by Greg Barth
“Jesus,” Choke said.
I sat still and scrunched my eyes shut tight. It didn’t pass. “I might chase that dragon after all,” I said.
“We’ll stop in a few minutes once we know we’re clear.”
“I can do it in the car like this,” I said. I looked at Choke. “You’ll help, right?”
“Yes,” he said.
Lyman leaned over and popped the glove box. He brought out a leather kit and passed it over the seat to Choke.
“Use the brown,” he said. “It’ll smoke better. When we stop, we can get a rig going if she needs it.”
Choke unzipped the kit and took out a packet of heroin. He got a piece of foil and a glass tube. He opened the pack, took a pinch of the brown powder, and placed it on the foil. He handed me the funnel shaped tube. I put the small end between my lips. He handed me the foil and I held it steady in my hand. He took a lighter from the kit, sparked it, and held the flame under the foil. When the pinch of heroin began to smoke, I chased the elusive smoke with the tube, sucking the snakelike vapor into my lungs. I took a few puffs of the rancid-tasting stuff.
After a few minutes, a feeling of well-being took hold. The pain wasn’t as bad as before. Calm spread through my body, and I began to relax. Hospital-grade morphine would have been better, but not much.
We were out of the city, in the dark desert, when I looked back out the window.
“You guys got anything for me to clean up with?” I said. “My face must be a mess.”
Choke took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He opened a bottle of spring water and poured some on the white cloth. He handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, and washed the smeared makeup and blood from my face. I wiped my legs clean, picked pieces of glass out of the skin.
“We’re going to get you on my jet,” Lyman said.
“This doesn’t look like the way to McCarran,” I said.
“Bingo.”
“Your plane’s not at McCarran?” I felt around in the purse for my knife. I found it and slipped it under my thigh. If these guys had any thoughts about burying me somewhere out in the desert, they’d better have a big hole dug. I’d be taking someone with me.
“It’s not. With the shit I fly in and out, I’m happier somewhere with a little less scrutiny.”
“This how you’re going to deliver to us?”
“Yeah. I’m sending some things back with you tonight to tide you over until we can get a bigger shipment out.”
“You know, at the right time, I’m going to want to introduce you to my colleagues,” I said.
“Oh, I’m fine doing business with you. Maybe we can go back to the Grand Canyon sometime,” he said, and laughed.
“That’s good,” I said. “But my days with these guys are limited. I’m going to be moving on.”
“I hate to hear that,” Lyman said. “You wanna come out this way, we can hook you up.”
I thought about the blood and fingerprints I’d left behind in the apartment where I’d killed Miles. “I don’t know. I’m trying to find a place where fewer people are looking for me.”
“Whatever you did back home, it’ll die down. Unless you killed a cop. That shit never goes away.” This was a test. Lyman had said before that he thought he knew who I was. Clearly he wasn’t certain about that.
I didn’t respond.
“What? You kill a cop?” Lyman said.
“Technically, it’s cops. With an s.”
“Shit,” Choke said.
“Yeah, you’re pretty much fucked, baby.”
“I’m going to see this thing through. I need to make it right.”
“We don’t want to get caught in the middle of this, you know?” Lyman said. “But if I can help in a less direct way…”
“I need to recover some loyalty among the crew first. Your shipment is the help I need for that.”
“Got it. Leave me a number, and we’ll arrange the next shipment.”
I looked out the window at the vast, dark desert and wondered what I’d do. If the crew was going to fall apart, I wouldn’t be able to hold them together. If I was honest with myself, I just wanted to avenge Pete’s death. I wanted to leave Ragus and Enola in a good place. I owed them that much. And I’d need the crew if I was going to take on Mozingo. I didn’t give a shit what happened to them after that.
Mozingo would be hard to bring down.
Looking out the window, I spotted a coyote bitch carrying a pup by the nape of its neck through the scrub brush.
“You all right, Little One?” Choke said.
“Burn me a little more of that H, would you?”
EIGHTEEN
Selena
WHEN I CLIMBED aboard the private jet, I wasn’t in my right mind. It wasn’t the heroin. It had been a difficult night. I’d fought for my life not once but twice and had been injured in the process. My mind was shifting from those concerns to worries about what I would find when I got back to my crew. And in between all of that was this kick-ass private jet.
Okay, maybe part of it was the heroin. I was feeling pretty happy.
Lyman and Choke helped me aboard the plane. I changed clothes in the cabin, put on a clean skirt, underwear, and a pullover top.
The guys stowed a couple of large duffel bags in the cargo hold. These contained enough product to see us through for a couple of days until they could make a more substantial delivery.
Lyman introduced me to the pilot, Phil Reagan. He was a tall, lanky guy, early thirties, I’d guess. He wore a pilot cap and aviator sunglasses even though it was the dead of night. He called himself Ray Gun, which was his call sign in the Navy. He had shaggy blonde hair that spilled out of the cap and held an unlit cigarette between his lips.
Ray Gun shook my hand. “Welcome aboard, Amanda. You get to fly with the highest guy in the sky. Don’t ask me why.”
“Oh, you’re full of shit, ain’t you,” I said. I thought of Jack and his crazy banter. “You remind me so much of somebody I know.”
“Somebody good, I bet.”
“Actually he’s kind of a dick.”
“But you like dicks?”
I gave him a stern look that I was able to hold for all of five seconds before bursting into laughter. “I thought you Navy pilots were the good guys. What are you doing out here flying for this outfit?”
“They pay me well and they don’t like crashing. You see, if you can land an eighty-million-dollar aircraft on the deck of a teeny little ship in rolling seas in the middle of the night and hold it together, they figure I can safely land on a big ol’ runway any day of the week.”
“If you’re so good, why aren’t you still with the Navy?”
“You didn’t hear that part about holding it together?”
We both laughed.
I said my goodbyes to Lyman and Choke.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Lyman said. He hugged me. “Tell that brother of mine to keep clean in the can, and I’ll be here when he gets out.”
“I will,” I said.
Choke handed me my clutch purse. I gave him a hug. “Take care, Little One,” he said.
“Thank you for everything, Choke.”
I took a seat in the rear of the plane. I felt safer back there. I wanted all the crumple space I could get between me and whatever thing out there this plane might hit head on.
Ray Gun came back and sealed the cabin door. “Don’t buckle in just yet, little lady. You wanna hear the safety demonstration?”
“Uh, sure,” I said.
“First of all, this is a no smoking flight.” He took the cigarette out and put it behind his ear. “Which means there ain’t none of this no smoking shit. You and me? We’re gonna smoke. Second thing is, you can ride up front with me as long as you don’t get airsick. If you get airsick, you can ride in the lav, which is right back there.” He pointed to the rear of the plane. “Number three, and most important of all, if this bird’s a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’.”
I
shook my head in stoned amazement.
“Now, come on up here to first class.” He extended his hand.
I let him lead me up to the front of the plane. The cockpit had two seats. I sat in the right seat while he got in the left. There were two controllers, one in front of me and another in front of him. Gauges, switches, and displays covered the dash and overhead. He flipped a few of these and I could hear the jet engines rev up.
“So while we’re flying, I’m the captain and you’re the first officer. Whichever one of us is controlling the aircraft, that person is the pilot. Got it?”
“Uh, sure.”
“You mean, sure, Captain.”
“But you didn’t call me First Officer,” I said.
“Ah shit. We’re fucking this whole thing up. Let’s do this. Scratch all that. We gotta get you a call sign. Think of something.”
“I gotta make it up?”
“Well, technically it’s given to you by your team once they know things about you.”
“Hmmm, then it’s all on you.”
“What do I know about you?” he said.
I just looked at him, offered no help.
He snapped his fingers. “Got it.” He put a headset on and started talking to someone else. He went through a checklist of things, then pushed a lever that propelled the jet forward. We rolled across the paved ground until we got to the runway. He lined the nose up with the strip.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“My call sign.”
He cupped the mike on his headset. “Can’t tell you until we get in the air,” he said.
“Why the hell not?”
“Tradition,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, here we go.” He pushed the lever farther forward. The jet accelerated. The force of the engines’ thrust pushed me back into my chair. We picked up speed along the runway, and the nose of the plane edged up off the ground. And then we were free in the air.
We poked through the fluffy white clouds and the night sky erupted with stars. He leveled off. A blanket of cotton-candy clouds beneath us obscured everything below.
There was some turbulence initially, and he took us up to a higher altitude.
Ray Gun reached down beside his seat and fished out a bag of pot from somewhere. He handed it to me. “Why don’t you roll us one?”
I took the bag. There was a pack of rolling papers tucked inside. I went to work at it. “So what’s my call sign?” I said.
“Mile-High,” he said.
I glared at him with an eyebrow raised, my lips fully horizontal. “Really?” I said.
“You want to join the club, don’t you?”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” I rolled up the joint and sealed it with my tongue.
“Totally serious,” he said.
“Don’t you gotta steer the plane?”
“I can fly this thing with one hand. Which leaves the other one free for fun.” He held his right hand up and wiggled his fingers.
“Nope. Not going to happen. You gotta keep your eyes on the...air.”
“Nothing to see.”
“What if another plane’s coming? Or there’s a slow one up ahead and you’ve gotta go around it? I don’t want to be in a crash up here.”
He laughed. “You have no fucking idea how this whole thing works, do you?”
I lit the joint. I took a deep draw and held the smoke. I was still feeling okay from the heroin. I’d forgotten the pain in my side, yet I longed for the effect of the weed. I passed the joint to him.
I blew out my smoke. It filled the air in the cabin.
“Mile-high,” I said. “Not going to happen.”
“Hey. Part of my marching orders is to build a relationship. I’m going to be your courier for a long time. I can’t think of a better way to build a relationship than making you happy.” He passed the joint over to me.
“I’m glad you’re going to be delivering for us.” I took another toke.
“Yeah, we don’t move much in Nevada. Think of that place as a distribution center. It’s people like you that keep the machine working. Everything on the ends of this country is all locked up. People are still fighting for the flyover states.”
“This is some good shit.”
“No. It’s the best. You’ve never been fucked up until you’ve had some of this.”
“And you’re flying the plane. Jeez.”
“Wanna hear some music?”
“What do you have?”
“Led Zep?”
“Fuck no.”
“Well what then?”
“I don’t know. Pop or something.”
“Pop? You’re shitting me, right?”
“What else you got?”
“How about Amy Winehouse?”
“Yeah.”
So we got baked. We sang along with Amy. We got the munchies, and I raided the snacks in the back. Ray Gun and I became friends with little effort from either of us.
And by the time we landed on a municipal air strip in Tennessee, I had his pilot cap on my head, and he had my panties hanging from the top of the cockpit.
I wondered what Dr. Addington would think of the week I spent in Arizona and Vegas. Sometimes self-destructive behavior just feels like good old-fashioned fun to me.
PART THREE
LAST CALL
NINETEEN
Selena
THE NUMBNESS WORE off and the pain gouged its horns into my side again as I climbed down the steep steps from the plane.
Ray Gun loaned me his mobile phone. I tried Enola but didn’t get an answer. The club would still be in full swing.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What is it?” Ray said.
“Nothing. Just...have to call someone else.”
I punched in the number for Ragus. He picked up on the second ring. “Who’s this?” he said.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said. “I need a ride.”
I heard him sniffing loudly through the phone. I had introduced Ragus to cocaine some time back. He’d picked up the habit in a strong way. “Yeah. Be right there.”
Ray and I smoked cigarettes on the tarmac while we waited.
“You need to go back up there and get me my underwear,” I said.
“No way. There’s no way you’re getting those back,” he said.
“Fine. I’m keeping your pilot cap then.”
“Go ahead. I’ve got a dozen of them.”
We established protocol for the next shipment, which would arrive in a few days. Ray would be the one delivering.
A set of headlights pricked the darkness at the edge of the airfield. We stood in silence as the car drove up to us.
“This your guy?”
“I sure hope so,” I said.
The car stopped twenty feet away. The driver cut the lights. When the door opened, I could make out the wild, salt-and-pepper hair of Ragus Breed.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I said.
Ragus stepped out of the Audi. He towered above the roof of the car.
“Fucker’s a giant, ain’t he?” Ray said.
“You have no fucking idea.”
Ray Gun looked at me. He scanned me from head to toe. “No way,” he said. “That man would crush you like a falling tree.”
I nodded. “Oh yeah.”
Ragus walked up to us. “Welcome back, kid,” he said.
I introduced the two men. We talked a bit of business and arrangements for the next shipments. They got the bags out of the luggage hold and put them in the Audi’s trunk.
I limped up to the car. Ragus helped me in the seat and shut my door.
I finger waved to Ray Gun.
Ragus got in the driver’s side. “Nice hat.” He turned on the lights and put the car in gear.
“So what did I miss?”
He scoffed. “More of the same. Guys are running scared.”
“They should fight,” I said. “He’s just s
ome guy with a big knife.”
“Everyone is laying low. Not much from Mozingo. Of course, nobody’s making a dime either. Shit’s locked up.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people, aren’t rallying them to fight.”
He looked at me. Offended. Then put his eyes back on the road. “You know I like a fight, kid. Thing is, they’ve got nothing to fight for. Unless you’ve brought something good back?”
I nodded. “I’ve made a good connection for us. Maybe better, actually, in the long run. But we’ve got to get Mozingo off our backs.”
“First things first. Let’s get the money flowing. Get competitive with product. Then we’ve got something to fight for.”
I shook my head. “This fucking crew needs balls.”
Ragus took his eyes off the road long enough to make eye contact with me. I saw a bit of white under his nose. “You’ve got enough balls for all of us,” he said.
“You’ve got some coke,” I said. I licked my fingertip and wiped it under his nose. I then put my finger in his mouth, and he sucked the coke off.
“We were always good, weren’t we?” he said.
“Not always.”
“But we’re going to kick Mozingo’s ass,” he said.
“For sure.”
“How was Vegas? Do any gambling?”
“I didn’t. Lots of sex, though.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Spent the whole time fucking.”
He scoffed. “So, where am I taking you, kid? My place?”
“No,” I said. “The club.”
“What’s she got that I don’t?”
“I was just hoping for some girl talk tonight, you know?”
“Girl talk. Hmmm.”
“I need to see Crowbar also. He might still be there.”
“Kinda late. We can check his place on the way. Looks like you saw some action.”
“Vegas isn’t as tame as you’d think. This whole arrangement. It cost me some.”
“Need to see a doc?”
“No. Crowbar will do.”
“He’s still loyal. So’s Morgan and the old man.”
“What about Benny?”
“Benny just wants to tuck his little amphibian head in under his shell”—Ragus lowered his head and scrunched down in his seat, his fingers raised above the steering wheel—“until the shitstorm blows over. But he’ll be loyal in the end.”
