the empty town was burning, inaccessible to fire equipment. Johnson had a single-engine plane lined up to take them in as close as they could get. Sam left the rest of the team to deal with the trucking crisis, deciding he would cover South Dakota. He took Benedict with him.
Sam disliked the pilot on sight. He was a cocky, long-haired kid, who didn’t seem old enough to drive, let alone fly. Sam met him at the charter gate, and after looking Sam over, his first words were, “I don’t know, mister. I just checked with Flight Service. Right now the ceiling is low, and there’s light rain to the west. It’s not bad enough that I couldn’t fly visual, but there’s another storm front coming in from the southwest, probably roll through some time late this afternoon or early evening. ”
“So?” Sam was annoyed at the waffling. “Can’t we make it in before then?”
“You’re not from around here,” the kid said, noting Sam’s Boston accent. Sam didn’t bother to reply, so the kid answered instead. “Yeah, we could get there, but I probably wouldn’t make it back. I meant to fly you into Stanton, about 30 miles south of Remington. I might be stuck in the little burg all night.”
“Like it’d be a crying shame to miss Omaha’s night life?” Sam snorted. “Come on, Junior, you’re getting top dollar. The photographer stopped in the loo, but other than that, we’re ready.”
“I don’t know,” the kid said again. “This air’s mighty unstable and it’ll be choppy up there. So unless you guys have steady stomachs …” He stopped as he saw Tess walking toward them in her tight jeans, camera bag over her shoulder, a giant, steaming cup of Starbucks in her hand. “Holy crap, mister, your work’s not bad, is it? That’s the photographer?” He seemed unable to stop the greasy smile that came to his face.
“A damn fine one,” Sam snapped. He turned as Tess joined them. “Opie here is having trouble deciding if he wants to go.” The kid gave him a scowl.
“The weather?” she asked. “If he has to fly on instruments, we can’t deviate for pictures anyway.” She glanced out the window. “But it doesn’t look that bad.” She turned back to the kid and gave him an encouraging smile. “Aren’t you up for a little scud running?”
Opie looked delighted. “You’re a pilot?”
Tess shook her head. “I just know a few. Come on, we could use a break. If we toss in another $100 and cover the cost if you need a room, would that sweeten the pot?”
"Dinner too if we can't get back?" Tess nodded and Opie leered. “Sure, I’ll take you up. We’ll stay under the ceiling, and I’ll fly you over the worst spots.” His eyes swept her as they started for the door. “I’ll give you everything you need.” At Sam’s muffled grunt, he looked back at him. “Hop in the back, buddy. It’ll help distribute the weight.”
The plane was an older Cessna P210, smaller than Sam had imagined. At six feet tall, he had to duck low to get into the back. As Tess settled into the front, he said, “I hope to hell this bucket is going to hold together up there.”
“What’s the matter, Sam, you getting nervous?” she clicked her seatbelt and looked around the cockpit, then began rummaging in her camera bag. “At least it’s a high-wing. That’ll make it easier to get my shots.”
She peeled open a roll of candy Smarties and offered some to Sam, but he waved them away, saying, “What do you live on, a diet of candy and coffee?”
“Pretty much.”
“But that hard sugar shit sucks.” He craned his neck, “You got any chocolate in there?”
She shook her head. “When I was little, my big brothers always grabbed the expensive stuff, so I just learned to love what they left.”
He was watching Opie walk slowly around the side of the plane, looking things over carefully. “Johnson’s going to shit over that extra 100 bucks, you know.”
She shrugged, crunching the candy and nodding toward
Sam disliked the pilot on sight. He was a cocky, long-haired kid, who didn’t seem old enough to drive, let alone fly. Sam met him at the charter gate, and after looking Sam over, his first words were, “I don’t know, mister. I just checked with Flight Service. Right now the ceiling is low, and there’s light rain to the west. It’s not bad enough that I couldn’t fly visual, but there’s another storm front coming in from the southwest, probably roll through some time late this afternoon or early evening. ”
“So?” Sam was annoyed at the waffling. “Can’t we make it in before then?”
“You’re not from around here,” the kid said, noting Sam’s Boston accent. Sam didn’t bother to reply, so the kid answered instead. “Yeah, we could get there, but I probably wouldn’t make it back. I meant to fly you into Stanton, about 30 miles south of Remington. I might be stuck in the little burg all night.”
“Like it’d be a crying shame to miss Omaha’s night life?” Sam snorted. “Come on, Junior, you’re getting top dollar. The photographer stopped in the loo, but other than that, we’re ready.”
“I don’t know,” the kid said again. “This air’s mighty unstable and it’ll be choppy up there. So unless you guys have steady stomachs …” He stopped as he saw Tess walking toward them in her tight jeans, camera bag over her shoulder, a giant, steaming cup of Starbucks in her hand. “Holy crap, mister, your work’s not bad, is it? That’s the photographer?” He seemed unable to stop the greasy smile that came to his face.
“A damn fine one,” Sam snapped. He turned as Tess joined them. “Opie here is having trouble deciding if he wants to go.” The kid gave him a scowl.
“The weather?” she asked. “If he has to fly on instruments, we can’t deviate for pictures anyway.” She glanced out the window. “But it doesn’t look that bad.” She turned back to the kid and gave him an encouraging smile. “Aren’t you up for a little scud running?”
Opie looked delighted. “You’re a pilot?”
Tess shook her head. “I just know a few. Come on, we could use a break. If we toss in another $100 and cover the cost if you need a room, would that sweeten the pot?”
"Dinner too if we can't get back?" Tess nodded and Opie leered. “Sure, I’ll take you up. We’ll stay under the ceiling, and I’ll fly you over the worst spots.” His eyes swept her as they started for the door. “I’ll give you everything you need.” At Sam’s muffled grunt, he looked back at him. “Hop in the back, buddy. It’ll help distribute the weight.”
The plane was an older Cessna P210, smaller than Sam had imagined. At six feet tall, he had to duck low to get into the back. As Tess settled into the front, he said, “I hope to hell this bucket is going to hold together up there.”
“What’s the matter, Sam, you getting nervous?” she clicked her seatbelt and looked around the cockpit, then began rummaging in her camera bag. “At least it’s a high-wing. That’ll make it easier to get my shots.”
She peeled open a roll of candy Smarties and offered some to Sam, but he waved them away, saying, “What do you live on, a diet of candy and coffee?”
“Pretty much.”
“But that hard sugar shit sucks.” He craned his neck, “You got any chocolate in there?”
She shook her head. “When I was little, my big brothers always grabbed the expensive stuff, so I just learned to love what they left.”
He was watching Opie walk slowly around the side of the plane, looking things over carefully. “Johnson’s going to shit over that extra 100 bucks, you know.”
She shrugged, crunching the candy and nodding toward
Similar Books
