Chapter Eight

            The helicopter lifted off and rose, turned, and flew forward in one smooth move.  Sheila sat close to the door and watched landmarks slide by. 

South

Coast

Plaza

, at the juncture of the 405 and the 55, glowed brightly, but the parking lot was nearly empty.  It was probably close to

ten o’clock

.  She remembered, with regret, the trendy, water proof, back lighted, wristwatch she’d bought at the outdoor shop there.  They flew over tens of thousands of houses crammed together with lighted streets in grids.  There were a few parks and strip malls.  The runways of the abandoned El Toro Marine Base made a big X in the landscape.  Then nothing but dark hills. 

She forced herself to concentrate.  The helicopter climbed.  Two toll roads passed under them.  Up over some higher peaks and then down.  Another freeway, probably the fifteen appeared.  They changed direction and flew above the highway until they came to the crush of houses and shopping centers of Temecula.  She leaned forward and picked out Dos Hombres and its fountain.  They turned eastward above one road that lead away from the populated area.  She saw the unique buildings of the vineyards that were one of the main attractions of the area.  They followed the road, but nothing else was familiar.  They landed at a very small, dimly lit airfield.

“Let’s go,” Bird said.  He patted the pilot on the shoulder, “Thanks, Alex.  You’ll find a little something for your trouble waiting for you in the usual place.”

Sheila grabbed the backpack and jumped down onto the tarmac.  The helicopter took off immediately, whipping up hot, dray air and plenty of dust.  She turned her back on it and covered her ears.  Two figures emerged from the small, dimly lit building that stood next to the airstrip.  A large, very bright, neon sign on top said EAT.   

“Plane’s ready,” the man said.  He wore a dark coverall.

“I’m ready, too,” the woman said.  She looked like a Latino version of Marilyn Monroe.  She wore a coverall that could have been designed by Bob Mackie.  It was hot pink and decorated with silver chains and sequins at the collar.  Large rhinestone buttons ran down the front placket leading eyes right to her crotch.  Most of them were undone, exposing her unnaturally large breasts and very flat abdomen.  No sign of bra or panties.  She kissed Bird for a long moment with plenty of mouth play going on.  When she stopped, she said, “Guess I’ll have to wait.”

“I won’t be gone long, Corrina,” Bird said, “So keep your engine running.”  He slipped his hand between her legs. 

Sheila turned away.  Sheila hated this Corrina.  And then realized how stupid that was.  Bird was the one to hate.  Bringing drugs into the country and doing God only knew what to move it from

Colombia

to here.  Add to that all of the problems that drugs caused.  He really was scum. 

“Better get going, Pajaro,” the other man said.  “Vilar’s screaming mad you didn’t show up last week.  Cocaine production’s down to zero.”  

“The GPS and transmitter are inside one of the barrels?”

“Si.  DEA put them in plastic not affected by the ether.” 

“Drug Enforcement?” Sheila said.  “I thought-“

Bird smiled, “I like to double up or, in this case triple up, on runs.” 

That explained the marine helicopter.  But this Vilar person, obviously a manufacturer of cocaine, would be majorly pissed if he discovered the GPS/transmitter in the barrels of ether.   Too late to turn back.  Truth be told, she wouldn’t even if she could.  Not with Tom’s life hanging in the balance. 

“Can we go now?” she said.