Flying Too Close to the Sun Page 31

  He breathed an audible sigh. Their roles were reversed and she was now the strong-minded one, the captain. “Define colossal unknown.”

  “Look, I’m no self-beatified Saint Carol. I would love to have that dough. But do we want it? Money, or the lack of it, is pretty much the root of all evil. Keep it and instead of paradise, you’ll be creating a hell.”

  “While driving from Montgomery’s place I wound up on a deserted Jersey pier and considered dumping it into the water. But then I thought about Shepard and what it would have meant for her. Some day we could be in a similar situation.” Carol was slowly shaking her head side to side, but Erik continued. “The airlines have become a boom and bust business. I don’t know what’ll happen to Shuttle Air. I want enough to—”

  “What’s this guy Juni like?”

  “Like I said, Shepard dated this dirtbag baggage handler and she met Juni through him. He’s a relative of David’s, and—”

  “You told me that. Is he a suspect?”

  “No. No way. The cops couldn’t even know he exists.” He paused to take a sip of water from the etched glass. “Christina mentioned he became involved because he’s in dire straits, borrowed to the hilt for his bakery and is no doubt teetering on the edge of financial ruin...”

  “No,” she repeated, pouting. “What kind of a person is he?”

  “He’s no Mother Theresa, but a family guy with a couple of kids. He also mentioned struggling hard with whether or not to even get involved; said he had reservations but ultimately decided to do it for his family.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed, “It was probably luck that this guy hit him and took the money, ‘because otherwise it would almost certainly be a cinch for the cops to track you down. There are a million ways to do that.” She hesitated only a moment. “Give the money to him.”

  Her reasoning didn’t taste right. “What?”

  “Give it to him. Every last goddamned cent! Dad bailed you out and I don’t want any. You wanna be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life? I don’t and won’t.” She whispered blackly. “The cops are out there, waiting and watching.” She paused, letting her words sink in, not wanting to take this to the next level, her or the money.

  “That’s imposs—”

  “Bullshit! Grow up!” the retort came as sharp as a knife, her milky pallor taking on a reddish tint, her eyes glowing like there was a light inside each. “They’re somewhere in the shadows, maybe even here, now. I can guar-an-damn-tee you they won’t rest. And you won’t have a clue ‘til it’s too late. You’ll see the minute you start flashing some. They probably have your phone tapped. And mine too.”

  He gave up trying to be his own defense attorney. Grow up? Thoughts of those words made him realize in reality he’d actually never believed he’d be caught. For the very first time he wondered how long would his sentence be? Five years in jail? He’d be prime meat for the psycho animals that did nothing but lift weights and had no gender preference. One of them would no doubt want him for his bitch. Just like his involvement in the robbery, he really had no choice now. Erik didn’t want the helium to escape from their romance balloon. He couldn’t let that happen. After a period of silence that felt like weeks, he nodded in agreement with the young lady who sounded more like a mature woman as her words settled into his mind and like seeds, began sprouting their first buds.

  Exhausted, she told him, “I need your touch,” got up as he slid back his chair and sat sideways on his lap. The cushioned chair creaked and groaned under the strain of their combined weight. Other diners sent smiles at the striking young couple, obviously in love. Clutching her tightly, he now knew destiny also clutched them firmly in its grip. As if also sensing this, she put her arm around his neck and gently kissed him, her sweet breath covering his face. “Now we’ll be safe.”

  But still, give away over two million bucks?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  After his final flight Erik checked his six, went to a pay phone and called the Genoa bakery. Juni answered.

  “It’s Erik Preis.”

  “Why the hell you callin’ me? I told you…”

  Erik was now the captain. “Just shut up and listen.”

  “If this is about Christina, it’s been all over the news.”

  “That’s not the reason—,” Erik began, but Juni interrupted.

  “I wonder how her kid is doin’. You have his address? I wanna send some money. I don’t have much, but—”

  Erik cut him off. “Did you get my letter?”

  “What letter?”

  “Never mind. We have to meet. Tonight.”

  “I don’t want to be seen anywhere near you. The cops are probably all over you like stink on shit.”

  “Believe me, this is worth the risk.”

  Silence. Did Erik have a lead? “All right,” Juni finally sighed. “Let’s meet at that same Brooklyn restaurant after dark, around nine,” adding, “but make absolutely certain you’re not followed.”

  “Don’t go inside,” Erik added. “Wait in the lot. If I get there before you I’ll do the same. If I don’t show it’s ‘cause the cops were watching.”

  “But, why—” Juni began, but there was a click and the line went dead.

  Erik drove to his apartment, picked up a FedEx package delivered earlier that day and threw it into the car. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—open it; not yet. After spotting nothing suspicious, he waited ‘til dark, went to the closet and put the now foul-smelling bags into the trunk of his car. After again driving an overly circuitous route and making certain there was no tail, he finally pulled into the lot across from Pepi’s. The magic hour hadn’t quite arrived, so he just sat there, listening to an Eagles CD, trying to cut through the tension flowing from his body like waves in the ocean. The night was clear with the moon lending a sense of warmth, its radiance in the cool air bringing on fading summer memories. Looking westward, the New York City lights reflected off the high cirrus clouds making them appear like a carpet of lights. After again eyeing the package lying on the seat next to him, he ripped open truth in a FedEx box. Its contents only served to reawaken horrible memories, a world of oppression where legitimacy was never considered.

  For the next five or so minutes Erik’s fingers tapped the overnight envelope in time with the music until Juni’s old clunker rattled into the lot and got his attention. It pulled alongside and Juni looked drained, with circles under his eyes so deep they could have been etched with a knife. Wearing a dark tee shirt and black lightweight jacket, with both hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans he walked slower than grandma without her cane. But, no doubt his scoping job was as good as a deer’s before entering a field to feed at dusk.

  He finally ambled over to Erik, whose heart was rapping. He was at the cusp. After shaking hands, Erik asked, “How’s the head?” adding, “and the bakery?”

  “The head’s comin’ along, aside from an occasional bad headache. The bakery, well, that’s another story,” he replied taking a deep breath and exhaling with a loud whoosh. “How’d you make out?” Juni still kept a wary eye for anything amiss. “Sorry I couldn’t help you financially, but I’m on my ass.”

  “I got the money from my girlfriend’s father.”

  “You held on to the job?”

  “Yeah. But it came right down to the wire.”

  “At least one of us made out.”

  “Make that both of us. I have something for you.” He sauntered to the rear of the car with a silent Juni in tow and popped the trunk.

  “Holy shit! Where—how—did you get it?”

  “I found out who it was and got ‘em.”

  Juni’s mood was
immediately uplifted. He opened one bag, stuck his hand in and rubbed the old bills between his fingers, fleetingly spotting Hamilton, Jackson, Grant, and even Franklin, feeling more like cloth than money. There must a million stories behind each. He finally asked, “And? Who was it? I’ll deal with him or her.”

  It was Erik’s turn to hesitate. Should he say any more? “It wasn’t just a him, but rather them. And, they’re probably already taken care of.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  Feeling an undercurrent of adrenalin, Erik related the entire story, adding, “And the best part was Woody already resigned from the airline, figuring he was set for life. No way will they take that guy back. He’ll lose everything. Don’t go near him, because we got ours and he got his. The same thing probably applies to his ugly comrade whose first name is Billy.” Erik hesitated. “I got the plate number of his Benz, which is probably for sale as we speak.” He handed Juni a slip of paper with the number on it.

  “Did you count it?” Juni asked, seemingly brushing aside Erik’s last remarks. But a momentary, churning rage surged through his face as he put the paper in his pocket.

  “It’s probably a little over two million,” Erik answered.

  “That’s over a million apiece. No, make that seven-hundred thousand. I’ll get Christina’s share to her son; somehow, some day. Is that okay with you?” Juni sighed, torn between sadness over Christina’s death and renewed hope for his future.

  Shaking his head, Erik said. “I don’t want any. The fire burning in my belly was to find out who had it. The money’s all yours. Do whatever you want.”

  “But, but, we were partners.”

  Erik shook his head. “You said not to tell anyone, but I had a lengthy discussion with my girlfriend. Excuse me, but she’s my fiancée now. I proposed last night and she accepted. I told her everything and she strongly urged I give it all to you. We don’t want any. I only got involved to pay off my loan and that’s behind me. We’re planning a long and happy life together and don’t want this shit hanging over our heads.”

  Juni just stood there speechless, his nimble mind navigating the uncharted waters Erik’s actions had awakened. Hope is the dream of every person, but this would enable him to reach fulfillment. He put his arm around Erik and while hugging him, sobbed, “Thanks,” tears involuntarily streaming down his cheeks and onto his jacket. Not even trying to wipe them away, he added, “I will never forget what you’ve done for me and my family. I’ll also figure out a way to get Christina’s share to her kid. It will take time, but I’ll do it, maybe a college scholarship for starters?”

  “She would have wanted that. Just be very careful.”

  “It’s the least I can do. And please, if there’s ever anything you ever need, I’m always there. Never forget that.”

  Erik nodded his head and helped transfer the bags to Juni’s trunk. As Juni drove off, Erik looked up at the moonlit sky, at the clouds floating like distant weightless balloons with many thoughts filtering through his brain, all competing at once for his attention. But now, only one person remained front and center, Joe. He was determined to ride this memory train all the way to the end of the line. Was he ready to disembark? Information can be like an endless circle, taking power from someone and handing it to another. He could still recall standing in his room as a boy, ear to the wall, tears streaming down his cheeks hearing Joe’s accusations and wondering if he was really his father. He fought his entire life to keep these feelings tucked away. Should he now return to the place he once called home and inform both parents that Joe really is his father? Countering this were the vile memories, honed over the years with jagged edges of repressed anger and all for nothing. He hesitated. No, it was done; finished; over. His mother and father were lost. Joe couldn’t hurt him any more because what was formerly unknown was no longer. The past is what you make of it. What his parents had done to themselves was bad, but what they had done to him was worse. When his mother cheated, she also cheated him out of his childhood. Even though those demons were in the past, right now he didn’t have an inkling of what the word forgiveness meant; maybe someday, but not now. His closing chapter would be to put Joe and Ursula out of his life. Between Carol’s love and enabling Juni to return from the land of the dead, he’d go a step further and pull off a personal Lazarus.

  He sped off, hopefully to a fairly certain future. Despite what he’d done for Juni, the reality remained that he still wasn’t one of New York’s finest citizens in line to receive an award. With this fact in mind, he reached over and retrieved the small black briefcase from the passenger side floor, rested it on the seat next to him and opened the latches with two loud clicks. Although trying to smile his mouth wouldn’t cooperate as he glanced at eight thousand bucks. Not bad for a night’s work. After all, I have to pay for Carol’s ring.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo courtesy of John H. Taylor

  George Jehn is a college graduate, former flight instructor, flight engineer, airline pilot and a six-year member of the Board of Directors of the Air Line Pilots Association and was an arbitrator on the Pilots System Board of Adjustment. He flew for two major airlines for over thirty years and has also worked as an aviation expert witness and hosted a live TV show.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Word-of-mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed Flying Too Close to the Sun, please leave a review online—anywhere you are able. Even if it’s just a sentence or two. It would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated.

  Thanks!

  George Jehn

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