One Bright Summer Morning

Chapter Twelve

Vic knew the Cadillac was nearly out of gas when he had returned to Wastelands. He knew, before the Cranes reached Boston Creek, they would have to stop to refuel. They had a ten-minute start on him. Providing he drove fast enough and providing there was a little delay when they refilled the tank, he had a good chance of catching up with them. He had no idea what he was going to do when he did catch up with them, but all he could think of right at this moment was to be with Carrie.

He had made his decision when Harper had told him the Cadillac was heading towards Boston Greek. When Harper had entered the ranch house, Vic had run to the garage. He found Moe’s Lincoln: the key in the ignition lock. As he switched on, he saw with relief that the gas tank was half full.

He drove as he had never driven before. There was plenty of power under the Lincoln’s hood and the car shot down the long drive at well over ninety miles an hour. The gate stood open. Vic slammed on the brakes. The tyres screeched as he swung the car out on to the dirt road, then he shoved the gas pedal once again to the floorboards.

It seemed only seconds before his headlights picked out the main road. Again he slowed. He daren’t risk a smash. But once on the main road, he settled down to hurtle the Lincoln towards Boston Creek at its maximum speed. Three times he flashed past approaching cars who hooted at him: the drivers shocked at his speed. The speedometer needle was steady at one hundred and two miles an hour, the maximum he could get from the roaring engine.

Hunched over the wheel, his heart pounding, Vic regretted refusing Dennison’s offer of a gun. When he finally caught up with the Cadillac what was he to do? Both the Cranes had guns. How was he to get Carrie away from them?

He overtook a car that, at the speed he was travelling, seemed to be standing still. Again he heard the indignant blast of a horn as the driver, shaken, made his protest.

Vic kept on. Minutes later, he saw a flashing sign that was spelling out the word G-a-l-t-e-x: the first service station on the road. It would be here, if he had any luck, that the Cadillac had had to stop for gas. He slowed, swung the car into the circular drive and brought the car to a screeching stop.

A big man in the Caltex uniform came hurrying out of the office. Vic got out of the car.

“Brother!” the attendant said. “You sure scared me. You going to a fire?”

“Did a blue and white Cadillac stop here for gas about ten minutes ago?” Vic asked, trying to steady his voice. “Two women and a man in the car?”

Happy to have information to give, the attendant nodded. “Why, sure. They left about five minutes ago. Friends of yours?”

Vic drew in a long breath. Friends? He thought of Carrie.

“Did they say where they were going?”

“One of them — one of the girls — asked where the nearest air taxi service was,” the attendant told him. “I put them on to the Boswick airport: a couple of young guys run it... nice fellas... I thought I’d do them a good turn.”

“Have you a telephone?”

The attendant raised his arms helplessly.

“It’s been out of order all day. Sorry, but there it is... the times I’ve had to tell folks...”

“You wouldn’t have a gun you could lend me?” Vic asked as he began to move back to the Lincoln.

The attendant stared at him.

“Gun? What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” Vic said and slid under the driving wheel.

“What’s this about a gun?” the attendant demanded, coming up to the car.

“Never mind,” Vic snapped and sent the car roaring along the highway. He knew where the Boswick airport was. He had often passed the signpost on his way to Boston Creek.

So they were going to try to get away by air, he thought.

If he could rely on the gas attendant, they were only five or at the most ten minutes ahead of him, they couldn’t charter a plane and take off under an hour. He was now certain to reach the airport while they were still there.

As soon as he saw the lights of the airport, he would have to turn his headlights off. He would then have to approach slowly so they wouldn’t hear the car’s engine. He would have to leave the car some distance from the airport and then approach on foot. His only weapon, he reminded himself grimly, was the weapon of surprise.

Ralph Boswick a heavily-built, sandy-haired young man, replaced the telephone receiver, took his big feet off the desk and stood up.

His partner, Jeff Lancing, lolling in a discarded aircraft chair, looked at him inquiringly.

“Who was that?”

Boswick lit a cigarette, striking the match on the seat of his cavalry twill pants.

“Believe it or not... the F.B.I.” he said and grinned. “Seems kidnappers could arrive here. A man and a woman have snatched a woman and could be heading our way. They’re nuts! For the past week, no one has headed our way!”

Lancing, short, barrel-chested and dark, slightly older than Boswick, looked sharply at his partner.

“They give a description?”

“Oh, sure. The man is tall, powerfully built and dark. He’s wearing a black leather outfit. The woman is his twin sister. The other woman has reddish hair and she’s pretty. They say the kidnappers are armed and dangerous.”

Lancing got to his feet.

“This is just the place they might come to!” he said. “Dangerous, huh?” He went to the desk, pulled open a drawer and took from it a .45 automatic.

Boswick laughed.

“Be your age, Jeff! That iron isn’t safe to fire. It hasn’t been cleaned or oiled in years, and besides, we haven’t any slugs for it.”

Lancing hesitated, then with an embarrassed grin, he put the gun back in the drawer.

“We’d look pretty dumb if they did come here,” he said.

“They won’t,” Boswick said. “No one comes here. Jeff... I hate to say this, but I’ve been looking at our figures. If something doesn’t happen soon, we’re going to be in the hole. This idea of ours isn’t working out.”

“The trouble with you,” Lancing said, “is you’re always looking for the fast buck. Everything takes time. You see, in a couple of months, we’ll be in the black again.”

“If we go on like this,” Boswick said, taking a file from a drawer in the desk, “we’ll be sold up. I mean it, Jeff. Here, take a look at these figures.”

With a resigned sigh, Lancing came to the desk. Together, the two men began to go over the bills that they owed. They worked for the next hour, then Lancing tossed aside his pencil and stood up.

“I didn’t realize it was this bad,” he said glumly. “What are we going to do?”

“What other mugs have to do,” Boswick said, shrugging. “We’ll have to find another mug. We...” He paused as the door leading into the small office swung silently open. A girl, her hair carelessly dyed blonde, wearing a flowered cotton dress with a full skirt, her eyes very alert and watchful, stood in the doorway.

The two men stared at her.

Boswick got to his feet.

“I want a plane to take me and my friends to Frisco right away,” Chita said. “What can you do for me?”

Lancing’s face split into a happy grin.

“Why, sure. The kite’s all ready. We could be on our way in less than an hour after clearing with Frisco. That fast enough for you?”

“What do you want to clear with Frisco for?” Chita asked suspiciously.

“Have to get permission to land,” Lancing explained. “It won’t take long.”

Boswick was studying the girl. He didn’t like the look of her. He suddenly remembered the warning he had had from the Federal Field Office.

He said casually, “Take the lady and her friends to the waiting room, Jeff. Maybe they’d like coffee while they’re waiting. I’ll get the clearance.”

“Sure,” Lancing said and moved towards Chita. “This way. Won’t keep you waiting long. You...” He stopped short as Chita lifted the gun in her hand that she had kept concealed behind the folds of her skirt.

“No telephoning,” she said. “We just take off. Get away from that desk!”

Under the threat of the gun and the snap in her voice, Boswick moved over to where Lancing was standing. Lancing was gaping at Chita.

“What’s all this?” he asked. “What...?”

“Wrap up!” Chita said and moved further into the office. She was followed by Riff who was shoving Carrie before him. At the sight of Riff’s black leather outfit, Lancing remembered the F.B.I.’s warning and realized who these three were.

Riff went over to the telephone and yanked the cable free from the wall.

“If you two jerks want to stay alive,” he said as he threw the telephone receiver across the room, “you’ll do what you’re told! We’re in a hurry! We want to get over the border and into Mexico... you’re taking us! So let’s have plenty of action!”

Boswick said, “Mexico? It can’t be done. I would have to get permission to land from Tijuana. You’ll run up against the passport control authorities. You just can’t fly into Mexico this way.”

“Yes, we can,” Chita said. “You put us down in a field. . any place. We don’t have to land at any airport. We’re going to Mexico and you’re taking us!”

“I tell you, it can’t be done,” Boswick said. “You can’t put a light plane down in a field. What field? You ever been to Mexico? It can’t be done!”

Riff looked uneasily at his sister.

“We’re wasting time. Maybe we’d better keep moving. I never did think this idea...”

“Shut up!” Chita said, her voice vicious. She looked at Boswick. “We’re going to Mexico! You’re going to take us unless you want a hole in your belly! Get moving!”

Boswick hesitated, then shrugged.

“If that’s the way you want it, then I guess that’s how you’ll have it,” he said. “I’m not arguing with a gun, but I warn you, we could crash land! The kite’s only got a short range. We could run out of fuel before we found enough flat land to park on.”

“We’ll worry about that when it happens,” Chita said “You talk too much! Get going!”

Boswick looked over at Lancing. His left eyelid flickered.

“Better see to the kite, Jeff.”

“Sure.” Lancing was worried. Boswick was the dominant partner. Lancing had an uneasy idea that Boswick was planning something that could be dangerous.

Riff said to Chita, “You go with him. I’ll stay here and watch these two.”

“Come on, buster,” Chita said to Lancing, “and don’t get any bright ideas.”

She followed Lancing out of the office.

Ed Black, one of Dennison’s men, dropped the telephone receiver back on its cradle.

“Every service station is now alerted, Chief,” he said, “except the Caltex Station outside Boston Creek. Their telephone is on the blink.”

Dennison looked up from the map he was studying.

“Get a patrol officer to call in,” he said impatiently. “That’s probably the one place they could have stopped at.”

Black picked up the microphone. Seconds later he was in contact with a patrol car heading towards Boston Creek. Patrol Officer Benning said he would proceed at once to the Caltex Station and report back.

Again, without knowing it, the Cranes had a lucky break. The time now was one o’clock in the morning. The Caltex attendant who had given Vic the information about the air taxi station had gone off duty and had been replaced by his sidekick who took over the shift to nine o’clock the same morning.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said when Benning questioned him. “I’ve only just come on. Fred might know something, but he’s gone home.”

“You got his telephone number?” Benning asked.

“Sure, but our telephone is on the blink: besides, Fred won’t be home yet. He always stops off in Boston Creek some place for his dinner.”

Benning got Fred’s telephone number and his address then he returned to his car and alerted Dennison.

“Find him, and find him fast!” Dennison snapped.

There were a number of all-night cafes in Boston Creek, but finally Benning found the Caltex attendant just as he was leaving for home. The time now was one forty-five. Before Benning could get all the information he needed from Fred, and by the time he had again reported to Dennison, it was a few minutes after two o’clock.

Tom Harper had arrived at headquarters, gingerly carrying the Dermott baby who had bawled without ceasing during the drive, and was still bawling, although he was being fussed over by two flustered policewomen.

“They’re heading for the Boswick air taxi station,” Dennison said to Harper who was looking inquiringly at him. “It’s a safe bet they’re going to make for Mexico. They have an hour’s start on us... too long for us to do much, but Dermott must be right behind them. See if you can raise the airport and warn them.”

Harper found the telephone number in the book, dialled, listened and hung up.

“The line’s out of order.”

Dennison shoved back his chair.

“I’ve told Benning to go up there, but to be careful. We can’t close in on them so long as Mrs. Dermott’s with them,” he said, paused, then abruptly made up his mind. “Come on, Tom. I can’t keep out of this. We’ll go by helicopter.” He turned to Black. “Alert Benning we’re on our way and to keep in touch with us by radio. He’s to get close to the airport, but he’s not to take any action unless he’s sure Mrs. Dermott can’t get involved. Alert all patrol cars to converge on the airport but to keep out of sight. No action’s to be taken until I get there.”

He strode out of the office and Harper went after him.

Halfway up the dirt road leading to the airport, Vic switched off his headlights. He drove slowly, and when he reached the airport gate, he pulled up. He went around to the boot of the car, opened it and searched in the tool kit. He selected a tyre lever, the only possible weapon he could find, then moving fast, but cautiously, he made his way towards the small lighted reception hut and office over which was a flashing sign of an aircraft in flight.

He saw the Cadillac outside the office. As he reached the car, the office door opened and a man followed by a girl he immediately recognized as Chita came out. Vic ducked down behind the Cadillac. He heard Chita say, “Make with the legs, buster. You paralysed or something?”

Vic watched the two: the man ahead, Chita about three feet behind him, walk quickly towards the hangar. He waited until they were some yards away, then he moved silently to the office and cautiously peered through the window.

A heavily-built man leaned against the wall facing Riff who sat on the desk, gun in hand. Standing away from these two, big-eyed and white-faced, was Carrie.

Vic looked at her for a long moment, wrestling with the temptation to burst into the room and attack Riff, but he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance so long as Riff had the gun. He moved back into the shadows, then he had a sudden idea. He went quickly to the Cadillac and looked into the back seat. On the seat were the two suitcases in which he had packed the money. He grabbed hold of them, lifted them from the car and then looked anxiously towards the hangar.

Lancing had got the hangar doors open and he, followed by Chita, was moving into the hangar. Carrying the suitcases, Vic ran around to the back of the office and into the darkness of the night.

In the hangar, Chita, standing well away, watched Lancing get the aircraft to readiness.

“Listen, buster,” she said, “you’re not doing this for free. It’s worth a thousand bucks to you if you get us to Mexico. From the look of this crummy joint, you could use that kind of money.”

“Think so?” Lancing said shortly. “How’s about if I crash the kite?”

“Oh, forget it! You’re insured, aren’t you? Get going, buster!”

In the office, as Boswick leaned against the wall, eyeing Riff, he suddenly noticed Riff’s swollen, bruised wrist. It flashed into his mind if he could get close enough to Riff and make a dive for the gun, he could get it from Riff without any opposition. With a wrist like that, the guy was practically one-armed.

“My partner can’t run the kite out without help,” Boswick said. “It needs two men to push it. If you’re in all that of a hurry, maybe we should go over to the hangar.”

Riff eyed him suspiciously.

“Why didn’t you say so before?”

Boswick forced a grin.

“I guess you sort of upset me,” he said.

Without looking at Riff, he walked casually to the window and looked out, Riff, alert, covered him with the gun.

“Yeah, he needs help,” Boswick said, looking over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Riff hesitated, then he slid off the desk. He jerked his head at Carrie.

“Come on! You keep close to me.” To Boswick he went on, “You go on ahead.”

His muscles tense, Boswick walked to the office door and opened it. He was within three feet of Riff. As Carrie didn’t move, Riff, snarling at her, motioned her to the door. In doing so, he half turned his back on Boswick who flung himself at Riff, his hand grabbing at the gun. As the gun was forced down, it went off: the bullet made a hole in the floor a few feet from where Carrie stood.

For a brief triumphant moment, Boswick thought he had got the gun from Riff, but he had underestimated Riff’s strength and he knew nothing of Riff’s years of experience of street fighting.

Unable to use his right hand, Riff stamped down on Boswick’s foot with his iron-shod skiing boot. Boswick caught his breath in a gasp of agony and his grip relaxed. Riff drove his shoulder into Boswick’s chest, sending him reeling against the wall, then snarling, he lifted the gun and shot Boswick.

Carrie hid her face in her hands and cowered against the wall. The big man stared at Riff, blood showing on his fawn-coloured shirt, then his eyes rolled back and he slid to the floor.

A few seconds before the shooting, Lancing had started the aircraft engine. Neither he nor Chita heard the two shots above the noise of the engine. Neither did Vic who had got some hundred yards from the office and had dumped the suitcases in a ditch that ran along the boundary of the airport. He then started back towards the airport as he heard the aircraft engine.

Cursing, Riff grabbed hold of Carrie and dragged her out into the darkness. He started towards the hangar, then paused.

“What’s the matter with me?” he muttered savagely. “I’m flipping my lid! I nearly forgot the money!” He let go of Carrie’s arm, “Wait here,” he snarled at her, then went to the Cadillac, reached into the back seat, groped for the suitcases, groped again, then alarmed, he wrenched open the car door so the roof light came on.

He stared at the empty back seat, a cold fury of rage and fear sweeping over him. He looked in the front seat. Muttering he ran around to the boot, opened it, stared at its emptiness, then slammed it shut.

The money was gone!

He was so stunned, he could only stand motionless, glaring at the Cadillac. A million and a half dollars! Gone! Who had taken it?

Watching him, her heart thumping, Carrie hesitated for a brief moment. To her right, within twenty yards from the light coming from the office window was a dense patch of darkness. If she could reach this sheltering darkness, she might have a chance to escape. She was sure these two would take her to Mexico. This was her one and only chance to get away. If she didn’t take it, she couldn’t imagine what would happen to her once they landed in Mexico.

Like a frightened ghost, running as she had never run before, she started towards the protective darkness.

Riff still stood like a poleaxed bull, glaring at the Cadillac. Who had taken the money? He could only think of the vanished money. Carrie was completely forgotten.

Then he came up with the answer. Chita! A double-cross! Chita!! It had been Chita who had taken his gun! It had been Chita who had dug up the yellow-skin’s body! It had been Chita who had soured his chance to marry Zelda! And now Chita had grabbed the money and was taking off to Mexico and ditching him!

He looked towards the hangar, some two hundred yards from him. Floodlights suddenly came on, lighting part of the runway. Then he saw the small aircraft taxi out of the hangar. He saw Chita come out and move towards the aircraft. Under the bright lights and in her light dress, she was clearly visible not only to Riff but also to Patrol Officer Benning who had reached the airport and was now lying in rough grass, looking towards the hangar. He had seen Riff and Carrie come out of the office, but he had lost them in the darkness. Now, as he watched the aircraft, he saw Chita and wondered what his next move should be. As he lay there, gun in hand, he heard the faint drone of an aircraft. This could be Dennison arriving by helicopter, he thought hopefully.

His mind a white flame of vicious fury, Riff lifted his gun, steadied it on the roof of the Cadillac and sighted the gun on Chita’s back as she paused while Lancing manoeuvred the aircraft on to the tarmac.

In a few seconds Chita would get into the aircraft with the money and would be away, Riff thought. Slowly, his finger began to squeeze on the trigger. It was a long shot. He hesitated. Maybe he should get closer, but if he did, she might see him. She too had a gun. Even as he hesitated, he was automatically taking up the slack of the trigger. Then the gun suddenly exploded with a flash and a bang.

Vic started back towards the lighted window of the airport’s office, the tyre lever clenched tightly in his hand. He had covered fifty yards or so when he came to an abrupt stop.

He saw Carrie and Riff come out of the office. He crouched down in the darkness and watched them. He saw Riff suddenly pause, speak to Carrie and then go to the car.

Vic’s heart began to thump. This thug would now discover the money had gone. What would he do? He looked at Carrie who was standing motionless, outlined against the light coming from the window. He saw Riff open the car door, then he caught his breath sharply as Carrie suddenly sprang into life and began to run frantically towards him. Would Riff see her? Would he shoot after her? But no, Riff seemed to be unaware that Carrie was escaping.

Vic waited until Carrie was within twenty yards of him, then he rose to his feet.

“Carrie! It’s Vic!”

Carrie shied away, stifling a scream, then stopped and looked fearfully at him. She could just make out a dark silhouette, but Vic said again, “It’s me, darling.”

With a choked sob, Carrie rushed to him and he caught her in his arms. She clung to him while Vic looked over her shoulder towards Riff. Relieved though he was to have her safe, he was frightened of Riff. Seeing Riff still hadn’t noticed that Carrie had escaped, Vic looked beyond him to the lighted hangar where Chita was plainly visible. Then there was the choked bang of a gun that made both Carrie and Vic stiffen. Vic saw Chita give a convulsive start and then drop face down on the floodlit tarmac.

“Let’s get out of here!” Vic said urgently. Supporting Carrie, pulling her along with him, he began to run towards the entrance to the airport, making a long detour to avoid the floodlit tarmac.

They hadn’t gone far when a voice snapped out of the darkness: “Hold it! Stay right where you are!”

Carrie caught her breath in a shuddering gasp as Vic pulled her to a standstill. Out of the darkness, Patrol Officer Benning appeared, gun in hand.

As Chita fell to the ground, Riff experienced a sharp, agonizing pain inside his body as if a knife had sliced into him. He stood for a long, horrified moment, staring at the collapsed figure of his sister, her skirt riding up so he could see the white flesh of her thighs, the light of the brilliant lamps playing on her badly dyed hair.

The red haze of fury that had hung over his mind faded. He felt suddenly naked and alone. Then in the grip of panic, he ran frantically towards the hangar.

Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Lancing watched him come. He was tempted to push open the throttle and take the aircraft into the air, but he thought of Boswick. He couldn’t leave Boswick to face this hood alone. So he sat motionless, the engine of the aircraft ticking over, the propeller blade spinning, almost invisible in the bright overhead lights.

Riff reached his sister. He was panting, frightened and sweating. He bent over her. A patch of red stained her dress in the exact centre of her back. Falling on his knees beside her, he put down the gun, then very gently, he turned her over.

Chita moaned. She opened her eyes and stared up at Riff.

“Get going!” she gasped. “They’re here! Make him take you... never mind me! Get going!”

Riff wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Where’s the money?” he quavered. “Why did you take it? Why did you do this to me?”

Chita half closed her eyes. A dribble of blood ran out of the side of her mouth. She shook her head slightly, struggled to speak, then shut her eyes.

“Chita!” Riff’s voice cracked. “Where’s the money? What have you done with it?”

She lay silent for a few seconds, then making an effort, her eyes opened wide.

“It’s in the car... what are you talking about? Take it and go! Riff! Don’t you understand? They’re here! They shot me!”

Riff sat back on his heels. Watching him from the pilot’s seat, Lancing felt a chill sweep over him at Riff’s expression.

He looked like a man going out of his mind.

“Didn’t you take the money?” Riff yelled. “It’s gone! I thought you took it! Hear me? It’s gone!”

Chita moved her legs in a spasm of pain.

“Take it? Why should I take it? It’s ours... yours and mine... why should I take it?”

Riff hammered the sides of his head with his clenched fists. He tore off the dirty bandage covering his ear and threw it from him. He was like an animal with a broken back: frantic with misery and pain.

“Chita... I thought it was you! I shot you, baby. Forgive me! I just went crazy. Baby! I’ll get you out of this! We’ll be all right. I’ll get you to a croaker! You leave it to me!”

More blood dribbled out of Chita’s mouth. She reached up and took Riff’s hand in hers.

“Get going, Riff. There’s nothing you can do for me. I understand... you get going.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Riff said frantically. He grabbed up the gun. “We’re going together. As soon as we get to Mexico, I’ll get you fixed. It’s going to be all right, baby! To hell with the money! You and me... like always.”

He reached down and scooped Chita up in his arms. She gave a low wailing cry and arched her body so he nearly dropped her. Blood ran out of her mouth and her eyes rolled back.

Riff held her close, staring at her white, lifeless face, feeling her warm blood against his chest. Then very slowly, he lowered her to the ground.

It took him several seconds to realize she was dead. Chita! Dead! He stared down at her face that had suddenly become the face of a stranger. This couldn’t be Chita whom he had loved, fought with, stole with, lived with, shared everything he had owned with... this couldn’t be Chita!

Then a wild, animal cry burst from him. The sound made Lancing grimace and look away.

Riff began to pound the ground with his fists, crying and moaning, demented in his grief.

The pilot of the helicopter pointed.

“They won’t hear us with that aircraft warming up down there. I can put you down... they won’t even see us,” he said.

Dennison and Harper exchanged glances, then Dennison said, “Put her down.”

Two minutes later the helicopter made a gentle landing within five hundred yards of the airport. Guns in hand, Dennison and Harper scrambled out. They could hear the busy drone of the aircraft engine. They saw the aircraft standing outside the hangar. They saw Riff kneeling beside the body of his sister, then they heard a soft whistle to their right. Peering into the darkness, they saw Patrol Officer Benning moving cautiously towards them.

“Benning, sir,” he said to Dennison. “I have Mr. and Mrs. Dermott with me. There’s been shooting. Permission for me to investigate?”

Beyond the patrol officer, Dennison saw Vic and Carrie. He went quickly to them.

“It’s all right,” he said. “This officer will take you to headquarters. There’s nothing for you to worry about now. Your baby’s being taken care of and is waiting for you. You get off. We’ll finish this.” He turned to Benning. “Take Mr. and Mrs. Dermott to headquarters right away.”

Vic said, “There’s a million and a half dollars in a ditch over there.”

Dennison grinned.

“Never mind about the money. You two get back to headquarters. I have an idea they’ll be glad to see you.”

As Benning led Vic and Carrie towards his car, Dennison and Harper started cautiously towards the hangar.

Riff was now walking slowly around Chita’s body. He seemed dazed and appeared not to know what he was doing. He suddenly threw up his arms and howled like a stricken animal. The sound lifted the short hairs on the back of Lancing’s neck.

Dennison and Harper were close now. They covered Riff with their guns. Then Dennison raised his voice in a commanding shout: “Drop your gun and up with your hands!”

Riff spun around. He stared sightlessly into the darkness, then in sudden panic, he turned and ran. He ran blindly into the spinning aircraft propeller that sliced through his head with the precision of a butcher’s cleaver slicing through meat and bone.