We spend most of the day talking about projects I should undertake, with Perez trying to convince me that, if I am so bothered by the new construction in North Korea, I should go ahead and do something about it.
She suggests dinner, but I tell her I have previous plans with some co-workers. I don't mention Taylor.
I take Taylor to the fish place near my place on the ocean, then for a long walk around the light house. We spend a half hour in front of her door this time, alternately kissing and talking. Nice.
And then I drive to Upland, wishing the whole trip I knew how not to screw this up with her, and then I'm off in search of motorcycles.
I am definitely screwing up with the MMM's. They went out Monday night, Tuesday night, and apparently tonight. Yet somehow they managed to elude me three more times. It's so annoying. Tonight I got to the spot just as their victims were waking up, and I put them back to sleep out of frustration.
I may have to break my vow of secrecy and go to their houses. We need to have another talk, or something. Two of their assaults seem to have gone off fine, but they almost got themselves killed again Tuesday night.
Thursday is also Perez day, except she's not there, she's with the FBI. I get assigned to my old favorite Terminal 2, with Officer Emily Bradford, who I have worked with many times before. The two major Mexican airlines fly from here, one of the officers assigned always is bilingual, which is why I am here. My Spanish gets a serious workout, and the day passes quickly.
Perez texts early afternoon to meet her at her tia's restaurant for dinner.
Between bites of the special shredded beef tacos, and assaults on my character for my latest "interview" with Celeste, she tells me that they have gotten no where on the Ali investigation, and they think they've turned a baggage handler in Dallas into an informant. He's given up the flight number of the next drug shipment, meaning another big bust on Monday. I am skeptical, so is Perez, it seems like he turned way too quickly, but the FBI and DEA folks are convinced. We'll find out for sure in a few days.
I ask her if she wants me to come in Monday, just to be safe. She tells me they've been doing this for years before I got here, and don't need some MFM sticking his nose into it. Then she suggests that I make another trip to Texas to give her some warning about what is actually headed her way. So apparently I can stick my molecules in it, just not my nose. I don't say that, just think it.
She has a present for me though, details on every nuclear site in both North Korea and Iran, including some intel she must have stolen from the feds. They don't make friends like Perez very often.
It's two trips to Kona and back before I see her again, and no Taylor either, who is discovering that dating a pilot might have issues. I do see her at dispatch twice, and we're going dinner and dancing on Saturday. Third date. We all know what that means.
Twenty more kilos of heroin seized on Monday, my trip to Dallas revealing just those drugs, so maybe the guy they allegedly turned really did turn. The question is will he, or can he, give up the front end of the pipeline in Columbia? Otherwise, it's an uneventful day in Terminal 7, and I teach Perez how to start the engines on a 757.
She is concerned about my pending visit with Celeste this evening, and what the Army might want, but I remind her that I made a promise to Celeste, and I need to figure out what those bastards want. I keep calling them the Army, even though we know they are the Air Force, to remind myself not to let on.
We have dinner at her tia's, then Kiana drives me to Upland, hands me my backpack with my camera in it, and tells me now to do anything stupid. I laugh, and tell her it's too late for that.
I make a big circle, drop the backpack out in Colton, then head in to downtown from that direction. About half way in, I know a drone has picked me up, far earlier than any of my previous visits. Not sure what that means.
Celeste is standing in the doorway to the stairwell, and once again we say absolutely nothing for about an hour, the first part because we're locked together, and the second part because she's unconscious. It's still sex with Celeste Nortin, it's still longer sex than humanly possible and it's still sex without intention. Not sure which of those means the most.
When she wakes up, she starts to ask a question, but I put a hand to her lips.
"No questions tonight, please, let's not let anyone know we're meeting on a regular basis."
She thinks for a minute, and decides that's a good idea. "OK. They haven't told me when I'm supposed to be coming back anyway."
"Good. Meet me here next Thursday, regardless."
She smiles, nods, and squeezes something not my hand. Then puts an envelope into my hand.
I kiss her and fly off into the darkness. I have to lose the drones, and lose the envelope. My normal super speed vertical climb strategy doesn't seem to work. I never lose the feeling of being followed. My first thought is a satellite, but it's dark, so I go with my second thought, that they have more than one drone here, and one of them was sent up high to catch me and defeat my little trick.
I float and look, spinning slowly through a number of 360 degree turns, but see nothing. Again, F the fog bastards for not fixing my eyes. I fly a circle, looking, then another bigger circle, then another further bigger circle, not finding, but still feeling.
I give up, rocket back downward and toward the coast, accelerating to near the speed of sound, then past it as soon as I am over the ocean. If the Internet is correct, I quickly am moving three times the speed of the drone, then I turn to the south, climb, and slow down. Gone.
Smiling, I fly back into Colton at altitude, land in the woods, take pictures of the single white page inside the envelope, making sure to read it so I don't get insulted again, then head for the apartment complex where we hid the first envelope.
I land next to the maintenance shed, go in and plant this envelope in the vent with its friend. Of course, as soon as I exit I am back in the drone crosshairs, though I assume, a different one than I had to face before. Seems like a lot of effort going into poor little old me. Especially when it can't work unless I'm careless.
This time the rocket into the stratosphere really fast trick works, and I am shortly rolling over and landing in Upland. Perez is napping in her Mustang when I startle her awake by knocking on her window.
"You do remember I'm an armed officer of the law? I can shoot you and no jury on Earth would convict me."
I laugh and climb into the passenger seat. She drives away, heading for my car, a little faster than I flew to avoid the drones.
"So? You read it this time?"
"Of course. The first paragraph is an order to stay away from North Korea and China."
She laughs. "You definitely need to ignore that. The second paragraph?"
"Kill a man in Afghanistan. Planning on ignoring that part too."
"Who is this dead man?"
"Don't remember his name, leader of some sect, says where to find him, more or less. Maybe they're hoping I'll be dumb enough to finally do a web search."
"Even you aren't that big a dumbass. How long do you get?"
"A month. Lots of time for us to figure out what to do."
She smiles. I think she enjoys this stuff more than I do, and I actually enjoy it a lot, despite everything.
Perez drops me at my car, reminds me again not to do anything stupid, then is gone.
Chapter 10
Friday I'm off, which means I go play golf with my first office group, or I should say my first officer and one captain group. Good part of that is we now make the one of us who got the promotion buy the first round at the end of the round, if you know what I mean.
Taylor and I dance until after midnight on Saturday, and spend a half hour lip locked on her front porch, before she detaches herself, still in my arms, but with a little space.
"I want to invite you in," she says, "but I need to be sure. And, I'm not yet. There's something in you that's holding back."
I squeeze a little harder, pulling her back to me.
She fits perfectly against me, she smells perfect, she looks more than perfect. I kiss her forehead.
"I know. I'm sorry. Can you wait for me?"
"That's my plan." She presses back in and kisses me again.
"Good plan."
And with that, she says good night, we kiss one more time on the lips, and she's inside, leaving me to stare briefly at her door. I need to talk to Perez.
Sunday I plan on talking to Perez in private, but dear old dad gets in the way.
"Hear you and Taylor have become an item." Statement, not question.
I look at Perez, she looks unhappy.
"Not really, we've been out a few times, but not serious yet."
"That's what you always say. We'll see how long it is before she is deadheading to Kona with you."
I wish he'd stop, but I know from experience there's no hope. Luckily, mom senses my distress and pulls him away to help her.
I turn to Kiana. "I actually wanted to talk to you about her. I don't know what to do, what to tell her, and how to be right by her. I need your advice."
"Maybe," she says, "you're actually turning into man, Air Force, just maybe. My advice is what it was, you can't respect her if you don't tell her, and you shouldn't date her if you're disrespecting her."
I nod in agreement.
"Can you trust her?," Kiana looks at me seriously.
"That's the million dollar question." It's the truth. I don't know.
"What's the question?" It's mom, back with dad from the kitchen.
Kiana lies. "We're guessing how many kilos of heroin we're going to find this week. Our informant says the flight is going to be huge." And the conversation drifts off. Actually, the informant doesn't think anything is coming in.
After we say out goodbyes, I make what is now my normal Sunday night trip to Dallas and Houston. Indeed, I find nothing coming out of Dallas, but something on a flight from Houston. I alert Perez. Then it's home, shower, airport, witty repartee, and fly to Kona.
The motorcycle men have only been out twice in the past week, partially due to another cold front coming in and a lot of rain. Once summer comes that won't help any more. Tonight I get to Joshua's house in time to follow them, with no intent to stick my nose in their business. I make sure they aren't going to die, but my real goal is to find their spotter.
My police training gets put to real use for once. One by one, I check off everyone in sight. And, yep, there's a homeless man I recognize from the info Perez found. His clothes look terrible, and I bet they smell just as bad. His hair is unkempt, his face unshaven, his shopping cart loaded with crap.
But he's talking to himself the whole time the motorcycle men are in range, keeps talking for about five minutes after they are gone, and then wanders off by himself into an alley. A few minutes later he comes out in a POS green (or used to be green) Chevy that I'll bet has a perfect engine, despite its about to fall apart looking exterior. Urban camo.
I've watched this whole episode unfold from 1,000 feet. The motorcycles rolled up, took out the three guys on the corner, burned their stuff, and were back on the road in 90 seconds. They are getting efficient at this, though they'll never be efficient enough to dodge bullets.
The faux homeless man rolls toward the 605 freeway, and enters heading north. Another vehicle is behind it on the ramp, and stays two cars behind it all the way to the 10. They both head east on the 10, south on the 71, to the 60 to the 57 and into the Hills, as the north part of Anaheim is known.
The Chevy ends up in a driveway, the brown Ford that has been following is parked down the street until Mr. Thomas is safely inside, then it slowly drives down the street, pauses in front of the house, makes a U turn and heads back for the freeway.
I stay with it until it parks by a house a couple miles from where the motorcycle men struck, and two gentlemen exit. They both have baggy pants on with big belts. Convenient. I fly down quietly, staying behind them, grab one belt with each hand, and head back into the sky.
One of them screams off and on, the other just keeps saying, "oh shit," over and over again. I'm fine with either of those outcomes.
A couple hundred feet up, I stop and float. They turn to look at me as best they can, given the situation, especially with their pants riding up, and the chance they can ever have kids going quickly down.
"The man you followed home, and his friends, are under my protection. Leave them alone or suffer the consequences." They don't respond.
I let loose of the molecules, and I, and my two passengers, fall earthward at gravity enhanced speed. Both of them are now screaming. I catch at 50 feet, and land them more gently than they deserve, only about five more feet of free fall at the end. They run for the house, not looking back.
I burn toward nowhere, not looking back either. There's a minimart on the corner of Katella and Harbor. I land outside and walk brazenly into the door. The woman behind the counter starts to say something, but nothing comes out.
"Can I borrow a couple sheets of paper and a pen?" She manages to find a pad and a pen, hands them to me, and still only a couple of grunty like things come out.
I write three notes on three pages, then hand everything else back to her.
"Thanks."
She manages to actually say "You're welcome."
An old man offers me his marker, and asks me to autograph a souvenir t shirt on my way out. I scribble an MFM on it, feeling very silly. Probably just made him a lot of money, if the lady is dumb enough to actually sell it to him. I don't wait to find out.
Outside, I hit my jets, visit three houses, each the home of an MMM, and stuff my notes into the cracks of their front doors. Each one simple. The bad guys know where you live. Time to stop. Time to move. Stay alive.
I go back to the house where I dropped two bad dudes, but their car is sitting right where they left it, and the lights are off inside. I call Perez from 1,000 feet off the ground, wake her up, and tell her the details. She'll do what she can, which probably isn't much, then the Mysteriously Fraked up Man makes a couple big loops around LA looking for something he doesn't find, a.k.a. trouble, then it's back to Kona for a flight home.
By the time I get back in on Tuesday night, file my paperwork, and get airborne on my own, all three houses are empty, no return notes, no nothing. I fly around until nearly dawn, but nothing, and the houses have the same empty feeling I have in the pit of my stomach.
Wednesday I go running, a double loop, watch SportsCenter twice with Halloween for the first time in ages, then hit the shower. My phone rings in the middle of it, and the Mysteriously Dripping Man is hearing that he needs to get his uniform on and get to the airport. I tell Perez I'm on my way. She doesn't say it, but the tone of her voice is more than enough.
She's sitting in the flight deck at gate 72, waiting for me.
They were half way to Vegas, actually taking my advice and getting out of town. Witnesses say three of those frakkin big black SUV's caught them from behind on the Interstate out in the desert and turned them into the proverbial Swiss cheese. Broad daylight. I was in the air when it happened, an hour out of Kona on my way home. No one has put together who they were yet.
Of course, despite there being six cars full of witnesses, not a one of them can remember even one letter or number of the license plates. I don't know if I would be able to in their situation either. Who wants to go through life looking over their shoulder all the time? Speak the plate numbers and die? Fuck me.
Perez doesn't have the full files, gathering just what she could without drawing attention to her attention to the matter. She offers to walk across that line if I want the full file. I ask her not to, thank her for what she's done.
"You're going to do something stupid, yes?"
"Probably. I know where those two assholes live, though they could never have been the leaders of this pack."
"Be careful. Do some research. Don't end up regretting something you did. This is not your fault."
"How many times can you
or fog dude tell me it's not my fault before you start to realize that they are all my fault?" Without thinking, I squeeze the control yoke, jerk it back like I'm trying to get us out of here. Then I realize what I did, take my hands off and stare at them. "Fuck it. Maybe it doesn't matter."
She puts her hand on mine, pushing it back down. "It does matter, and it's not your fault. You told them to stop. They chose to keep going. You can't protect everyone every second of every day."
Her radio blares, she has work to do. We exit the aircraft, and I watch her handle two lost little kids in her perfect way. Calms me down. A lot.
Fog Bastards 2 Destination Page 10