Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Mitchelli’s phone rang. It was MacJames. He answered, “Good morning.”

  “Where are you?”

  “What happened to good morning, darling?”

  MacJames caught her breath, “Good morning darling, where the hell are you?” she said with a sultry voice.

  Mitchelli said sarcastically, “I need some time alone, sweetie.”

  “I know you’re upset, but you can’t be alone. They’ll come after you.”

  “I have a crazy hunch. The less people that know, the better, especially in your office. I need a couple of hours, three tops.”

  “I’m not…”

  Mitchelli cut her off, “Thank you, I knew you’d understand.”

  “Are you ok?”

  “I’m alright.” Mitchelli was annoyed. “No, I have not seen Ann.”

  “Would you tell me if you had?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Have you…”

  “Jesus! No I haven’t shot anyone, nor burned them alive. Slow morning; I haven’t killed anyone, at least not yet but it’s early in the day.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Tell them I slept in, could you check on my family? I’ll call you in three hours.”

  “I’m not your assistant. You’re taking advantage of me.”

  “Quite honestly, I am. Just give me some time. I have to go, Angela. Thank you.” Mitchelli hung up. He looked at his phone. Boon had sent several property tax numbers with a link to the Cattaraugus County tax map for each property. Mitchelli dialed another number, his longtime friend Leonard Divido.

  “Leonard Divido.”

  “Leonard, can you break away from the plant? I need a pilot?”

  “Peter, where the hell have you been? You haven’t called in weeks.” Divido was calmly upset.

  “Len, I’ve been a little busy.”

  “I understand, too busy to call your best friend. It would have been nice if you visited me in the hospital.”

  “You were in the hospital?”

  “Well no, but you wouldn’t have known if I was, you’re too busy.”

  “Len, can you help me out? I need a pilot.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t own my own company where I can leave whenever I feel like it to go for a ride on my yacht or plane. I have to work for a living, a whole eight hour day.” Mitchelli was silent. “I have responsibilities. Today I have a meeting with the owner; he wants to see my design for a new machine.” Mitchelli did not respond. “It’s a project he sided with the sales department, you know against the marketing department? Those guys don’t know anything.” Divido was Mitchelli’s oldest friend and knew him better than anyone else. Divido paused for a moment. “Anyways, you hate to fly, what’s up? I offered to take you flying a hundred times and you turned white, you’re petrified to go up in a plane.”

  “I have to check out a piece of property in the southern tier.”

  “Rent a pilot with a plane, you have the money. That’s not an issue.”

  “Sorry to bother you,” Mitchelli hesitated searching for his words. “Len, I need a pilot I can trust. It’s important.”

  “Well, I’m sorry.”

  Mitchelli changed his negotiating tactic. “Len, if I were a licensed pilot where would go to rent a plane?” Mitchelli knew the answer to his question.

  Divido bit. “For a good view of the land, you want a high wing aircraft, like a Cessna 185, or a Cub Cadet. I’d go to Martin Aircraft. They have both for rent.”

  “Martin Aircraft is at the international airport, right?”

  “Correct, I’ve never been checked out in those planes; I wanted to but never had the time. You know where it is? You drive by it every day.”

  “The Cub Cadet is a tail dragger; are those are more difficult to take off?”

  “Yes, the Cessna is tricycle gear it’s not as nostalgic as the Cub but it is much easier to get airborne; less gyroscopic procession.”

  “Thanks, Len. Wish me luck.”

  “Wait a minute, Peter, Peter!” The line went dead. Divido didn’t like letting his friend down. He knew by Mitchelli’s tone he was stressed. Divido remembered the news flash, he was so happy to hear from his friend he never mentioned his arrest. Then he got a terrible thought. He wouldn’t fly it by himself, running from the law? Divido put his finger on his chin as he stared at his computer screen. He’s not going to fly that plane himself. I know he’s not that crazy. Peter’s crazy, but not that crazy. Desperate, maybe. He needs his best friend. Why did I lie about the meeting with my boss?

  ***

  Mitchelli entered Martin Aircraft. The building was on the opposite side of the runway from the Buffalo International Airport passenger terminal. The private terminal reminded Mitchelli of the small airport terminals he had flown into many years ago when traveling in upper New York state and Vermont for business. The wall facing the tarmac and runway was all glass. The sun struggled to shine through the filthy windows. The terminal area had approximately twenty bright orange plastic seats, of vintage late sixties style. Mitchelli was stepping back in time, when he traveled as a child. The vinyl floor was worn and yellowed with age, and the walls were covered with dated dark wood paneling.

  Mitchelli walked to the counter and rang a bell. When no one appeared, he rang it a second time and then called out, “Hello, I’d liked to rent a plane anyone working today! Hello?” He heard several doors slam and the shuffling of feet over the dusty vinyl floor. A man in his late fifties appeared. He had grey hair, and was five foot five inches tall wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt with Martin Aircraft embroidered on the collar.

  “Why are you yelling? What’s the matter with you? Do you think this is a barn, or car dealership?”

  “I need to rent a plane, a Cessna 185.”

  “I don’t have any planes to rent.” The man’s eyes winced and then he started a rapid chuckle. “I’m kidding. In this economy I could rent you my whole fleet for a month. I have six planes sitting, depreciating, you know the insurance payments continue. Yeah, I’ve got planes to rent, you want to buy the whole place?”

  “No, I just need to rent one plane.”

  The man tilted his head down to look through his small glasses on the end of his nose. “I don’t recognize you, have you every rented a plane here before?”

  “No, this is my first time.”

  “Have you been checked out on a 185?”

  “No.”

  The older man noticed Mitchelli’s trembling hands and the twitch in his eye. “Shithead, you don’t look right. Have you passed your medical?”

  “Medical!”

  “Sonny, what type of asshole are you? You can’t fly the plane unless you’ve been checked out on it.” The man pointed to the list of planes he had on the wall behind him, an illustration of each plane and its model number. “Ok Lindbergh, tell me which one of my planes you’re certified to fly? Hurry up, I don’t have all day. HURRY UP!”

  “Well, Mr. Martin, I’m not certified to fly any of them.”

  “My mother told me I should’ve been a Rabbi.” Martin raised his hands over his head in disbelief. “Do you even have a license to fly a plane?”

  “Oh, I can get one off the ground, I’m pretty confident of that. I’ll pay double the going rate for the rental, and any and all damages.” Mitchelli looked Martin directly in the eye.

  Martin’s jaw dropped; he was stunned. “We’re in the middle of a recession, my fleet’s rusting, and I have a prankster show up. Where the hell is the hidden camera?”

  “I assure you, this is no prank.”

  “Listen, you must be a little retarded or something. I understand. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have one of the tarmac boys show you the planes. I gotta pay bills, dummy, and I’m here alone today so get the hell out of here.”

  Mitchelli removed a very large roll of hundred dollar bills from his pocket. “I hate cash, it’s dirty and bulky. I usually use a credit card. How much is it for, let’s say three hours?”
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  “How did a moron like you get so much money? Look shithead, I’d love to rent you a plane, except you’re not a pilot. Get the hell out of here before I call the police.” Martin looked at his face and then saw the gun carried in a shoulder holster just under Mitchelli’s windbreaker. “You’re the fricking Mafia guy on TV, Michalany, the Mafia king.”

  “It’s Mitchelli, and you can’t believe everything you see on TV. Is there a manual in the plane that will explain how to start it?”

  “You’re going to steal my plane and get of town, that’s your plan isn’t it? Hey, was that bitch mad at you or what? Nice Mercedes. Was that yours or did you steal it?”

  “Let’s stay on topic shall we, Mr. Martin? I’m only leaving town for several hours, I will return with your plane.” Mitchelli noticed the man staring at his gun. He quickly changed his negotiating strategy to fit his cover. “Ok, fine. My intentions are to steal one of your planes. I will pay double your rental rate, cash, so you can keep it off your books.” Mitchelli walked behind the counter.

  Martin screamed, “Don’t hurt me! Cash! Really, you going to pay Cash? Please, I really thought you were mental. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

  Mitchelli’s stature and gun intimidated Martin. “Listen, don’t get yourself worked up into a frenzy. Take me to the plane and get me set up to take off.” Mitchelli stuffed two thousand dollars into Martin’s shirt pocket. “There’s another thousand for you when I return. Let’s move it; I only have three hours.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  “No, but if you tell anyone that I was here they’ll probably kill you. Let me rephrase that: they will torture and then kill you. They’re not Italian or Jews.”

  “Italians are the closest people to Jews.”

  “Agreed. Now get me set up in that plane.”

  “Ok, already!” Mitchelli nudged Martin towards the side door. “Do you really think you can get it off the ground?”

  “Hopefully, I won’t have to.”

  ***

  Leonard Divido walked into the empty lobby of Martin Aircraft, amazed at the inactivity. He rang the bell and no one responded. Having rented planes from Mr. Martin, he knew not to yell. He walked past the orange chairs to the filthy glass windows and could see the Cessna 185 on the tarmac. He could barely make out a large man in the cockpit, Peter! Just as he recognized his friend, the propeller made several flips, then stopped. I have to get out there; he’ll kill himself. Divido ran out onto the tarmac and stood in front of the plane waving his hands.

  Mitchelli did not notice his friend. He was reading the planes manual. Throttle up one quarter, four pumps of the primer… Where’s the primer pump? Ok, got it. One two three four, stick your head out the window and yelling prop clear, turn the key. As the engine turned over, the entire plane rocked then the engine spitted and came to life. Woo-hoo! Houston, we have ignition. Alright, that sounds like an airplane engine.

  Divido jumped out of the way, fearing Mitchelli may run him over. He screamed Mitchelli’s name and then stood directly in front of the plane. He would not allow his friend to take off, let alone move the plane. Mitchelli looked up from the instruction manual to see his friend. He searched for the mechanism to shut off the engine. Divido ran to the entry door on the right side of the plane and before he got in noticed the wheel chocks in place in front and behind the tires, preventing the plane from moving. He removed the chocks before he entered the plane.

  “Have you lost your mind, are you purposely trying to get yourself killed? Haven’t your children been through enough?”

  “Hi, I think I was almost ready to taxi, did you see I got it running?”

  “Yes I saw that. Peter your friend is worried about you. As your friend I’m not going to ask a lot of questions. According to your brother Phil, you’re very ill. I know you’re under a lot of stress so at the risk of losing my pilot license, which cost me four thousand dollars and is something I take pride in having, I’m going to fly this damn plane for you.”

  “Why thank you, Leonard.”

  “What the hell happened to you last night on TV? Who’s that woman? Is she in the mob?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get airborne.”

  “Did I tell you I could lose my job being here? But my oldest friend is worth it.” Divido strapped himself into the right hand seat and looked at Mitchelli. “Did you register a flight plan? Ok, I can tell by that response and that glassy wide-eyed look you did not. Do you have any idea how critical that is? Pilots have to follow a strict regimen of rules.”

  “Flight plan, we can’t have a flight plan.”

  “Who the hell was that woman last night? NO, NO! Forget about it; you tell me when you’re ready. Oh I forgot, there are no rules for Peter Mitchelli, rules don’t apply.” Divido strapped his pilot log to his leg and opened it to his checklist. “How were you planning to navigate to these properties?”

  Mitchelli held up his GPS. “I entered the coordinates.”

  “Oh, if it was good enough for terrorists, it should work for us.” Divido yelled out the window, “CLEAR PROP,” and then started the engine.

  “Len, there’s no one on the tarmac.”

  “I follow procedures; good pilots go by the rules. They may not apply to you, but for the rest of the unprivileged world, we have to live by the rules.”

  “So, how did you get out of your meeting?”

  “I told the boss’s secretary I had a stomachache.”

  “Are those privileged engineer’s rules, or company procedures?”

  Divido smiled and requested clearance from the tower to taxi. The tower directed a ground course for the plane to follow.

  The two friends were complete opposites. Mitchelli was large and tall; Divido was short and slender. Mitchelli was the roughneck builder, plowing, pushing, and arguing in his business. Divido was the consummate precision engineer, designing, calculating, and testing in his profession. Despite their physical differences, they both enjoyed each other’s company especially when it involved mechanical combustion engines like motorcycles, or cars. When they were young, Divido taught Mitchelli how to fly remote control planes, thus he feared Mitchelli really thought he could fly a real plane.

  Divido would not admit it to his friend, but he was excited to fly a plane he had never flown. Divido knew Mitchelli must be in dire straits to go up in a plane. Mitchelli hated flying.

  The plane sat on the opposite side of the runway from the much larger commercial jet planes. There were six jets stacked and waiting to take off. A plane would land then another jet would be authorized onto the runway and would take off. Mitchelli’s patience was wearing thin. Each time a jet took off, another entered the holding area. The jets had priority of the smaller private aircraft.

  “Len call the tower and tell them we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.”

  “That’s why people rent planes at private airport so they don’t have to wait so long for takeoff clearance.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “It wasn’t part of your initial criterion.” Divido couldn’t resist agitating his friend.

  Mitchelli’s patience was at its breaking point when he saw another jet taxying over. Now they had to wait for seven jets to take off, that’s if no more taxied from the terminal. Mitchelli depressed the button on the yoke, activating his microphone. “Tower, this is…” Mitchelli looked at the serial number for the plane but could not remember his military equivalents for the alphabet.

  “Peter, what the hell are you doing? Rules! We have to follow the rules!”

  “Tower, this is Marauder 225 Yankee requesting an immediate clearance for takeoff, over.”

  “Immediate clearance for takeoff, they’re going to take me before the review board! Please don’t use the radio again, please!”

  “MARAUDER 225 YANKEE, THIS IS CONTROL TOWER. YOUR REQUEST HAS BEEN DENIED. HOLD TIME FIFTEEN MINUTES, OVER.”

  Another jet plane taxied into the
holding area, making eight total. Mitchelli could see a jet on its final approach to land. He was determined to get on the runway and take off.

  “I told you just wait, fifteen minutes is nothing, think of all the people that are in those passenger planes. They’re not complaining. God, you have no patience!”