Killer Summer

40

Cantell, McGuiness, and Salvo entered Sun Valley Aviation wearing flight uniforms. They approached the reception counter with an air of confidence, their caps pulled low.

ON DUTY: REBA KLINE read the plaque.

Cantell placed a small key on the counter, along with a pen and some paperwork.

“I’d like to settle charges for Lear tango-alpha-niner-five-niner.”

“Absolutely,” Reba said. She worked the computer, found the account, and printed out a statement for him to review.

Cantell paid her eleven hundred seventy-five dollars in cash.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Cash is king,” she said. “We just don’t see a lot of it here.”

She printed out a receipt.

“Where’s William this evening?” she asked the pilot. “Wasn’t that his name?”

“William the Conqueror?” the man teased. Salvo and McGuiness laughed with him. “He’s picking up the flight in the morning. We’re the maintenance crew.”

“There’s that pesky little requirement of TBO,” said McGuiness. TBO was an aviation term for time between overhauls. McGuiness had spun that into time between drinks. Reba Kline got the joke and laughed with him.

“There is that,” she said.

Cantell scribbled a physician-style signature on the paperwork.

“Did you happen to cater?” she asked, already checking a card file.

McGuiness produced a tin of Altoids. “This is our food service,” he said, winning another laugh from her.

“We’re bringing it down to Boise for a DVD issue,” Salvo said. “Can’t have the DVD malfunctioning.”

Cantell shot Salvo a look.

“We’ve got some good electronics guys here,” Reba said.

Cantell smiled at her weakly. “Boss wants it done in Boise.”

“I hear that,” she said.

“Should be back around nine A.M. tomorrow,” McGuiness added.

“So, we’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said. “Safe skies, gentlemen.”

Cantell checked his appearance in a mirror behind her that had been frosted to look like clouds.

Reba Kline experienced a slight tinge of unease as the three men left and headed for the Lear.

It wasn’t the pilot’s vanity-Lord knows, pilots are full of themselves. It wasn’t him paying cash, not exactly, though maybe that was part of it.

She’d gotten plenty of dirty looks in her time, but she’d come to accept the egos of flyboys. So the little guy had made a point of undressing her with his eyes, big deal. What pissed off and confused her was the wake of debris they left behind. Bark chips, sawdust, dried mud: it was like they’d been climbing trees or cutting firewood minutes before coming in here.

What was with that?

She turned back to the keyboard and closed out the sale.