Accidents Waiting to Happen (47 page)

Bob threw himself on top of Josh and slapped the gun away from his head.
 
The gun roared and the slug kicked up a chunk of lawn.
 
Sprawling, both men fell closer to the burning house, the heat intense on their bodies.
 
Their clothes, heated by the flames, felt hot enough to combust.
 
Bob wrenched the gun from Josh’s grasp then yanked his friend to his feet.
 
He shoved Josh toward his neighbors.
 

The crowd parted at the sight of the weapon.
 

“I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Grabbing on to anything he could grasp—an arm, a shirt collar, Bob dragged Josh forward.
 
The man had no will and was as malleable as a puppet, but he was a living dead weight.
 
Using his bulk, Bob managed to move his friend away from the blaze.
 

“What the hell were you thinking?”
 

Josh stared into the burning wreckage of his home.

Bob looked at the gun then at Josh.
 
He jammed the gun in the waistband of his pants against the small of his back and said, “You don’t need this, you don’t need this at all.”

“They’re dead, Bob,” Josh said.

Bob grabbed Josh, digging his fingers into Josh’s tee shirt, handfuls of material in his fists.
 
“Yes, but you’re alive and that’s what matters now.
 
Pinnacle Investments will sell you your life back.”

“None of that matters anymore.
 
It’s not important.”
 
Josh was dead inside; his words lacked emotion.

“God damn you, Josh.
 
This isn’t going to be for nothing.
 
Kate and Abby aren’t going to die in vain.”

Taking the lead, Bob took Josh sternly, one hand on his arm and the other on his back and ushered him into his Toyota.
 
Bob ran around to the other side of the car, removed the pistol from his waistband and climbed in.
 

The onlookers’ flickering faces watched the sedan roar off into the night.

***

Bob raced through the suburban streets just as Josh had twice that night.
 
Jumping red lights and running stop signals, he only heeded the rules of the road when three fire engines raced across a four way stop bound for Josh’s burning house.
 

Inside the car the mood was tense.
 
Except for the whine of the thrashing engine and Bob’s mumbled curses to other road users, silence filled the car.
 
Josh’s silence disturbed Bob.
 
He snatched glances at his friend’s catatonic state.

Bob snapped his fingers in front of Josh’s face.
 
“Come on, Josh.
 
I need you with me.”
 

Josh acknowledged Bob’s presence and looked at his anxious friend.

“Where have you been?
 
I’ve been looking all over for you,” Bob said.

“I got home and Kate wouldn’t let me in.
 
She’d found out about Bell.”

“How?”

“Bell told her in the mall.”

“What a bitch,” Bob said.

“I had it out with Bell and someone slugged me.
 
When I came around, she had a knife in her chest.
 
This is her blood.”
 
Josh held out his hands for Bob to see.

“Is she dead?”

“Yes.
 
John Kelso killed her.”

“Who?”

“James Mitchell, it’s his real name.
 
He was going to kill me and make it look like a revenge killing.”

“Jesus Christ.”
 
Bob struggled to comprehend the facts.
 
These weren’t the happenings of the average Joe living his life.
 
Everyday life, if they ever got back to it, would never be the same.
 
“So all the shit that’s been stirred up with Bell was an act to get you two linked up for a murder-suicide?”

“Not at the beginning.
 
She came back for me, but Kelso saw an opportunity and twisted her to his will.
 
She was just his puppet.”
 

“Where’s Kelso?”

“He’s dead.
 
I shot him.
 
You’ve got his gun.”

The more Josh spoke of recent traumatic events, the more he became himself.
 
His despair evaporated and life returned to his voice.
 
It couldn’t be said that he was back to normal.
 
Normal was a lifetime ago.

Josh was silent again.
 
Lost in his thoughts, he relived his escapes from death and the losses that night.
 
He’d survived again, but those close to him hadn’t.
 
It was hard to accept his survival.
 
A tear ran down his cheek.

“Bell was HIV+,” Josh said matter-of-factly.

Bob teetered on the brink of saying something, but didn’t.
 
Josh’s life was too much for him to comment on.

***

Untidily, Bob swung the Toyota into a parking space.
 
The parking lot was relatively empty with only a few cars in the spaces.
 
There would be no one to complain about Bob’s bad parking for awhile.

Josh stared at the illuminated sign belonging to Sacramento Executive Airport.
 
“What are we doing here?”
 

“There’s a plane waiting for us, my friend.
 
It’s about time we straightened this out.”

The men crossed the parking lot and entered the lobby.
 
The small airport was busy.
 
Josh always heard light and small commercial aircraft flying over his home at all hours of the day.
 
He knew the airport’s layout well, having landed there on several occasions.
 

After a short flight of stairs, a bored looking man in a pilot’s uniform sitting in the airport’s lounge greeted Josh and Bob.
 
He was younger than Josh, no more than thirty, a young pilot earning his hours in order to be picked up by one of the big commercial airlines.
 
He got up and approached them.

“Josh Michaels and Bob Deuce?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Bob said.

The pilot’s gaze fell on Josh.
 
The younger man stared in amazement at Josh’s condition.
 
His appearance could be best described as disturbing.
 
Blood stained the knees of his jeans and continued down his shins.
 
Cuts and bruises paraded themselves across his face and arms.
 
The smell of smoke permeated the air like Josh had spent a weekend next to a campfire.

“Are you from Pinnacle Investments?” Bob asked to distract the pilot.

“Er, sorry.
 
Yes.
 
I’m here to fly you to Seattle.
 
My name is Martin Trent and I am your co-pilot.
 
We’re all ready for you.
 
So if you’re ready, we can take off immediately.”

Josh nodded in agreement.

Trent led the way out of the foyer and onto the apron where a number of aircraft were parked.
 
Aircraft noise replaced the echoing hollowness of the airport lounge.
 
A Navajo touched down on the asphalt.
 

“I was expecting you earlier,” Trent said over the din of a turboprop carrying out its checks at the holding point.

“I know, but my friend had an accident,” Bob said.

Josh became conscious of his physical condition and apparel.
 
He looked distinctly conspicuous in his spoiled clothes and his muscles reported their discomfort.
 
“I was wondering, do you have any spare clothes on board that I could borrow?”

Relief at the plausible explanation was obvious on Trent’s face.
 
“I’ve probably got something in an overnight bag you could use.”
  

“Thanks.”

Trent led Josh and Bob to a waiting Learjet.
 
The three climbed into the cramped confinement of the executive jet.
 
All three hunched instinctively upon embarking.
 
The young co-pilot closed and secured the door.

“Okay, gentlemen, if you can buckle yourselves in we’ll be taking off very soon.
 
And Mr. Michaels, once we’re at cruising altitude I’ll get you those clothes.
 
Oh, there is a bathroom if you want to clean up.”
 
Trent flashed an airline smile and disappeared into the cockpit.

Josh and Bob took seats towards the rear of the aircraft in one of the twelve first class seats.
 
Normally this level of luxury would have made Josh excited, but the knowledge he was onboard a jet taking him to Pinnacle Investments filled him with disgust.

“Why are we going to Pinnacle Investments, Bob?”

“That’s why I’ve been looking for you.
 
I’ve gotten them to sell you your policy back.
 
It’s over, Josh.”
 
Bob placed a heavy hand on Josh’s shoulder.

Slowly building in speed, the engines whined.

“Fuck you, Bob.
 
My family is dead.
 
Four other people are dead because of this insurance policy.
 
It’s not going to put things right.
 
It’s not going to bring Kate and Abby back.”
 
Josh seethed.
 
It had gone far beyond just getting the hit man off his back.
 
He wasn’t about to let Pinnacle Investments off the hook.
 
He needed someone to pay for killing his family.
 

“Trust me, Josh.
 
We have nothing on these people.
 
We go to the cops once more and we’re screwed.
 
They’ve probably got enough on you to put you away for life.
 
You have the blood of a murdered woman on your clothes and your fingerprints on the gun that killed a man.
 
No, I can’t bring your wife and child back, but I can stop the killing.
 
It’s the best I can do.”

Trent’s professional voice broke in through the intercom.
 
Josh and Bob both stared at the closed door of the cockpit.

“Gentlemen, we’ve started engines and should be departing in approximately ten minutes.
 
Flight time should be one hour and forty-five minutes.
 
As I said, I’ll return to you once we are airborne.
 
Thank you for listening,” he said.

“What am I meant to do afterwards, Bob?
 
Once I’ve bought my life back.”

Bob frowned.
 
“Start again.
 
Disappear somewhere.
 
Get away from all this shit.”

Josh looked away, out of the aircraft window into the darkness.

The engines rose in pitch and the aircraft trundled forward.
 
The Learjet rolled to the holding point, paused and finally taxied onto the runway.
 
The plane roared down the runway and lifted into the night.

Once the plane reached cruising altitude, Martin Trent came back to the passenger area as promised.
 
He removed a duffle from a storage locker and removed a pair of jeans and a shirt for Josh.
 
He showed both men where refreshments were kept.
 

Josh excused himself and squeezed into the bathroom.
 
He removed his tee shirt and washed himself in the small stainless steel sink.
 
He stared at himself in the mirror.
 
He looked at the puffy bruising on his face and his singed hair.
 
Lipstick colored bruises covered his chest and soot streaked his face.
 
He looked like a combat veteran.
 
Had it all been worth it?
 
Was his survival worth the lives of his friends and family?
 
It would be, if he lived their lives as well.
 

He finished washing by dunking his head into the soapy, clouded water, soaking it for a moment, trying to wash the bad images from his mind.
 
Water slopped out of the sink splashing his jeans and feet.
 
A watery, bloody pool formed on the rubber-matted floor.
 
He dried his hair with a towel and combed it into position with his fingers.
 
He wasn’t pretty, but presentable.