It’s the only way to fly, man.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to get high on your own supply?”
“Yeah, but so what? Want some?”
“No thank you, and I don’t expect you to party while we’re doing business, so make a decision: blow your brains or deal. This ain’t no street gig, and I don’t work with punks!”
Tony frowned, but he got the message. He set aside the pipe and led Roger to his bedroom, where he dug through his cluttered closet and tossed a large lizard-skinned briefcase on the bed. He popped the latches and exposed rows of cash.
“I got a hundred ten here.” Roger groaned. He could tell by the bulk and tattered fluffiness that it was all small bills.
“Don’t you have any large? I have to pack this on my body to get it down. How about the rest?”
“I forgot about Christmas, so I have to get my broker to cash me outta some securities. I’ll make sure that’s in hundreds.”
“You gotta be kidding. I tell you I’m leaving tonight, and you waste my time cutting a deal you aren’t ready to make?”
“Don’t worry, man, I can get it. My brother Tim’s got some, and I’ll see what my assistant Eddie can come up with.” He picked up a phone and dialed a number. Roger went back in the living room to hide his displeasure and paged through his airline guide. He saw that he’d miss his scheduled flight, but saw also that there plenty of Tampa-Miami flights, so he was good to go on that and his anger eased. He even scolded himself for getting upset at Tony’s antics. Did you really expect to play with a snake and not get bitten at least a little bit?
Tony walked into the room smiling.
“Told you not to worry. It’ll all be here shortly.”
“I still don’t know how I’ll get all these small bills down. You got any ideas?”
“How about you take Eddie along to mule in what you can’t fit?”
“Now that’s an idea,” Roger said more to himself than to Tony. He knew Eddie as one of Tony’s only good people.
“And if I slowed you down and he wants to, you can keep him there to help.” Roger nodded and struggled to keep from smiling. He still needed American loading assistance, so bringing Eddie along would solve that problem too. That was something Tony definitely didn’t need to know.
“Let me talk to him when he gets here, and we’ll go from there.”
Eddie showed up ten minutes later with some of the cash. Roger had previously met the tall, lanky, sandy-haired smuggler, but he’d forgotten that he could pass for Mickey’s younger brother.
“Want to take a trip?” Roger asked as Eddie dumped the cash on the coffee table. Eddie looked at Tony, who nodded his approval, and he smiled at Roger.
“When do we leave?” said Eddie.
“In an hour,” Roger replied, noticing that Eddie didn’t even ask how much he’d make. Good man for sure.
“Then I better get packed. How long?”
“Five days.”
“Okay, back in a flash.”
Roger checked out the cash after Eddie left.
“The two of us ought to be able to get this through,” he said after he counted it, “but we’re still short. What do you propose on that?”
“You’re not going to spend it all the first day are you?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then I can be there the next day with the rest, and anything else you need me for.”
Roger sat back and thought about that for a few moments. The largest part of the case was for purchasing product and paying the Belizeans, and would almost certainly take more than a day.
“All right, he said, “that’ll work, and I could use a few hand-helds.”
“You got it,” Tony said happily, and led him to a box of radios sitting next to an aircraft ham radio powered by two car batteries. He placed four hand-held radios into a separate box for Roger, and they cracked open a beer and waited for Tony’s brother to get there. When he showed up 15 minutes later, he brought $20,000, a big mouth, and a small brain.
“Hey brother! What’s happenin’? I got the goods, what’s the story?”
“Hey Tim, this is Roger.”
“Nice to meet you, man,” he said nodding to Roger but not really registering him as he dropped his bag on the coffee table next to Eddie’s cash and turned back to Tony. “Oh man! You shoulda seen this gig I just pulled off from South America. Premier fucking toot, man! When I got home I bought myself a few ladies to celebrate!”
Roger despised him immediately. He picked up the bag.
“I’ll count it while you finish your war story.”
“What, you don’t trust me?” he blurted. “So hey, Roger Dodger, what’s the gig here?” Roger stared at him, then at Tony, astonished at Tim’s bad style, but before Tony could shut him up, he plunged on. “Where’re we pulling this out of? What kind of plane? What kind of product? What are the details? Let’s get to the goods, man!” When Roger ignored him and started sifting through the bills, he turned to Tony. “Got any rocks, man?”
Roger glared at Tony, then Eddie walked in. Tony smiled at the diversion.
“Other than dropping you off at the airport,” he said, “my job’s done for now. A few tokes won’t interfere with that. You won’t even be able to tell.”
“Fine,” Roger said, rolling with it and realizing at the same moment that it would be a good test to see if Eddie joined them. The two brothers took a seat on the floor and made love to the pipe like two kids with their heads together intently playing marbles. After they both recovered from the first blast, Tony offered the pipe to Roger and Eddie. Roger waved him off.
“No thanks,” said Eddie firmly.
“You don’t smoke?” he asked evenly.
“Time and a place for everything and this ain’t it. I appreciate your offer and that is what I’m here to do.”
“Welcome aboard,” Roger said, extending his hand, and smiling at this young man he was liking more every minute. He knew he was shaking hands with a guy he could count on, who would be watching his back, when the action started.
“How about you, man?” Eddie asked, and Roger saw instantly that the test was going both ways.
“Never have, never will,” he said simply. “I snorted some back in the day, but I quit a long time ago. Hard to believe people are dumb enough to pay fifty grand a key to be like them jelly heads,” he added, nodding toward their two semi-conscious companions.
“Yeah, I join these jellyheads sometimes when all the work is done, but I’d never spend a dime on it myself. Better to buy gold or real estate.”
“Hear, hear,” said Roger, as they walked into Tony’s room and started packing layers of money in their boots, taping it on their legs and putting the rest along their waistbands. Eddie had most of it and he laughed when he looked at himself in the mirror.
“I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy,” he said, “and my feet are killing me already.
“Fortunately, it’ll only be a few hours, but let’s see if we can make you look a little more normal.”
They rearranged the notes until they were satisfied that Eddie could escape casual scrutiny, then grabbed their bags and went into the living room. Tim was drooling on the floor, Tony, upright and listening to music.
“You ready to go?” he asked, and it was indeed hard for Roger to tell that Tony had also been a puddle on the floor just a few minutes before.
When they entered the terminal, Roger sent Eddie ahead to buy the tickets and stopped at a phone. He was two hours late to meet Charles with Mickey’s $15,000. He checked his messages and learned Charles was faithfully waiting on the top floor in the CQ’s rotating restaurant. Roger called the restaurant and had him paged.
“Sorry I’m late,” Roger said, “and I have company, so I gotta have an excuse to peel off for a few minutes.”
“No worries, my man,” Charles said in a low-key voice, “how about that ice cream parlor in the departure corridor?”
“All right, see you fifteen?”
“Works for me. Bye.”
A few minutes later, Roger and Eddie strolled down the departure corridor toward their gate. Roger saw Charles in the ice cream parlor as they passed. Several steps later, he stopped.
“You go ahead to the waiting area and score some seats,” he said to Eddie. “I’m gonna grab us some ice cream. I haven’t had a treat in weeks.”
“Sure thing, man,” Eddie grinned. “I know you been burning it at both ends for a while.”
He watched Eddie disappear into the thin crowd, then went into the ice cream parlor.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said to Charles as he laid a thick folded newspaper on the table where Mickey’s contact was sitting, eating a sundae.
“Hey, no problem, man. It’s a nice airport. Good ice cream, too.”
“So I hear,” Roger said and bought two cones. He nodded goodbye to Charles as he left, and merged with the traffic flow in the corridor. With the last of his business in Tampa dialed in and done, he headed for the waiting area to enjoy his ice cream.