criminals. Most wanted to travel without leaving a paper trail.
These special clients usually had money and weren’t afraid to spend it, allowing Cat to charge premium prices for his shuttle service. In most cases the flight from Fort Lauderdale to the Bahamas took under an hour, and as an extra bonus Cat could land the customer right next to his chartered boat. He even helped with their luggage, whatever it might contain.
As Cat liked to say: “Discretion is my middle name.”
* * *
HE HAD TWO customers this morning; they were typical in just about every way.
He was a sixty-ish married, wealthy banking executive from Ohio. She was a “hostess” at a bar on Miami’s South Beach. She was one-third his age and stunning.
They had met only recently and were in a whirlwind romance of sorts. The executive had quietly chartered a yacht for three days out of Alice Town in North Bimini, intent on getting some alone time with his new paramour.
He’d seen Colonel Cat’s ad in the local Beach Scene Magazine and called. Cat got the banker to agree to pay $1,000—cash—for a private flight over to Bimini and back.
* * *
CAT FUELED HIS plane and was ready to go from the Fort Lauderdale airport by 9 A.M. The happy couple arrived by limo a short time later.
He loaded their luggage. The banker was clearly drunk with lust. Cat couldn’t blame him; the hostess was gorgeous.
They took off at nine-fifteen and were soon heading east. The hostess sat up front; the banker was behind her, massaging her bare shoulders as they flew. After a lot of small talk, Cat went into his pitch.
“If you have a few extra minutes, I can show you some interesting sights,” he began. “Lots of strange things out here. Some people don’t realize it, but the Bahamas are right in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.”
The couple agreed, and once over North Bimini, Cat began pointing out various places of curiosity. The Stairs of Atlantis. The area of ocean where the famous “Flight 19” was thought to have gone down. An oval reef formation called UFO Rock. And finally, an isolated island the locals called “Via-grass Cay.”
The banker asked Cat the meaning of its name.
Cat explained the people who lived on the island had cultivated a strain of marijuana that, in addition to providing a long-lasting high, also was an herbal Viagra.
This was a full-blown symphony to the banker’s ears. He quickly asked Cat how he could buy some of the weed.
Cat remained coy. He’d done this before.
“It’s impossible to get,” he replied. “The people who live down there are very picky who they share it with.”
By this time, Cat had turned the plane back to the southwest and was heading for Alice Town, where the couple’s chartered yacht awaited.
But the banker was insistent.
“There must be a way,” he said, slipping five hundred-dollar bills into Cat’s shirt pocket. “Am I right?”
* * *
THEY LANDED TWO minutes later. Cat taxied up to the waiting yacht and helped the pair unload their luggage, including the girl’s sizable jewelry case.
As she climbed aboard the yacht, Cat pulled the banker aside.
Cat asked him: “Where will you be tonight?”
“We’ll be moored near an island called Thomas Cay,” the banker replied. “Do you know it? Real isolated. No one around to interfere.”
Cat nodded. “I know the place. If I can snag a bag for you, I’ll fly it in after dark. If I can’t, I’ll return this five spot when I fly you folks home in three days. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They shook hands and Cat returned to the floatplane.
Waving merrily to the couple, he took off, circled the yacht once, then headed back to Fort Lauderdale.
* * *
HE MET HIS next two customers at 11 A.M.
They were a middle-aged couple from Arizona. He was an author; she was his research assistant. He wrote books on the Bermuda Triangle and its alleged UFO connection—but his latest book was in trouble. Because
These special clients usually had money and weren’t afraid to spend it, allowing Cat to charge premium prices for his shuttle service. In most cases the flight from Fort Lauderdale to the Bahamas took under an hour, and as an extra bonus Cat could land the customer right next to his chartered boat. He even helped with their luggage, whatever it might contain.
As Cat liked to say: “Discretion is my middle name.”
* * *
HE HAD TWO customers this morning; they were typical in just about every way.
He was a sixty-ish married, wealthy banking executive from Ohio. She was a “hostess” at a bar on Miami’s South Beach. She was one-third his age and stunning.
They had met only recently and were in a whirlwind romance of sorts. The executive had quietly chartered a yacht for three days out of Alice Town in North Bimini, intent on getting some alone time with his new paramour.
He’d seen Colonel Cat’s ad in the local Beach Scene Magazine and called. Cat got the banker to agree to pay $1,000—cash—for a private flight over to Bimini and back.
* * *
CAT FUELED HIS plane and was ready to go from the Fort Lauderdale airport by 9 A.M. The happy couple arrived by limo a short time later.
He loaded their luggage. The banker was clearly drunk with lust. Cat couldn’t blame him; the hostess was gorgeous.
They took off at nine-fifteen and were soon heading east. The hostess sat up front; the banker was behind her, massaging her bare shoulders as they flew. After a lot of small talk, Cat went into his pitch.
“If you have a few extra minutes, I can show you some interesting sights,” he began. “Lots of strange things out here. Some people don’t realize it, but the Bahamas are right in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.”
The couple agreed, and once over North Bimini, Cat began pointing out various places of curiosity. The Stairs of Atlantis. The area of ocean where the famous “Flight 19” was thought to have gone down. An oval reef formation called UFO Rock. And finally, an isolated island the locals called “Via-grass Cay.”
The banker asked Cat the meaning of its name.
Cat explained the people who lived on the island had cultivated a strain of marijuana that, in addition to providing a long-lasting high, also was an herbal Viagra.
This was a full-blown symphony to the banker’s ears. He quickly asked Cat how he could buy some of the weed.
Cat remained coy. He’d done this before.
“It’s impossible to get,” he replied. “The people who live down there are very picky who they share it with.”
By this time, Cat had turned the plane back to the southwest and was heading for Alice Town, where the couple’s chartered yacht awaited.
But the banker was insistent.
“There must be a way,” he said, slipping five hundred-dollar bills into Cat’s shirt pocket. “Am I right?”
* * *
THEY LANDED TWO minutes later. Cat taxied up to the waiting yacht and helped the pair unload their luggage, including the girl’s sizable jewelry case.
As she climbed aboard the yacht, Cat pulled the banker aside.
Cat asked him: “Where will you be tonight?”
“We’ll be moored near an island called Thomas Cay,” the banker replied. “Do you know it? Real isolated. No one around to interfere.”
Cat nodded. “I know the place. If I can snag a bag for you, I’ll fly it in after dark. If I can’t, I’ll return this five spot when I fly you folks home in three days. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They shook hands and Cat returned to the floatplane.
Waving merrily to the couple, he took off, circled the yacht once, then headed back to Fort Lauderdale.
* * *
HE MET HIS next two customers at 11 A.M.
They were a middle-aged couple from Arizona. He was an author; she was his research assistant. He wrote books on the Bermuda Triangle and its alleged UFO connection—but his latest book was in trouble. Because
Similar Books
