“How long will you be? It’ll get dark soon, and there is a storm due to arrive in a few hours.
“Don’t worry, we be there by ten o’clock. I call you when we’re on our way.”
I didn’t like it. If we left Atlantic City at ten, I wouldn’t get back to my hotel until after midnight.
“Richard, why don’t you get back with Henry? I’ll just fly back alone.”
Although we had only known each other for a handful of hours, Richard had taken an advanced course in Dan Goldberg management and motivation. He pulled out his familiar roll of hundreds and peeled off twenty. “Here, Daniel. This be for da extra work. It be enough?”
“No, it’s not enough. I need to replace the cowling.”
Richard nodded and added ten more bills. “Is that enough?” he asked.
It was indeed enough. I now had six thousand dollars more than I had when I finished teaching that afternoon. Then Richard handed me a glassine envelope. “Here mon, this be a present for you. Use it when you get tired.”
My patron extended his hand. We were businessmen. We had just completed a deal.
“You fly safely, Daniel.” We were standing in shadows cast by the hanger. His dark skin merged with the shadows while his white smile floated in the darkness. It reminded me of the Cheshire Cat in the Alice in Wonderland story, and I shuddered.
Henry kicked the motorcycle to life. Richard climbed onto the back with his signature black bag over his shoulder. He waved once, and they vanished into the trees.
“It’s okay,” I told the surviving pheasants, “I’m doing this for my family.”
But that was a rationalization. I had fallen down the rabbit hole as surely as Alice had done. Or was I more like Dorothy in Wizard of Oz? Both characters were trying to get home, yet with each passing hour, I was moving further and further from my goal.
With the cocaine out of my system, I had enough sense to perform a complete checklist before starting the engine. I had less fuel and no passenger, so the plane lifted into the air a comfortable distance from the end of the runway. I spiraled once to gain altitude and then headed northeast.
I didn’t need the GPS to find the airport. The Atlantic City Expressway is a brightly-lit, four-lane concrete ribbon that bisects Southern New Jersey’s dense forest and shrubs. I headed north until I found the expressway, and then followed it east to the airport. The tower welcomed me as soon as I called and directed me to one of their miles-long, perfectly level, concrete runways. When I taxied to the fuel depot, a young man waved me to a parking spot and said, “Welcome to Atlantic City, sir. Are you staying the night? Do you want me to fill your tanks?”
“No, I’m staying just a few hours. I don’t need fuel. Where can I get some food?”
“The restaurants are in the main terminal, on the other side of the airport. Normally, one of us would drive you there and bring you back, but I’m the only one working now. In fact, I’m leaving in a few minutes. We have vending machines, a microwave, and coffee inside. Of course, you can walk, but it would take at least a half hour each way.”
I wanted to be ready when Richard called, so I settled for vending-machine microwave pizza. Then I made myself comfortable in the pilot’s lounge.
I was mad about the damage to my plane and tried to blame Richard, but really, I was mad at myself. If I hadn’t bought the plane, my family we wouldn’t be in a financial mess. If I hadn’t agreed to fly to New Jersey, I wouldn’t be sitting here waiting. That was just the highlights of a long chain of “ifs.”
That’s enough. If Richard doesn’t call before ten, I’ll fly back alone.
At nine-thirty, the fuel jockey joined me. “I’m leaving now. We leave the pilot’s lounge open all night, but you better tie down your plane. The wind is picking up, and the weather service says we’ll get rain.”
He was right. I found my plane rocking back and forth on its landing gear. I always carried ropes in the small luggage compartment behind the second seat of the plane just for that purpose. It was accessible from both the interior and from a small exterior door. I used the space as a catch-all for spare parts, tools, and ropes.
Something was holding the ropes down. Did something break during that damn landing? Using my flashlight, I found the problem. Richard’s black duffle bag was lying on top of the ropes. What the hell was it doing there? I saw him drive away with a black bag over his shoulder. Did he switch bags? Why?
I pulled out the bag and opened the zipper. It was filled with cash. The bills were gathered in bundles, each secured by a rubber band. It had to be drug money, and I had unknowingly become a drug-money transporter. Richard left me literally holding the bag.
I laughed. Here I was taking all these risks for a few thousand dollars when, in the back of my plane, was a bag with a king’s ransom. I took one bundle and stuffed it into my pants.
Just then a gust of wind caught my left wing and tried to lift the plane off the ground. I returned to the task at hand. I secured the plane and went inside with my new-found treasure.
The pilot’s lounge was empty and quiet. I tried calling Richard’s phone, then Henry’s, but got no answer. I could hear my wife’s voice in my head. Leave! Come home! Dump the money in the garbage!
Instead, I went into the men’s room, locked the door and counted my confiscated bundle. When I was done, I had arranged ten stacks of bills, each stack ten high, on the shelf to the left of the sink. One hundred bills, each bill worth one hundred dollars. I had ten thousand dollars in front of me, and there were many, many more bundles in the back of my plane. Did Richard even know how many bundles were in his duffle? Would he miss one? I resolved to keep the money. If I was an accomplice, I was going to be paid like one. I separated the bills into four stacks and put them in the pockets of my computer case.
Richard’s call came a few minutes after ten. “OK, Daniel, you ready to fly?” He was out of breath.
“Richard, where are you? Are you here at the airport? I’m at the fuel depot. Ask someone to let you through the gate. We have to leave soon. The weather’s changing, and they’re predicting rain.” I wasn’t going to confront him about the money until we were together.
“Look, mon. We had to move. We not too far away. Look on your map. We be west of Ocean City in New Jersey.”
“You want me to pick you up in Ocean City?” Ocean City, a small seaside town just south of Atlantic City, has a small, adequate, airport with one paved runway.
“No, Daniel, please listen. You must fly to Ocean City den go west. Henry, he got da numbers, but you must hurry mon.”
Henry got on the phone. “Here be the numbers. They will take you to a housing development what got no houses. Der just be roads but no houses. We hab two cars and we’ll park one at each end of the street. You just land between the cars.”
“Just land between the cars? What the hell are you talking about? You want me to land on a city street?” To say it was illegal was a gross understatement. It would be dangerous during the daytime. It was suicidal at night.
Henry wasn’t done. “When we hear your plane, we turn on the lights. And call this phone so we can talk.”
“Look, I’m not doing this. How about I just fly back to DC, and you drive Richard in one of the cars?”
Henry didn’t respond. I heard a muffled conversation between the two then Richard was back on the phone.
“Daniel, you must fly me tonight. It be a matter of life and death. Henry and me we need something that I left in your plane. We need it now! Daniel, you understand me?”
“No, God damn it, I don’t understand you. You got yourself into this mess. I’m not going to kill myself trying to get you out of it. And, by the way, I know about the money you left in my plane.”
There was a pause. “Daniel,” he said slowly, “When I say it be a matter of life and death, I was not just talking about Henry and me. I am talking about you, you lovely wife, and you two little girls. Daniel, you need to tink about your family.” His voice had
dropped an octave. He had become a different, more dangerous, person.
“Daniel,” he continued, “I be texting you some pictures. Call me back when you look at it. You got five minutes.” The phone went dead. Was there an implied “or else” at the end of that sentence? A moment later his message arrived.
The subject line said, “See attached.” The text said, “Call me quick.” Three pictures were attached. The first was a picture of my house taken from across the street. The picture showed my wife’s minivan sitting in its customary place in the driveway. From the angle of the sun, I estimated that the picture was taken during the early afternoon. A chill ran down my spine. Did Richard have someone camped outside my house?
The second picture showed my wife at our neighborhood supermarket, in the process of transferring plastic shopping bags from a grocery cart into the back seat of the minivan. She was alone. My heartbeat began to rise, The third picture made it stop. This time, the minivan was parked in front of the city skate park. Beth and Amy were clearly visible. Beth had her cell phone to her ear. My daughter was about to get in the side door. She was holding one arm with the other and had a pained expression on her face.
That son-of-a-bitch had my family under surveillance. Was my family being held captive? Are they safe? I was about to call the police and then stopped. What if someone with a gun was watching the house right now?
Then I panicked. Had five minutes passed? I pressed the redial button and called Richard.
“You bastard,” I said before he could say anything, “you dirty, miserable son of a bitch. What have you done to my family? I’ll kill you.”
He ignored the insult with a laugh and said, “How do you feel?”
“I feel like killing you.”
He laughed again. “Dat’s good, mon. Did you use the cocaine I give you?”
“No, I don’t want any part of you, your filthy drugs, or money. What have you done to my family?”
“Daniel, you family be safe. I figure, you carrying my money, I need to make sure dat we are on the same team. You family be safe as long as we work together, me friend. So Daniel, will you use the cocaine?”
“No. Fuck you, Richard.”
“But, Daniel, you must use it. You must come wit da money and fly like you never fly before. We be waiting.”
“You can just keep waiting. I’m not going to risk my life to help you. I never agreed to this.”
“Daniel, you must trust me. Dere be people, very powerful people, I work with. You don’t want anything bad to happen to you family. You can take ten thousand dollars extra for da trip.”
That was convenient since I had already taken the money.
“What do you mean about something bad happening to my family?”
“Daniel, you must come. Come quickly.”
The last was both a command and a plea all under the shadow of a threat. It was time to make a decision.
“I’m coming. Give me the location. I hope I don’t crash.”
“No problem, mon, you be a good pilot!” He read off the latitude and longitude numbers and repeated it twice just to make sure. As soon as we disconnected, my bowels turned into water. I rushed into the men’s room again, this time for its intended purpose.
Afterward, I stared at myself in the mirror. This was the face that Beth married, the face that she looked at every day, the face that she trusted. Maybe she didn’t trust me completely. Maybe she didn’t share my love of flying. But she did count on me not to send killers to her front door. Self-disgust rose in my belly, and my vending machine dinner ended up in the toilet.
Then, as if I was a puppet controlled by another’s hands, I snorted the cocaine. Richard was right. It did make me feel better.
I went outside to my plane, but before getting in, I stroked the engine and whispered, come on baby, I know that landing was rough on you, but now I need you to come through for me again. I need you to come through for my family.
When I called the tower for takeoff clearance the controller said, “Huh, tango the weather service predicts heavy turbulence. They recommend against flights by small aircraft.”
“Tower, this is just a short relocation flight to the Ocean City, New Jersey airport. I won’t have a problem.”
“Ok, tango, taxi to runway 27. Permission granted to take off when ready. There’s no traffic in the area.”
An airplane is an awkward thing on the ground. It has no turn signals and no rearview mirrors. The wind makes things worse. The wings, the very thing that enables an airplane to fly are a hindrance on the ground. A stray gust can blow a light plane onto its back.
I tacked carefully to the start of the runway and took off quickly. Once off the ground, I turned south and had the Ocean City runway in sight in less than fifteen minutes. I radioed a warning to local aircraft that I was ready to land and made the required left-hand turns into the landing pattern.
My wheels met the asphalt a comfortable distance from the end of the runway, and I taxied slowly to a stop. If anyone was watching, I was just another airplane jockey landing for the night. The office that sold fuel and all the hangers were dark.
I turned off the engine and just sat on the apron, listening to the ticking of the cylinders as they cooled. Up to that moment, I had done nothing illegal. I could still fly home.
A new plan emerged. I would give half the money to the police. They would arrest Richard, and no one would be the wiser. But would we be safe? Maybe Richard had someone watching my house right now? Maybe he had connections within the police department?
My phone rang again. It was Richard.
“Daniel, where you be? We don’t hear you?”
I took a deep breath and, at the moment, became an outlaw. “I’m on my way. I got delayed at Atlantic City.”
“Please hurry, mon. Please hurry.”
I started the engine and taxied to the start of the runway with all my navigation lights and radios turned off. Once I was lined up on the centerline, I added power and was quickly airborne.
Besides violating countless FAA rules, I was invisible to other aircraft. I could kill other pilots and be killed. But the dye was cast.
The educated, analytical part of my brain said, “I’m doing this for my family.” But there was another, baser motivation. It came from my gut. I was flying, and I was part of an adventure — Just me and my airplane against the world.
The airplane purchase was finally going to make sense. God damn it, I thought, I’m an outlaw. My heart beat faster. I sat up straighter. Biting my lip and with new resolve, I turned west into the blowing darkness.
***
When I got close, I called Henry’s number. He picked up on the first ring. “Where you be?” he asked.
“I’m on my way, about eight miles out. Are the car lights on?”
“Yes, hurry mon.”
When the GPS registered a half-mile out, I came down to five hundred feet. I just hope there are no cell phone towers in the area.
“We hear you, mon, but we don’t see you,” Henry said.
I turned on my landing light, a single bright light on the right wing of the airplane. “We see you now,” Henry said. At the same time, I saw the lights of the two cars. I passed over a row of trees towards the first one while dropping to three hundred feet. When the two cars were in line, I reduced the engine to idle, brought down the flaps and prayed.
I never saw the lone pine tree. Why the hell didn’t they tell me about the tree? As I was lining up to land, a pine tree blocked my path. I had to turn away from the street to avoid it. But that maneuver cost altitude, and I was now less than one hundred feet above the cars and about fifty feet to the right of the road. I turned to the left and crossed the road at 30 feet and turned to the right again until I could see the headlights of the second car directly in front of me. First, the right wheel, then the left wheel and finally the nose wheel met the road with a familiar squeal.
I stood on the brakes with all my might. They locked, and I coul
d smell burning rubber. Ignoring the smell, I tried to double the pressure. My speed diminished but so did the distance to the car. I was close enough to read the model name. It was a Mercury sedan. I got close enough to notice a dent in the left front bumper. Finally, the plane stopped ten feet away from disaster.
When the propeller stopped turning, I could hear Richard shouting, “You da man. You da man!”
I was proud of myself for keeping my head and getting down safely. I made a little plan to tell Beth about it and then realized that it was one triumph that I could never share with my wife.
Chapter 7
A Dark and Stormy Night
I sat strapped into my seat, shaking. Did I really just land on a city street in the middle of the night?
“Dat was some fancy flying,” Richard shouted. I knew it was him because of his voice, but I couldn’t see him because of the headlights. He banged on the door to shake me out of my stupor. Instead of a “thank you” or a hearty handshake, he ignored me and reached into the back to retrieve his bag and started to leave.
“No, you don’t, you bastard. Give me that bag. You’re going nowhere. Where do you get off, hiding drug money in my plane? Do you have someone watching my family?” We each held a strap and stared at each other. “Let go of the bag,” I demanded.
“Daniel, I don’t have time to talk. You family, safe. No one watches dem. I need di money, and I need to go. Henry’s hurt.”
Just then a gust of wind grabbed a wing. The plane rocked violently. “Henry can wait. Right now, I need your help. The money stays here.” Richard nodded and released his grip.
Getting out, I tied a rope to the left wing and said, “Richard, take this and find an anchor. Look for something heavy.” If we didn’t get it secured, it’d flip over.
I ran around to the right side and, with some effort, was able to tie that wing to a storm grate. That helped. Searching in the dark, I found a cement block and used it to anchor the tail. That should have kept the plane secure, but it still jumped like a frog with each gust of wind.
Flying Blind Page 4