A medium sized airplane, the kind she thought of as a private jet, sat at the end of a field facing a worn stretch in the grass that was a good deal shorter than the runway at John Wayne Airport. Sheila climbed in. Any amenities that had been built into the plane had been stripped away to make room for cargo. She walked between two black, industrial sized barrels that bore labels that said, “Ether. Federal Drug Administration Controlled Substance followed by a lot of small print and numbers with bar codes under them. She settled into the passenger side seat.
Bird, a.k.a. Pajaro, settled into the pilot’s seat. He said, “Buckle up,”
He started the engine. The two propellers whirled to life. He pushed forward on the handles that controlled their speed and pressed so hard on the break peddle that he came up off his seat. The plane strained to go forward. Bird increased the propeller speed. The engines screamed to be set free. He yelled, “Hang on!”
They exploded forward as if they’d been shot from one of those guns on a battle ship that can throw a Cadillac at an on shore target twenty-five miles away. The take off area of the field, although it looked fairly smooth by the light of the full moon, was pretty rough for the purpose of taxing an airplane. She grabbed the upper portion of her seatbelt and held onto it with both hands. They bumped and bounced wildly for a moment and they everything turned smooth. Bird kept the plane very low and guided it through a sharp turn. She saw the yellow EAT sign and wondered if she’d ever see it again.
At the last possible moment to do so, they low hopped over a range of mountains. “Shouldn’t we be flying a little higher?” she asked.
“Gotta stay under the radar,” he said.
“But if you’re working with the DEA-“
“They’re not the only ones with radar.”
They flew along in silence. Sheila looked down for landmarks or a town, but only the occasional dim light slid by. Then she realized that, of course, Bird was avoiding populated places. She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes and said, “Are we there yet?”
Bird laughed, “Nice to see you have a sense of humor.”
“Actually I don’t, not about this. I just want to know how long it will take us to get there. “
“About ten hours. Barring any unforeseen circumstances.”
“Such as bad weather?”
“Give me a little credit. I check the weather reports. The DEA likes to scramble their own jets if they pick up small planes that haven’t filed a flight plan.”
“I assume you didn’t file one of those.”
“No.”
“But you’re working for the DEA, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would they scramble their planes after you?”
“You tell anyone you’ve hired a drug runner?”
“Point taken,” she said.
He stared straight ahead into the darkness, but Sheila felt he was studying her. Maybe he had invisible bird eyes in the sides of his head. After a few moments, he said, “So what’s your story?”
“My story is that my brother is dying. I need you to help me get medicine to him.”
“I know that.”
“Okay. Here’s another story. About ten years ago, my neighbor came home from grocery shopping and opened the garage door. Inside, her twenty year old son hung from the rafters.” A policeman had told Sheila about it when he came over to ask if she would sit with her neighbor until the boy’s father could get there. Sheila had leaned against the wall just inside the front door. Her knees had gone weak and she started sliding toward the floor. The policeman had stepped in and grabbed her and stood her up. He insisted she sit on the sofa a few minutes before going to her neighbor’s.
Bird said, “And that was my fault?”
“You had a part in it.”
“Look, if I don’t do this somebody-“
“That’s a bullshit cop out.”
“I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, but you don’t know shit about this one.”
“Then we’re in agreement?”
“About what?”
“We don’t like each other.”
Bird laughed, “The last person I liked was my dog Manitou.”
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