“Go on.”
“This past Tuesday night a cocaine shipment disappeared. The Cartel thought Marcos stole the drugs and took their revenge. That’s all I know.”
“Has this ever happened before?”
“That’s the crazy part. Mistakes and misunderstandings happen in this business. Deliveries sometimes go bad. In the past, the bosses always worked it out. They never resorted to killing.”
“You’re sure the gunmen worked for the Cartel?”
“No. Maybe a new group is trying to take over. But Marcos and Don Ricardo are dead, that I know. I would be too if you hadn’t saved me.” She leaned over in the crowded cockpit and kissed my cheek.
I said nothing. The deaths were piling up: The two men in New Jersey, Henry, Richard, Marcos, Don Ricardo. Maybe Ashley and the pilot of the twin engine plane that burned. Six dead for sure, maybe more. Did my safe deposit box hold enough to justify those lives? Was my soul strong enough?
We got out, and I inspected the plane for damage. The bang we heard taking off was caused by a projectile hitting the tail section. Part of my registration number was missing.
I borrowed the airport loaner car, an old Datsun four-door with a stick shift, and drove into town. On the way, we stopped at a Walmart. Maria bought new jeans and some personal items.
“Give me my phone. I need to call my wife,” I said as we got back into the car.
“No, you can’t use your phone. The police can trace the call.”
“I really need to call my wife.”
“Relax, I have another way.” I wasn’t relaxed. I was pissed-off, and my mood only worsened when she lit a cigarette.
The old man at the airport had recommended the Hilltop Motel. It was the closest accommodation to the airport. I was about to turn in when Maria noticed a Seven-Eleven across the street. “Stop there. They have a pay phone. You can call your wife from there.”
“Can’t the police trace a call from a pay phone?”
“Not the way I use it.” She was quiet as I parked. She bit her bottom lip. She wanted to tell me something. “When you talk to your wife, be sure to tell her to move out of the house.”
“What are you talking about? Why?”
“Because she can be a target. If the Cartel finds your name, they can get to you through your wife. They can get to me through you. You’re in this. I’m in this. Your wife’s involved as well. Is there anywhere safe she can go and take your daughters?”
“I guess they can go to her parents’ house. They live in upstate New York. Her father’s a big deal lawyer.”
“Good. They can afford security.”
The pay phone was bolted to the outside wall in full view of the parking lot. A steady stream of Friday night traffic went into and out of the store.
“Write down your wife’s cell phone number,” Maria demanded. She called a toll-free number then punched in a sixteen-digit code, then Beth’s number. “The phone’s ringing,” she said handing me the receiver. “By the way, you’re calling her from Serbia.” My accomplice left me on the florescent-lit sidewalk and entered the store.
“Hello, who’s this?” Beth said.
“Hi honey, it’s me.”
“Dan, where are you? Why aren’t you home? I called the local airport. They said you haven’t landed. I almost didn’t answer your call. There’s no caller ID.”
“I’m calling from a pay phone. I couldn’t come home. Something’s happened.”
“What do you mean something’s happened? You okay? Did the plane break down? Don’t tell me that we have to spend more money fixing that damn thing.”
In the background, through Beth’s phone, I could hear our house phone ringing. We still had a land line, although only the girls used it. While Beth continued her harangue, I heard my daughter, Sara, say, “No, he’s not here. He’s working in Washington. Yes, my mom’s here hold on.” Then in a voice loud enough to over-shout her mother, “Mom, there’s a man on the phone from the FHA or the FFA or something, and he says it’s important.”
Beth didn’t bother to put her hand over the microphone. “Sara, I’m on the phone with you father, tell him I’ll call back.”
“Dan, why is the FHA calling?” Beth said.
“Sara means the FAA, the Federal Aviation Administration. That’s what I was trying to tell you — ”
“Mom, did you hear me?” Sara yelled. “Please take this call. I’m expecting a call from Jason! Ask Dad when I’m getting my cell phone.”
“Christ, Dan I better take that call. I’ll call you back. You better have some answers.”
“You can’t call me. I’ll call you in ten minutes.”
I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I could feel my shirt sticking to my back. Maria stood with a cigarette in one hand and a half-finished beer in the other, oblivious to the “no open containers” sign just over her head. She handed me a cold one from the six-pack at her feet. I joined her truancy with a long, satisfying swallow. “You were listening to my call.” She’s taking over my life!
“Part of it. I’m glad you don’t mention my name or where we’re at.”
“I’m not that stupid. I need to call her back in a few minutes. Will you connect me again?”
“Sure, but first come with me.”
She led me to the back of the store, stepping carefully around discarded bottles and other debris. Am I safe? I picked up a chunk of broken concrete in case I needed a weapon.
She noticed and said, “Good I’m glad you found something.” She laid my cell phone on a set of concrete steps. “Smash it.”
“No way, that’s my cell phone. It’s turned off. No one can find me.”
“You’re a dumb person with a smart phone. It has a GPS. It can be tracked. Smash it or I will. I’m tired of explaining things to you.”
I didn’t believe her and tried to get around her to retrieve my phone. She blocked me with her body, grabbed my wrist with both hands, and bit me.
“Ow, damn you!” I dropped the concrete. Maria picked it up and hurled it at the phone. The screen cracked. I pushed her into a pile of trash and turned back to the phone, but she grabbed my ankle. I went down into something brown and slimy. Before I could recover, she crawled back and pounded my phone three times. The case broke. The parts flew out. That didn’t stop her. She used the concrete rock to pound the broken parts three more times.
Helpless to save my phone I said, “I think you pushed me into dog shit.”
“I scraped my knee when you pushed me. It’s bleeding again,” she countered.
My arm sported a perfect impression of Maria’s front teeth, highlighted by a trickle of blood. “Fuck you, you bit me. I’m bleeding.”
We lay on the ground, dirty, bloody, and covered with trash. I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. She laughed too. I threw a used condom at her. She threw it back. She crawled over to me and said, “Kiss me, you idiot.”
“No, no, go away, you’re filthy.”
“Kiss me!”
“No,” this time with less conviction.
“Kiss me,” she purred. We kissed. The world, with all its problems, melted away. We devolved into two mindless organisms, dirty, hurting, bleeding, exchanging saliva as if it was the staff of life itself.
***
“What the fuck? Get out of here!”
We broke apart. A man stood in the open back door. He held a black, bulging plastic bag. Sheepishly, we got up, brushing the dirt off our clothes.
“Sorry,” I said. “We’re leaving.”
He laughed and handed me the bag. “It’s okay. You surprised me. Roll around back here as much as you want. Throw this in the dumpster when you’re done.”
“Let’s make your call so we can get back to the motel and clean up. You stink!” Maria said.
“You stink worse!”
“You stink more!” We laughed and hugged each other as we rounded the corner.
Maria held me back before we could get to the pay phone. “Wh
en you talk to your wife, let her know she could be in danger.”
“What — ”
“It will probably take the Cartel a day or so to figure out that I wasn’t on the burning plane. Can they trace your plane to where you live?”
“It’s possible.”
“Tell your wife to leave tomorrow.” She used her card to make the telephone connection a second time.
“Guess who called before,” Beth said before the second ring. She didn’t pause for a response. “Mr. Oliver from the FAA. He said that you were a witness to a shooting at the Gaithersburg airport. Is that true?”
“Yes, eh, honey, that’s what I was trying to tell you before. Three men broke into the airport. They shot the young woman who worked there. They shot up a twin-engine plane. The plane crashed and burned. Do you know if the pilot survived?”
“The pilot and his passenger both died. The clerk died as well. The girls are watching it on TV right now. They’re freaking out. Are you OK? How did you get out? Where are you?”
“Oh, my God, I knew the clerk. She was so young.” Somehow hearing Beth relay the news made the whole thing worse.
She continued, “Mr. Oliver said you had a passenger in your plane — a woman. Who is she? Where did you take her? Why did you take her? Where, the hell, are you?”
Up to this point, I hadn’t really lied to my wife. There were many things I should have told her and didn’t, but up to that point, I hadn’t really lied.
“I met her at the hotel.” The truth. ”I gave her a ride.” Not the whole truth. “I had to take off right away and broke some aviation rules.” The truth. “I’m too exhausted to fly anymore tonight.” More truth.
“So the FAA is calling to talk to you about some broken rules?” Beth summarized with a hopeful tone in her voice.
“Yes, and they probably want to know what happened from my point of view.”
She sighed, “Good. Please call them. Hopefully, they’ll revoke your pilot’s license, and you’ll get rid of that goddamn plane.” I could hear the TV news playing in the background. “Dan, where are you? Is that woman still with you?”
“I can’t tell you where I am. It’s possible that the men who shot up the other plane are recording this call. I’m in danger. It’s possible that you and the girls are also.”
”Also what?
“Also in danger. Beth, you need to leave. The first thing in the morning, go to the place where we had Thanksgiving dinner last year.”
“You mean to — ”
“Yes, there. Don’t say it.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Why — ”
“Beth, the truth is I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble with some very dangerous people. The woman I’m with is trying to help me. I won’t be home for several days.” I paused and took a breath. Would I ever come home? “I no longer have a cell phone. I’ll try to call you every other day or so.”
“What the hell? What kind of trouble? Did you call the police? Do you want me to call the police? Where are you?”
“I can’t give you details. Don’t call the police. We don’t know who we can trust.”
“We?”
“The person I’m with. I need a few days to sort this out. The men who shot up the airport might still be looking for me. It’s all a big misunderstanding — ”
“Misunderstanding my ass! People don’t shoot each other because of a misunderstanding. They — ”
“Beth, please listen to me. You need to leave. You and the girls might be in danger.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I might be. Right now I need to get off the phone. I’m tired and filthy. You need to pack.”
Brief silence then, “She’s there with you now isn’t she?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
“What should I think?”
“Beth, trust me. I need to get off the phone. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She was about to say something, but Sara called for her again.
“Okay, call this Mr. Oliver.” She gave me the number and hung up. The were no last words of affection.
Maria was there, a few feet away, lighting a fresh cigarette with the stub of one she had finished. “Very good, you told her nothing.”
“Maria, enough! Enough already with the smoking.”
She took a final puff and crushed the new cigarette on the sidewalk. “Okay, let’s go, we’re filthy.”
***
A heavy middle-aged woman managed the office at the Hilltop Motel. She might have been pretty once, but too many cigarettes and too much junk food had taken their toll.
“You wanna room for you and your sweetie? Twenty bucks for the afternoon, fifty for overnight.”
I could imagine what Maria would say if she knew she was my “sweetie.”
“Actually, my colleague and I need two rooms for one night,” I corrected.
The clerk shook her head. Her double chins wobbled back and forth. “Sure, no problem, two rooms for the night. I’ll give you rooms 9 and 10. They’re at the end of the row. There’s a door between them if you and your eh, colleague, want to have a, eh conference.”
She chuckled as if she just invented sarcasm. She looked past me, and I followed her gaze. Maria paced back and forth, beside the car, smoking her third cigarette since landing. Her torn jeans, blood-stained shirt, and messy hair conveyed the image of something other than my “sweetie.”
The clerk returned to the task at hand. “That’s a hundred bucks cash money. We don’t take credit cards. Fill out the registration cards.”
The calendar behind her desk provided the inspiration. It displayed a self-satisfied Persian cat sitting on a satin pillow. Black X’s showed June more than half gone.
I entered John Katz on one card, June Satin on the other. The two cards and five twenties completed the transaction.
Almost six o’clock. On a normal Friday night, Beth would be preparing dinner. The girls would be playing quietly or reading books. All three would be alert for daddy’s footsteps on the porch, triumphant from his successful week in Washington. I wanted that feeling. Instead, I sat in a cheap motel room joined by circumstance to an annoying woman decidedly not my wife.
Maria knocked on the door connecting our rooms. “Why do we have two rooms?”
“Not now. And by the way, you name is June Satin for the evening. I’ll explain later.”
We showered separately, each in our own bathroom. I knew there was something I had to do but couldn’t remember what it was. Exhausted, I dried off and stumbled to the nearest bed and fell asleep.
***
Maria woke me. Dressed in her new jeans and a white t-shirt, she looked like one of my college students.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eight o’clock.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” she said. “We’ll eat soon. But right now, come into my room.”
“Give me a minute, I’ll get dressed.”
“No, come now,” she insisted.
Did she want to have sex? That was always a possibility with Maria, but her manner was severe, business-like. I wrapped a towel around my waist and obediently followed her. She pointed at the queen-size bed where my cocaine-filled duffle bag occupied pride of place. All its flaps were un-zipped immodestly revealing the illegal contents.
I turned to her, forgetting to hold the towel around my waist. Before I could say anything, she casually brought her right hand from around her back. It held the gun that Richard used to kill the two men.
Our roles changed. She became the prosecutor, I the defendant. The drugs were the evidence. The crime — betrayal. Using the gun as a pointer, she moved it back and forth from the evidence to the naked defendant as she said in a calm but menacing voice, “Chico, we need to talk.”
Chapter 15
Dan’s Confession
Instinctively my hands came down to cover my crotch. I reached for the towel, but she pulled it away.
/> “The towel won’t save you. Go sit in the chair.” Once again she used the gun to make her point. Her finger wasn’t on the trigger, but I knew that could change.
Where did you get this?” Maria demanded. “Who gave it to you?”
“Let me get dressed, I’ll explain.” What should I tell her? What can I withhold?
“No, explain naked.” She came behind me. Put your arms behind your back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous — Ow.” I felt a sharp pain as she tapped my skull with the gun.
“Don’t make me hurt you. Put your hands behind your back.”
I complied and noticed that the cords that once raised and lowered the blinds were no longer part of the room’s inventory. The woman was definitely resourceful. This was the second time she tied my wrists, but unlike the previous night, this time she wasn’t playing.
She stood over me. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes, it hurts. You didn’t have to hit me.”
“Good, I’m glad it hurts.” Then in a louder voice, “Where did you get the cocaine?” She pointed the gun at my head, then changed her mind and pointed it at my crotch, then settled on my chest as the best target.
“It’s not mine!” Maybe someone will hear me and come to my rescue.
“Bullshit. If it’s not yours, whose is it?”
“Richard’s.”
“The taxi driver?”
“Yes.”
“Richard’s dead. Don’t lie to me. Where did you get it?” She slapped my face. I saw the slap coming and turned my head in time to avert most of the blow. Still, it hurt.
Sweat oozed out of every pore of my body. My voice quivered. “He gave it to me for safekeeping before he died. Please untie me. I’ll explain.”
She ignored my plea. “Explain where you are, naked, tied to a chair in a cheap motel. What would your precious Beth say if she could see you now?”
“Richard hired me to fly him to New Jersey Tuesday night. He told me he had to collect some money from his friend Henry. But he lied to me. It was a drug deal. Two guys ambushed them, killed Henry and wounded Richard. When we flew back, Richard gave me the drugs to hold until he got better. He didn’t get better. He died. That’s the truth.”
Flying Blind Page 12