Naked Greed

36

Forty thousand feet above Frank and Charlie in the Walmart parking lot, Stone got the first clearance for his long descent into Key West. Half an hour later, he greased his landing into Key West International.

“Nicely done,” Pat said. She had been sitting in the rear of the airplane, working, for the last hour of their flight. “How do you like your new airplane?”

“It’s wonderful. Look at all the fuel we’ve got left!” He pointed at the gauges.

“And now you can fly the Atlantic from Newfoundland, nonstop.”

“And I will.” Stone taxied into Island City Air Services and went through his shut-down checklist. Half an hour later they pulled up at the Marquesa’s loading zone, and someone came for the luggage. Another twenty minutes, and they were sipping piña coladas on the front porch of their comfortable cottage. “I love general aviation,” Stone said.

“Me too, since it’s how I’m making my living,” Pat replied.

“You know that your old boyfriend — what’s his name?”

“You know his name.”

“Oh, yeah. He goes on trial next week.”

“I guess he does.”

“Has he been harassing you?”

“I get a call from him about once a week, demanding money.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“I did not.”

“So you’re finally done with him?”

“Completely.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

“Are you feeling like a New Yorker yet?”

“A little. I’ve been working so hard that I haven’t gotten around much — just to the grocery and back, mostly.”

“You need to hire more help.”

“I’ve got a new woman starting next week.”

“How many does that make?”

“Three, plus me, and we’re all pilots.”

“That would make a good ad.”

“We’ve already booked a page in Flying and AOPA Monthly.”

“I’ll look for it.”

Stone’s cell rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. Where are you?”

“Key West.”

“At the Marquesa?”

“Yep.”

“You bastard.”

“I invited you, but you were busy.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I like rubbing it in.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Dino hung up.

“That was Dino.”

“I figured,” she said. “How is he?”

“Busy.”

Gene Ryan tossed his bags onto the bed in his new place. He looked around: seedy, but adequate. He had abandoned the house; everything he now owned was in the car. The motorcycle had been at the bottom of the East River since the day of the shooting.

This was all Barrington’s fault, he remembered. He was unemployed and had run through most of the five grand he’d been given by Jerry Brubeck. He had a few grand more saved up, but he needed to get some cash flowing before he got around to killing Barrington. He would plan it well next time, take no chances, give him two in the head, the way he’d been taught. But right now, he needed to get laid.

He left the apartment and went in search of a good neighborhood bar.