BILL CADY
Post Office Box 567
San Luis Rey, California 92068-0567
Tel: (760) 803-6690
Fax: (760) 637-2862
bill@billcady.com
STRANDED
By Bill Cady
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Bill Cady
Smashwords Edition,
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For most men, and for all who have dreams,
life's most important asset is a loving wife,
although, it takes a champion of a man,
to forego his own pleasure and grant her a life.
Guillaume
PROLOGUE
Tuesday, 8 MAR 94 11:23 P.M.
Richtoffen's Hospice Centers
San Angelica, California
Why am I having squeamish thoughts about this? Even asking her if it'll be okay, for God's sake? That's my Jeff the man I love, darn it! I'm not even all that sure I should have to ask!
Cassidy Calahan sighed deep. Rather purposely, very slowly, she let the air out. But, knowing me, I will ask. I don't typically do even 'normal' things without checking to make sure they're okay with everyone.
A smile flickered, but dashed away even faster than it showed up when she glanced back at the bed. At the man on it. One thing, boy, this sure is a long way from 'normal'. Cassidy sighed again and raised her eyes to the nurse finishing her routine. Writing notes on her 'nurse pad' the doctors all call a 'chart' so she can add whatever it is she's saying to one more in what's become an endless series of reports. Each one another step toward a final verdict. A verdict I don't even want to think about, let alone face.
With a final jot of some kind of medical drivel the nurse managed to drive the pen into hiding in her once black, now turning charcoal, hair, instead of holding on to it. Wrapped in a bun at the back, it actually looks like I think a nurse's hair should look.
The woman stood, smiled, gently patted Jeff's shoulder with practiced professionalism, and smiled a bit larger at Cassidy.
Yup. She's on her way out. This is it. It's now or never. "Um, say, Ma'am? Before you go ..."
Two steps from the bed, the nurse stopped. Turned. Looks as if she's too tired even now, just after the start of her shift to handle anyone's needs. Patient or friend of patient. Her white slacks sure are nice and clean. Neat. Trim. Unwrinkled. The blouse, a quiet yellow in the body with white sleeves that don't quite reach her elbows, is just as spic-and-span. Except for that spot on her shoulder courtesy of Jeff.
But, a trooper to the last, she even smiled with pure caring when Jeff barfed on her uniform. I remember that. It was real nice of her.
"Yes?" After a second the nurse it says 'R. Willoughby' on her name tag took a step in Cassidy's direction. Those white nurse's shoes with inch thick soles aren't even making a sound on the dark brown corkboard floor. It's as if the shadows in this room at Jeff's hospice mute her steps, Cassidy decided.
"Will there be something else I can do for you, Miss Calahan?" Wordless for a moment, 'R. Willoughby' eyed the bed before she spoke. A flare of pain popped to her face, but the professional in her chased it away in a hurry. "Or for Jeff?"
Cassidy shared a silent moment. Just the two of us watching Jeff's shriveled body under the sheets. An IV tube in his hand, that stupid oxygen thing in his nose. Jeff, just lying there all white like that. Looking so pale. So anemic. So what drained? Yeah, drained, I guess. Almost gone would be another way to say it. Cassidy blinked away a tear that apparently believed in the silly idea she had time for it right now.
One more gulp of air dribbled out at a snail's pace. Cassidy headed for the nurse, barely a yard away, took the woman's arm and guided her closer to the door. "It's almost his his, um, time, isn't it?" Praying to be told she was being stupid, Cassidy locked her eyes on the older woman's face.
'R. Willoughby' used her comforting smile. The one she picked up in 'Grief Counseling 101', I know, Cassidy advised herself. Then she nodded. "I'd say it won't be long." A shake of the head. "You knew that already, though, didn't you? Dr. Carmichael has it on the chart." She glanced at the clipboard in her hand, never reading anything. Just relying on it for back-up.
A nod. "Can I this is stupid, I know but ..."
Her hand on Cassidy's forearm, 'R. Willoughby' corrected, "No, Miss Calahan, it's not." A glance at Jeff. "Not at a time like this. Never. Not not now, it isn't." The sympathy in her light green eyes rolled into view in a wave, but there wasn't any tide to take it back out. It just stayed. "What would you like to ask me, Ma'am?"
"Please, just Cassidy, okay?" The nurse bobbed her head once, so Cassidy made the plunge. "It's, um, it's important to Jeff and to me that I, um that I do this."
"Do what?" An inquisitive wrinkle of the brow.
"Well, we're, um engaged. See?" Cassidy raised her left hand, palm facing the floor, fingers spread, the tiny ¼ carat diamond her proudest possession ever. "We, um, we planned you know, before we, um, before we found out to be married."
'R. Willoughby' nodded. "Uh-huh?" All curiosity by now.
"Then after, um, we found out we decided not to." Her eyes fell to her feet ashamedly. C'mon, girl. Don't be telling lies now! "That's not, um true. We still wanted to, but Jeff told me he wouldn't. Um you know marry me? Because of ..." I can't even say it! Damn it!
"I understand." A gentle squeeze on Cassidy's forearm. "Really, I do."
"Now since it's time can I, um, can I I want to ..." The words stopped. Clogged in my throat! God, this is so stupid! Cassidy undid a button at the top of her blouse. "Can Jeff and I be alone? For a while, I mean? Like, until I come back out in the hall?" She opened another button. "I promised myself I'd do this at least once before he ..."
"Cassidy?" A tighter grip. "You aren't saying you want to ..."
"Oh, God no. Not that. Not, um, not now. Just ..."
"Because, even if he wanted to, I don't think he could. Not now."
"No, I just mean to you know hold him? Love him a little? In, um, in private?"
A changing screen in her eyes testifying she understood, 'R. Willoughby' nodded. "Sure. No reason not to. Not as long as you don't, um, both get all excited and try to ..."
"We won't. And, thanks." With a forced smile, backed by a new feeling of urgency, Cassidy ushered 'R. Willoughby' out the door. As soon as the caregiver was gone, Cassidy undressed, laying her clothing on a chair by the wall at the foot of Jeff's bed.
###
Even if I wasn't counting, I think his eyes opened on the third blink. Cassidy kissed his cheek. "Hi, handsome. How's my guy?" Another kiss, a brush of the lips meant more to carry a feeling than anything else. Especially now. "I love you."
"Love you Angelbaby." A tired smile. A weak effort, but one that carried a powerful message. A message that repeated his whispered words in a loud voice. "You warned me, I guess. Told me once, you'd do this." Flat on his back, his head in a gully on the feather pillow, Jeff seemed to lie back even farther weakly shrinking away. An action born in physical and emotional exhaustion although I can see there's no place for him to go.
"Jeff, I never said I'd ..."
"Did, too." A half speed smile. "It was a couple years ago. When I got all ..." He sighed, gulped some air, tried another faint-hearted smile that never made it to the big time, and let it go.
Poor man. Needs the strength, I guess, just to talk.
"Drunk. That night I got shit-faced. When I was having a 'pity party' for poor old Jeff. You said it then."
"Said what, honey?" Cassidy kissed him gently, on the lips this time.
"When they got ready to strike up the band, you said." He licked his dry lips. "Told me you'd try one more time." His eyes rolled back, then flickered shut.
'Jeff!" Her arms gathered tightly around his neck, her left across his bare, hairy chest. "Jeff?"
"Still here, Angelbaby." A pitiful, sagging smile. "I know it's real close now, but I'm not ready, yet. Not quite." Jeff took what she knew was a deep breath for him but it never even made the sheet rise. "I had to wait 'til you did this." His eyes said, 'Because I love you and I need you here right now. More than anyone.'
Cassidy forced a smile. "Okay, then I will." Her hand strolled down his chest, across his stomach, but stopped at the material. The 'diaper' they put on him to keep him from making a mess soon. Her hand stopped.
Jeff laughed. At least, I know that sound's supposed to be a laugh.
"Sorry, Angelbaby. Guess there's a snag, huh?" His arm tightened on her from behind. Not much pressure, she noticed, but it's probably a bear hug for him right now. "That's okay. Save it for the next guy."
"Oh Jeff." Cassidy felt that damned tear scratch that crap, those damned tears! sneak onto her face. Sensed their Olympic quality sprints down her cheeks. "I don't want any 'next guy', Jeff! All I want is ..."
"Angelbaby, get real. There has to be a 'next guy'. This one's on his way out." One more complete surprise. He raised his head, faced her, and kissed her mouth.
Thrilled astonished, but too happy to do anything else Cassidy fell into the kiss. No tongue in my mouth, she thought, her hand easing back up on Jeff's otherwise naked body. He wouldn't do that. Not now. Not even anything to worry about as far as his 'thingie' being ready. This is just a love kiss which makes it a great kiss.
She kept it for herself and Jeff. Lingered in it. Tasted it. Enjoyed it. Begged God for many more just like this one and accepted before she let the prayers fly away, they'd never be answered.
"Hold me, Angelbaby? Be here with me? Until?"
"Yes, honey. Yes. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"The river? The ashes?" He exhaled weakly. "You'll still do that?"
Crying too hard to speak, she bobbed her head.
"Okay. Then, just hold me." He snuggled closer.
Cassidy held him. Periodically brushed her lips on his cheek. Loved him like she'd never loved anyone or anything in her entire life. Felt it when he fell asleep and loved him some more.
Sensed it an hour or so later, too. When he died. When God's hands reached out and took hold of Jeff. Carried him to heaven.
Cassidy loved him for an hour or so more, sharing just a few last minute, private thoughts. Reassuring Jeff and Cassidy.
Telling him wherever he'd gone to she'd keep all the promises she'd made to the man she loved. Then she got dressed and went to find 'R. Willoughby'.
Sometimes stories tell us about people's wants,
show the obvious, and on occasion, the addenda,
but these glimpses into what makes them tick,
are often designed to obscure a hidden agenda.
Guillaume
CHAPTER ONE
Wednesday, 16 MAR 94 7:04 P.M.
Lindbergh Airfield, San Diego, California
Beverly Timmons glanced quickly at the wall clock near the loading gate, peeked nervously at the clipboard on the customer service desk in front of her, and raised her eyes to the inquisitive passenger facing her, awaiting an answer. "Um, Mr. Victor, I'm really very sorry, but we don't have any word on it yet. The, um the takeoff."
She turned halfway to her right, hoping to escape his probing stare. It made her want to be examined and, at the same time, told her to find cover. Warned her she was outmatched; would be playing with fire if she came any closer. "Um, if you want, I can check with ..."
"That's alright." He sighed. A release of frustration. "I've got my own sneaking suspicions about what's happening." The man, Manson Victor, seat 8A, also turned halfway to his right, apparently to shield her from all the emotion she sensed frothing inside him.
Standing at half guard like he is, she assured herself, he's not all that scary. Beverly gulped down the giggle before it broke free, but still enjoyed the emotion. Gosh, it's like he's protecting me from himself! "I'm sure, Mr. Victor, we'll find out soon what's going on. Really."
As she said it, Beverly knew her face gave her away. Yeah, sure. All I'll find out which I've been afraid for the last hour is what I'm going to hear is the damned flight's been cancelled! Here's all these people a hundred and sixty-two, according to the manifest waiting to board flight 623 to LA, then Australia, and I'm going to have to be the one to explain why they won't be leaving to each one of 'em! Hell, most of 'em twice!
She did some fast math in her head. Jesus Criminy! That'll come to three-hundred and twenty-four 'I'm so sorries' I'll have to give out to these people and half of 'em'll still be pissed as hell! Man, there's times this job really sucks! Like right now!
One more peek at her passenger told Beverly what was going on. He hasn't bought any of my crap. He knows. So now what? I know. I'll try some small talk. "This be your first time in Australia, Mr. Victor?"
The frown eased up a little. "No. Not for me. I lived there for about ten years." A fast look at his Rolex. "My wife. It'll be her first trip there."
He smiled as he mentioned whoever this 'wife' might be. Makes me wonder. God, if a man like this one ever smiled like that after he said something about me, I'd just flop over and die! Talk about your 'power hunks'! This guy's gotta be six feet, with maybe four ounces of fat he probably carries them in his feet, for God's sakes! and looks like he's got enough character to rule the world! Heck, I'd drop a month's salary replacing the black suit he's wearing. Actually, I'd be lucky if the limit on my VISA would replace the yellow golf shirt he's got on under the suit.
Beverly's eyes descended to the man's feet. Well, maybe if I had six months to save up I could buy him a new pair of those shoes but, even then, I'd have to find 'em on sale! Her glance headed up again, stopping at his face. Mmmmm, nice eyes, too. Nutmeg, I'd guess. His hair's thinning a bit, but it looks sexy as all get out on him. What's that color? Ummmmm, I know chestnut. Yeah, that's it. Chestnut.
Another giggle almost made it out of her mouth. Beverly reined it in just in time. Yeah that's the ticket! I'll ask if I can be his mistress. That way, on his birthday or days like that, I'll probably at least be able to afford to buy my man a haircut without signing a note! She smirked momentarily. 'Cept, if that man wanted me, I think I'd move heaven and earth to get him anything he ever wanted.
"Pardon me, Miss?" He focused on her name tag. "Is something the matter Miss Timmons?"
"Huh?" Beverly snapped out of her reverie. "Oh, no. I'm sorry. I was, um, just, um, thinking about something."
"The takeoff time for my flight, maybe?" He followed by cocking his semi-bushy chestnut eyebrows hopefully.
No, 'end of shift' time, she thought luridly. 'You taking me back to my apartment and me telling the world to sit and wait' time is more like it. As her face flushed for even thinking like that, Beverly worked hard from within to bring the conversation back to something she could at least admit to Mom she'd had with this guy. "Um, your wife? Is that the other passenger? Is she this 'I. Quarles' I see in the seat next to you in first class?"
His brow notched, but she never gave him a chance to speak. Saying it out loud struck a chord. "Wait. 'I. Quarles'? Why's that making me oh, never mind." Filing it in her subconscious, she took a new tact. "You smiled real nice when you mentioned your wife. You guys been married long?"
Now he's blushing! God! If he'd do that for me ...
"To be honest," he said with a happy tone and an even happier grin, "it's coming up on five years. Next week. Yeah, I love her. A helluva lot." He notched the smile up a couple degrees. "Shows that bad, huh?"
Beverly relaxed a bit. Jeez, he's so crazy in love with her I probably couldn't get his attention if I stood here naked! Guess I can scratch any dirty dreams I might have with this guy playing the male lead. "I think it's more that it shows 'that good' on you, Mr. Victor." The idea began nagging again. "Her name's not the same as yours? 'Quarles'? Why, that's the same last name as get out! Not 'the Iceland Quarles'? The movie star?"
He pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhhhhh! We don't want anyone to know she's on the flight. Fans the press, you know? Keep it down, huh?"
Embarrassed, Beverly swiveled her head to see if anyone overheard her blurt out that famous name. Satisfied her customer's secret was still safe, she spoke in a quieter voice. "Mr. Victor, I can't say anything yet not for sure, I mean but I'll be surprised if the flight does take off on time. The latest scuttlebutt I heard wasn't all that good. Something about a hydraulic fluid leak they can't seem to repair, or something similar." Another all directions peek. "'Course, they won't tell us to say anything to any of you passengers until they're sure but, I wouldn't get my hopes up too high."
"Oh, wonderful!" His right hand a big hand, she noticed came to his hairline, palm flat against his face. He ran it from top to bottom, wiping away some of the anger and emotion. "Look, it's mandatory we make it to Australia not later than tomorrow."
"Well, even if this flight didn't take off they'd get you to LAX and book you on another airline. That's company policy."
"Uh-huh, and the plane would leave when?"
"Um this late? 'Fraid I'd have to say tomorrow, but —"
"I was afraid of that. It's what I figured I'd hear, but I was still afraid of it." He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a bulging money clip. "To show my appreciation." Manson handed her a crisp hundred dollar bill.
"No, sir. That's really not necessary. I just wanted ..."
"Me, too." A friendly smile. "I 'just wanted' to say thanks my way." He looked both ways over his shoulder. "Where would I go to see about a charter?"
"All the way to Australia? Mr. Victor, that would cost a fortune!"
His face turned grim. "Not nearly as much as it'll cost me if I don't get there PDQ. We're having problems with our shipper. Problems we've never had before, which makes it all seem very strange. Union problems, to be specific. I have to be there to settle this mess. If I don't, we stand to lose more than a million dollars just next month."
"Good God! How can that be?" She leaned ahead on the reservations desk, her interest piqued. "A million dollars?"
"Uh-huh. I own a nationwide restaurant chain called 'Manson's Emu Gourmet Shoppes'. You may have heard ..."
"I 'may have'? God, Mr. Victor, I love that food! You mean to say you own all those restaurants? Why, there must be ..."
"Twenty-two hundred, give or take," he said quietly. "I only own about twenty percent of them outright. The rest are franchised. But, if I don't get 'down under' in a damned big hurry, I'll end up owning a string of empty buildings." He looked around again. "I asked about a charter? Do you have any suggestions, or should I ..."
She reached for her purse on the top shelf. Thumbing through it quickly she mumbled, "Actually, I do. Give me a sec to find his here." She came out with a business card, started to hand it over, then thought better of it. Beverly grabbed a small piece of paper and wrote on it.
Gravis Charters
277-8090
Devon Newcomb
She looked back up, positive her face was beet red. "Gravis takes off from Carlsbad, but they have an office right here at Lindbergh. Dev is the best pilot they've got. He's, um, he's a friend of mine. Kind of, I mean."
"A friend who can help me?" Manson asked anxiously, but with some relief.
"If he can't, no one can, Mr. Victor. Shall I show you as cancelled?"
"Don't worry. My accounting people will see to it later." He started toward the white house phones. "And, again, thanks."
Leaving her with a smile that said there was a lot more to be known than she'd seen, Manson walked away. Beverly grinned, despite herself. "I'm sorry that's all you're thanking me for." A wry smile as she watched his retreating back. "I'd rather hear you thank me for making you breakfast!"
7:14 P.M.
"Gravis Charters. This is Dev."
"Good evening, sir. Are you Devon Newcomb?" Manson moved the white phone from his right ear to his left after he asked the question.
"In the flesh. Who's this?" Calmly. As if forced to halt a solitaire game he'd win in maybe two more minutes after moving the last few cards to the top.
"My name's Victor, Mr. Newcomb. Manson Victor. I was given your name by a Miss ..."
"I know." Dev chuckled as he broke in. Not arrogantly, Manson noticed. More to share the humor of something slightly amusing. "Beverly Timmons." The amused laughter grew quieter; almost finished showing any hilarity it may have held before. "Bev and I've 'dated', shall I say? a few times, Manson. She called me a minute ago. Said you were heading for a house phone and for me to expect a call." He cleared his throat. "Bev tells me you're really something. Way she said it and, knowing Bev as well as I do I guess I believed her in advance of your call." The soft laughter edged back up a notch.
"Oh?" Manson realized he had a half smile on his face and turned more to the wall in case the airline clerk could still see him. "She did, huh?"
"Yeah. Way she said it, I figure you're probably the kind of man I'll want to be like after I grow up." Outright laughter this time, but Manson never questioned it was other than a casual sense of humor that stayed with the man at all times.
"I see," Manson quipped, somewhat enjoying the brief repartee. "When will that be, Dev?"
"Best guess within a week of my death." More rollicking chuckles. "Some things you just can't put off." Dev paused a second. When he spoke again, Manson noticed he'd changed moods. 'Put on his professional cap', so to speak. "So, Bev said you'd be lookin' for a charter. How many people and, how soon?"
Manson let his attitude slide back to the here and now. Felt his face tighten as he put on his own 'professional cap'. Now we'll talk business, he thought happily. Get the show on the road. "Two. My wife and me. As far as how soon we leave half an hour to an hour too quick?"
"Prob'ly not. Depends." The words came out unhurriedly. Took their time, but bore traces of examination before they'd been spoken. "Rumor is one of the passengers is shall we say famous? Any truth to that?"
Shit! There goes the price! Damn it, this guy knows who Ice is which merely makes him one of eleventy-twelve cajillion people so I'll be forced to cough up megabucks now! "Oh, I've got a few friends, Dev, but I'm not all that sure you can say I'm famous."
The laughter in Manson's ear took on a lot more humor. "Hey! Great! Damn, I like that!" Dev went on chuckling for a few seconds.
It was an honest laugh, Manson decided. Really must've nudged the guy's 'funny button'.
Dev resumed. "You could have a career doin' 'stand-up' up in LA, Manson. That was quick." He took a deep breath. "Uh, before you get to thinkin' I asked that just to crank up the price ..."
"What made you think I thought that?"
Still laughing, "Because I can tell from the way you sound and from Bev's impression of you you're not stupid. Actually, I'm askin' because if she is your wife, and if she'll be on the plane with us Iceland Quarles is my absolute favorite movie actress. I mean it. Hands down. No other movie star comes close."
"Which translates to mean in dollars ?" Manson let the sentence dribble away to nothing, then waited with an attentive ear for a reply.
"Honest? It means I'll have to 'put on my gentleman suit' since she is your wife when I ask for her autograph. You got a problem with that? If so, just say the word an' I won't say it a word, I mean?"
Manson relaxed immediately. Something in the way this guy talks tells me there's no bullshit in him. "No, I have no problem with that, Dev."
"Cool. Oh, and as far as the price no way I'd even try to jack that puppy up. The front office I just work here, Manson, I don't own the place pegs it high enough as it is. You goin' one-way, or roundtrip?"
"There any appreciable difference?"
Dev started chortling with amusement again. "Only if you wanna come back. Actually, no. It's the same, either way since I'll be comin' back. We'll be flyin' a Lear 55, if that means anything to you."
"Can't say that it does. I'm two notches below ignorant when it comes to airplanes." He paused briefly. "I have a friend who owns a Learjet 31A. Is yours bigger? More expensive?"
"Close to the same in size, wing span and so forth," Dev chuckled, "but it's got one nice difference I think makes it better than the 31 for what you want."
"Which would be ?"
"A 31 won't fuel up with enough to make it. A 31'd leave us in the drink. Wouldn't even make Hawaii let alone Melbourne. A 55 will get us there with a reserve."
"And a 55, I assume, costs more? I know my friend's plane was pretty damned expensive."
"Well, that puppy the 31 goes off at a touch under five mil but then it goes a touch over that much with the taxes. You see, a 55 brand new would probably be too damned expensive for a charter service to own. Hell, even used, it's a five million dollar plane. Oh, and an overseas flight like that means I'll need to have someone in the second seat, too. Fuel, wages for two pilots, landing fees, all that sort of rot plus figuring in a piece of profit for the company there's a hefty price tag. The only difference for you is that, if you don't come back with us, you'll still have to pay airfare to someone when you do come home."
"How long would the layover be?" Manson began trying to fit all the pieces together. Second honeymoon with Ice say, five days after I put in two or three days on the union crap, this might take some dickering.
"Standard would be a day. Two, tops. Why?"
"What if it was a week, Dev? Maybe ten days?"
"Oh, well, in that case ..."
" And I paid the housing costs for you and the copilot?"
The laughter shifted to third gear, gaining speed and volume. "I tell ya what, Manson, I'm startin' to like you. Look, the horse I'll be gettin' out of the barn our Lear doesn't go out that often. I'm guessin' I can talk 'em into an extended layover for oh, say twenty-five percent more? Can you work with that?"
"You tell me, Dev. Twenty-five percent of what?"
The laughter seemed to have fallen off the table as far as Manson could tell. "Oh, that. The price."
"Right. How much?"
"Based on time in the air. That plane rents out at two grand an hour, so you'll need to be ready for a bill when we touch down that might run as much as thirty-five large."
Manson grimaced. "Thirty-five thousand dollars?" He let the words hang in the air. They evidently didn't give Dev a reason to cringe.
"Yeah, but that includes tax." More chuckling. "If it'd help I know it won't, but it's the thought that counts we take all the major plastic."
"American Express?"
"Huh? You mean Manson, you wouldn't actually ..."
"My card will take that much, no problem. So, how soon can you have the copilot we'll need here at the airport and ready to fly?"
Dev laughed again, this one full of good nature. "She's standin' right beside me. She just told me she'll get into her gear as soon as she goes to the head."
"She's there with you?"
"Ready an' waitin', Manson. How soon you want to get airborne?"
"As soon as the wife I haven't mentioned gets here. So, can we be looking down at the ground in half an hour to an hour?"
"Depends on how long it takes us to get your luggage from the airline and ferry you up to Carlsbad, Manson. I'd say it'll be closer to two hours. You on your way over here, are ya?"
"As soon as Ice shows up. I'll go tell your friend Beverly to have them offload our luggage."
"Don't worry. I already told her to handle it. Look, I'll just come get you and 'the Mrs.' personally in about ten minutes, if that's okay with you?"
"I'll be waiting, Dev. See you then." He hung up the phone.
7:22 P.M.
Manson stopped halfway through the turn as he moved away from the house phone. Someone was watching him expectantly. Hello, who the hell's this guy? The two men stared at each other for a moment before Manson broke the silence. "Can I help you with something?"
"Hate to say it, pal, but you just might. Howdy, I'm Hondo Wilkerson. Found my ass in a spot and thought we might throw our bedrolls together and see what comes up?" He flashed an 'I just won the lottery' smile, his large left hand sporting an expensive looking class ring from some prestigious university and filled with what Manson took as an unlit $20 cigar. Still with a cheerful expression, he extended his other hand to shake.
Manson took a minute to size him up. Big, burly, good looking, 'exec type' bastard. Comes off as maybe the CEO of IBM or General Motors at first glance but it all looks like it turns phony as fast as it shows up. Hmmm? This dude's wearing what has to be a $2,000 suit so why do I get the impression he wrote a bad cheque to get it? What the hell is he, a retired WWF wrestler, late 40s or maybe even early 50s, in a Brooks Brothers suit? Damned if any of this makes sense to me.
He shook his visitor's hand, a standard 'this is the one I reserve for business meetings' smile spreading across his face. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Manson Victor. Usually, I just toss my bedroll where my wife has hers. Any chance you can be more specific I'm sorry the name again?"
"Hondo, man. Hondo Wilkerson." He pumped Manson's hand rather effusively. "I'm in a spot you wouldn't believe but one you might be able to help me with." The board room mogul grin appeared in a flash on Hondo's semi-chubby face again.
Manson wondered, Why do I feel like I'm buying a used car, and the oil spill I asked about is supposedly from the car parked in this spot yesterday? "I hope all this 'help' you're talking about has nothing to do with where I 'park my bedroll', Mr. Wilkerson. Like I said, I always set that up where my wife has hers."
"Naw, nothing like that, m'boy. Not at all. See, I was supposed to be on that flight, too. Flight 623 to LA and on to Australia." He looked both ways, then bent his head forward. "It was um, it was let's just say it was pretty important." Another furtive peek back and forth. "To me and my boy." The huckster's grin changed to the expression of a proud Papa. "Waited a lot of years for this, I did. Sure as hell."
"Oh?" Manson cocked his right eyebrow. Used it to ask a question.
"Well you know kids, right?" Hondo began bobbing his head, the movement demanding agreement.
Manson shook his slowly back and forth. "Can't say as I do."
With a surprised glance at the plain gold band on Manson's ring finger Hondo asked, "That tells me you're married. You're saying ...?"
"We chose not to have any kids. Careers and all."
"Yeah? What's she do that keeps her from being a Mom?" Hondo gave a knowing look Manson took to mean 'Those inferior bitches will try any damned excuse they can imagine if you let 'em get away with it'.
"Let's just say she's an artiste and let it go at that."
Hondo winked. "I get it I think." His elbow moved, emulating a nudge to Manson's ribs, but the halfhearted effort stopped inches from landing. "Gawd, not a strip teaser, is she?"
You son-of-a-bitch. Either you're the crassest asshole to ever draw a breath, or you've got more balls than the Harlem Globetrotters. He kept the reaction to himself. "Not exactly. Tell me, Mr. Wilkerson what is it I can do for you?"
"Please? Hondo, okay?"
"Very well. So, as I just asked ?"
"Right. Sure. Uh my son?"
Manson's eyebrows asked, 'Yes?'
"He's getting married tomorrow in Brisbane." Hondo started patting his pockets, obviously looking for a cigarette.
Manson glanced pointedly at the NO SMOKING sign and notched his right eyebrow on a solo mission again. "That's nice." Still with a straight face, he mused, As if I give a brown rat's ass but, I guess it's nice.
Hondo's expression changed again. Manson took it in, wondering, Where the hell've I seen that before? Seconds later, it came to him. Yeah, that's it. He looks like Lee Iaccocca did years ago when he shoved Chrysler in America's face and said if we could find a better car buy it. Manson shook his head and stood in place, waiting.
"Yes, it really is. My boy. Getting married. It's nice. Real nice." The proud papa smile lit up a few degrees, wavered, flickered and almost went out. "These last few years, we haven't talked much. Actually, not at all. Haven't talked a lick. But, you know kids, so well, no, you don't. Anyway, seems this 'big day' was all my boy needed to finally bury the hatchet. Wants his ol' man to be there at the wedding."
"Just you? Not your wife?" Manson glimpsed the class ring again, then went back to the other man's eyes.
"Uh, we're not married any longer. That woman and me, I mean. My boy, he just came up with this on his own. So, after all these years, I'm sure you can see why it's a priority I get there. You know, be there in time for the big event." He winked knowingly.
"I suppose." He took another measure of the man. "So, I assume you heard me talking with Miss Timmons?"
"Who?" Hondo followed Manson's gaze back to Beverly Timmons at the boarding gate. "Oh, that sexy little chickie-poo with the nice knockers? That her name?"
"Unless it's an alias she wears on her badge." Slightly annoyed.
Hondo laughed, the amusement just a bit deeper than before. "Right. Well, yeah I did overhear some of what she told you. Look, Manson, this deal is 'CRY-tickle'. That's critical with a capital 'C'. I have to be there." He stopped talking. His eyes bored into Manson's. "How many can fit on that puddle jumper I heard you renting on the phone?"
A relaxed, happy, drawling voice came from behind Hondo, a few feet off to Manson's right, with an answer. "Ten, if we go easy on the luggage." Both men turned to see a muscular man in a trim looking pilot's uniform striding their way.
Manson pegged the man at just under six feet, just under thirty, and probably 'just under' the bedroom window of damned near any woman he wanted to have waiting at that window. Hazel eyes, coffee hair trimmed neat with a series of waves, and a smile that gets him anything, Manson assessed. This guy could act in the movies and they'd beg him to do ads for eyeglasses, shampoo and toothpaste on the side! Shit, if I let Ice see him, I might end up hearing her ask, "Manson, who?" He grinned anyway and stuck out his hand. "You're Dev?"
The 'college boy' smile showed it hadn't even gotten started yet, leaving Manson damned glad he didn't have a daughter within fifteen years either way of the man's age. "Yeah. Either that, or I got drunk last night and mugged a guy with that ID, then forgot about it." They shook hands. "I thought it was just you and the little woman?"
Hondo broke in. "Until he answers my implied question, it is." He faced Manson. "Look, this is of primo importance to me, understand? Matter of fact, I'll foot the bill for the whole shebang if you'll take me along."
Aware Dev seemed equally puzzled, Manson asked, "If you're willing to pay the freight all by yourself, why do you need to ask me if you can go along on my charter?"
A prepared answer, it seemed. "Wouldn't, but I forgot my damned plastic." Hondo patted his chest, above the wallet pocket inside his suit. "I carry 'em in a separate leather folder just my plastic and it seems I left 'em at home. Can't very well ask a charter service to take a cheque after the banks are closed, now can I? However, I'll write you a cheque for who should I make this out to, Manson? You, or your company?" He pulled out a leather pocket chequebook. "How much is a charter, anyway?"
This ought to change his mind, Manson thought hopefully. "Dev says it could run as high as thirty-five thousand."
Hondo stopped, the pen halfway to his chequebook. "A man could buy a lot of first class tickets for that, couldn't he?"
"Not first class," Manson corrected. "The ones we'd planned to use are $9,085 apiece. I don't know what they charge in coach." There! he thought, sensing the man would pull out of the flight. Chew on that bit of news for a minute!
"They were eleven-sixty," Hondo told him, once more unperturbed. "I assume I can tag along, then?" He poised his pen again.
Manson just looked him over for a few seconds, then turned to Dev, who shrugged and said glibly, "Makes no difference to me if he comes along. We've got plenty of room left."
Why the hell is it I just know damn it, I'm positive! if I'm stupid enough to take any paper from this man, it's gonna bounce? He faced Hondo again. Saw the man opening the chequebook yet another time. Holding an obviously expensive silver ink pen Manson hadn't noticed was so refined when the man removed it from his pocket. Shit, this is crazy. He deliberated a few more seconds, then caved in without knowing why. "Never mind paying. It's on my company. Just see how fast you can get your bags off the flight, then."
"Done!" Hondo replied almost gleefully. "All I have is this carry-on bag. I'm ready to take to the skies." He grinned pleasantly. "So, let's get a move on."
Manson mused, One damned bag to go to Australia? Man! Why am I thinking I just did something incredibly stupid? With an easy shrug of his own, he gestured to Dev. "Lead the way, Captain."
At the moment it's become obvious to all,
although the band's grown, there'll be no more,
someone checks the membership list fine print,
to discover its citizenship has exploded galore.
Guillaume
CHAPTER TWO
7:27 P.M.
Dev Newcomb had only moved a couple steps away when another thought came to Manson. "Say, Dev? You said 'she' when you mentioned your copilot? Did I hear you correctly?"
Turning to look over the shoulder of his dark navy blue jacket, Dev nodded and added an easy smile. "Yeah, boss. You sure did. Most days, she is a 'she', I mean." He chuckled, evidently amused, and kept walking.
In unison, Manson and Hondo asked, "'Most days'?"
"Uh-huh." Still moving at a comfortable pace, passing people right and left in the long gateway corridor. "It's kinda hard to explain."
Manson wasn't at all surprised when Hondo came up so quickly with an 'insightful' reason. "Ah, goes both ways, does she? One of those goofy 'AC/DC broads' who prefers a sexual smorgasbord a little of each?"
Hondo's laughing his ass off, doubtlessly amazed at how clever he can be. Manson shook his head. I wonder how much of this guy's bullshit I can take? I haven't known the damned fool more than five minutes and I'm already wishing I'd never met him. Why in the hell did I say he could come along? Why am I always the one who takes pity on people, so I feel I have to help out? Why am I always the one who gets followed home by all the stray puppies or, worse yet cats?
Then he found outside encouragement. Good. The look on Dev's face tells me he didn't like that crap, either. Manson smiled, despite his reaction to Hondo.
"Don't believe I got your name?" Dev asked Hondo the question without extending his hand or offering his name.
"Hondo, m'boy. Hondo Wilkerson. I'm ..."
"Pretty damned quick to judge someone when you haven't got any facts to base your opinion on? Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinkin'." He stopped. "I'm the pilot, mister, which puts me in charge. One important rule the company likes to see us stick to is bein' nice to the boss." He paused, using the sudden silence for emphasis, then gestured toward Manson with a nod of his head. "However, far as I'm concerned, he's the boss. That makes you dude! just a passenger." He stared at Hondo. "I work for him."
Manson watched Dev's eyes. Son-of-a-bitch. Sure looks like this Hondo guy struck a nerve there. Wonder what it'll come to?
"Meaning you don't intend to be nice to me? Is that it?" The words came out as a dare, as far as Manson was concerned. Hondo stopped where he stood. Squared off, no longer the chubby executive, his bulk and muscle more apparent now. "That what you're trying to say?"
Dev looked Hondo square in the face. "No. Not by half." All the happiness was suddenly gone from his eyes, replaced by a raw seriousness Manson felt no wise man would ignore. "What I was gonna say was aw, piss on it. With your shit eatin' attitude, I think I'll leave you to find out for yourself." Dev spun and began walking.
Manson thought he heard the pilot mumble, "Fuckhead!"
Hondo stared after Dev's back, but resumed following like before. Manson, shaking his head even more frequently, started after them.
###
Less than twenty feet later Manson heard, "Hang on there, huh?" from behind. He turned, aware as he rotated Dev and Hondo also heard the man call out and were stopping. "Yes?"
Manson saw two younger men quickly approaching. The one who spoke's on the right, his companion two or three steps behind him, directly in line with me. Well, shit. That's all I need. A pair of what I'd call 'Hollywood look-alikes' wanting something I hope to hell they're not trying to meet Ice when I've got all this other bullshit going on.
The guy who called me's a big sucker. Six-three four, maybe. A cross, maybe, between Fred Dryer from 'Hunter' and Clint Eastwood in his younger days. Followed, I see, by a clone of the guy who plays 'Joe' on that TV comedy 'Wings'. Uh-huh. A clone minus a haircut and a shower, who sure as hell could use a shave. He looked closer. Aw, shit. 'Joe' even has a damned earring! Man why me? He waited, watching them approach. The tall guy, 'Eastwood-Dryer', seems to be the man in charge. We'll see what he's got on his mind.
"I asked that little fox back at the ticket counter what you were up to," 'Eastwood-Dryer' began. "She said you were hirin' a plane 'cause you had to be there right away quick? In Australia?"
"Yes, I am. Why're you asking?" As if I didn't suspect, he added as an alert to himself. They either want to talk to Ice or cop a free ride. Man, what kind of dummy do I look like?
'Eastwood-Dryer' stuck out a massive hand Manson wouldn't've been surprised to learn hid a basketball when he opened it. "I'm Brisbane Koole. She said your name's Victor. Manson, I think she said was your first name." Never slowing down, Brisbane half turned and gestured to his sidekick, who was watching like a cat in front of a bird cage. "This's my buddy, Warren Esselman. Warren, say 'hi' to the man."
"Warren, huh? For some reason, I thought it was Joe." Manson stuck out his hand, working hard to keep only a friendly smile on his face and to squelch the strong laughter he wanted to let out.
Halfway to shaking Manson's hand, Warren stopped. He looked slowly at Brisbane, but said nothing. Brisbane, brow furrowed, asked, "'Joe'? What's up with that?"
"Nothing. My mistake." Some of the laugh came out as he withdrew his offer to shake, but Manson knew it wasn't anything they'd find offensive. "But, again, why're you asking me?"
"Well, see, Warren an' I got these jobs? They're all set, man. We're talkin' 100% locked up, if you get my drift. Workin' with this major rock band there in Brisbane the very same city I was named after." He grinned knowingly at his audience. "That's Brisbane, Australia."
"Thanks for the geography lesson, but ..." Manson checked his Rolex. "I'm running late and we have to get to the security gate in the main lobby so I can catch my wife when she gets here. So, if you don't mind could you get to the point a little bit quicker?"
"Sure, man. No sweat." Brisbane glanced right to Warren, acting like he wanted encouragement, but went on as 'leader of the band' without a word from the other man. "Thing is, the guy who okayed the deal here in the States will be there tomorrow waitin' for us. Trouble is, he's there for like, one day, man, an' that's it. Soon as he's done, he'll haul ass like a big assed bird." Another sidelong glance at Warren. "We ain't there at the same time he is, we'll have to deal with some dingleberry bastard we never met. Odds are it'll blow these job offers, ya know?"
"So, you're wondering if you can buy a seat on my plane? That it?"
Warren lost his deaf-mute status long enough to say, "Brisbane, you gotta tell him about that. You know payin'?"
"Yeah. I'm cool on that." He revolved back to face Manson. "We're both like, tapped, ya know, 'til the airline divvies back some bread on those damn tickets? We laid out a ton o' cash for the fu– those tickets, you dig? But, don't worry, man. Soon's they cut us a cheque, we'll handle that sh– uh, that part. That cool with you?" He only waited a few seconds. "Man, I'm as serious as a heart attack! We, like, really need a ride, man."
My turn to stand and stare, Manson decided. I'm already regretting I agreed to take along a man I think's probably a total asshole. Now I'm being asked to take along a macho idiot and his 'seldom speaks' buddy. Is this where I'm supposed to use a little common sense and tell 'em to swim for it? Naw, not me. Not 'Manson the Softhearted'. He sighed. Well, it's around 7,500 miles or so. May take thirteen to fifteen hours, I think the airline said. I guess I can wait, since I actually have a reference source, why not check?
He broke the extended silence. "Dev, how long is this flight?"
"Cruisin' around four-fifty like we'll be? I'd say —"
"I thought those jets flew at around six-hundred miles an hour?"
Dev laughed, amused. "They do when they fly. Mine's not that fast. 'Course, you're always free to —"
"Save it." He did some fast mental math. "Closer to seventeen hours, then?"
"With no wind problems maybe. You want to be safe, I'd plan on around nineteen." Dev stood and watched for a reaction.
Manson looked at the 'Hollywood look-alikes' again. Shit, why me? My air fare might run thirty-eight grand at those rates, and now I've got these 'street people' begging me for a ride? Back to Dev. "The plane can carry ten with no trouble, you said?"
"Sure, boss. Takeoff weight's gotta be right in there around sixteen-five, or less. These two guys and their luggage? No sweat."
Manson shrugged, like before. "Sure. Get your gear and be quick about it. Oh and don't worry about who's paying the fare. At this stage, I'm not worried at least, about anything like that."
7:33 P.M.
Less than a minute later, as the group approached the security check point between them and the lobby, Warren came up with his second remark so far. His excitement immediately involved everyone else in this crowd Manson thought was growing too big, too fast. "Jesus X. Christ on the goddamned mountain! Brisbane, lookit that bitch!"
His arm was a rigid pointer, the finger a shaft aimed where his eyes were focused. Homing in, Brisbane aired his own ideas. "Damn! How'd you like to take that little twat for a spin on your nose? Shit, look at those huge goddamned tits!" Reflexively, he swatted Hondo's upper bicep with the backs of his fingers. "Dude, you see yourself jumpin' that bitch's bones in a hurry, or what?"
Dev whirled to face the newcomers, his gaze raking Hondo to see the man's reaction before he said anything.
Hondo took on a knowing look and shook his head as if amused. "Me, and a few million others, I suppose with one proviso, m'boy." He faced an obviously already angry Manson, looked at him for a second, and turned again to Brisbane with a wink. "However, since I know who that woman is, I'm putting two and two together pretty fast. I think you just blew your free ride across the Pacific."
"What? Why, man? What're you talkin' —"
Warren chimed in with, "Huh? Just 'cause I see a foxy cunt like that an' point 'er out, why's this guy gonna —"
Dev couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Because, you asshole, that's a lady!" He stepped forward another pace, half squared in a fighting stance, and glared at Brisbane and Warren. "His lady, you mouthy bastard!" he spat, making a gesture of his head in Manson's general direction. "She's his wife and she's my screen idol, you pig!" Glowering, he took another step. "I don't think I'm even going to leave my passenger stuck with making the decision, shithead! I'm sayin' you're not going along all on my own!"
Brisbane went defensive and backed up from Dev, the fact he was five inches taller evidently not giving him any courage. Warren scurried to stand behind Brisbane.
As a group they heard, "Manson! Hi, honey. Be right there."
They all turned in unison to watch. Dev moved to one side to keep an eye on Brisbane and Warren, although most of his attention fell to the woman coming toward them with a smile he believed had to be bright enough to light a thousand suns. God, she walks like she's giving posture lessons! She's so sensual she's turning men's faces with every step she takes! All that ungodly beautiful bronze hair and a body every woman I've ever dated would sell her soul to possess! If she's actually got those same limpid aqua eyes I've seen in all her on-screen close-ups, I may start slobbering myself!
He looked closer. Good God, and she's so little in real life! Not even a 'silly millimeter' more than five-four, if that, and she can't weigh a hundred pounds. Jesus, she's even more beautiful here than she is on a movie screen!
Only now catching on that the surly grimace on his face from seconds ago was completely gone, Dev noticed the same change on Manson's face. Manson went to intercept his wife with arms spread wide. "Hi, Ice, how's my girl?" He swept her into his arms for what Dev thought would be a big hug, but the woman turned her face and caught his mouth with hers.
After a kiss Dev knew would've left him short of breath just to see it on a movie screen, she pulled away to look at her husband. "Just fine, baby, now that I'm with the best man I've ever met." She winked coyly.
Her smile makes me want to go brush my teeth so I won't look so bad in comparison, Dev mused. Christ, she looks happier than any woman I've ever seen just because she got to kiss him! I swear, I'd sell my soul to have a woman so damned beautiful look at me like that not to mention give me a kiss that made the bottoms of my feet get hot just to watch it happen! He was still watching her, not giving a damn his mouth hung open, when her eyes locked with his. Oh, shit! She's gonna say something to me!
"Hi, there. I'm Ice. Are you our pilot?" Still gleaming, she turned to her husband. "Honey, how'd you get 'em to send the pilot out to meet me at the gate? Even my PR man isn't that good." Her brow wrinkled. "Thought we were going to try to stay a little incognito on this flight?"
Manson started to answer, "Well, we were, but then the —"
Unable to stop himself, Dev broke in. "Hello, Miss Quarles. Uh, I'm not with the big airline. I'm a charter pilot. Your hus– Manson, I mean, hired our service when your flight was lay-deed I'm sorry, I meant delayed because he, um, he —" God, I feel like a teenager in front of a real life goddess! He glanced at Manson. "Sorry. You can uh, I mean you should tell her what's going on."
Manson smiled, the understanding as evident as the pride no red-blooded man could avoid breaking on a face with such a beautiful, startlingly breathtaking and unusual woman on his arm. He nodded thanks to Dev. "The flight we were on was cancelled, Ice. At least, it was postponed and the word is it'll soon be deep-sixed. Since we can't wait, I chartered a flight. We're about ready to take off, now that you're here."