First Night of Summer (23 page)

Helen turned to Isaac for instruction, and he subtly shook his head. “Well …” She tried to think. “I guess it means …”

“They’re all vandalized,” Isaac said with his outstretched arm pointed at the line of planes.

Glad to have the subject changed away from Josie’s question, Helen observed the other two aircraft. She covered her mouth with her free hand.

“What’s a rich dick?” Josie asked as she read the words written across the fuselage two spaces down.

Helen’s mouth went agape. “Uh” was all she could manage while her mind spun to find an explanation appropriate for an eight-year-old. Again, Isaac came to her rescue.

“Everybody back in the truck.” He stepped forward into the broad puddle of gas and tiptoed to a place underneath the wing. He found three punctures approximately the size of a screwdriver shaft penetrating into the overhead tanks. A single droplet of gas clung to a hole, not quite heavy enough to drip. “Son of a bitch,” he softly muttered.

“Hon,” Helen called, “what happened?”

Isaac’s palms covered his face. He ran them back over his whole head absolutely dumbfounded as to what he should do next. The weekend had gone so well. Then without warning, the morning had turned sour. Sarah was in the hospital, hit by a car. He needed to get to her and fast. Now his magic carpet was destroyed, useless in his time of need. Desperation filled his cup and neared the point of spilling over. But he did have one more option. Although not entirely legal, he decided to go with it. Sarah was more important than any trouble he might get into.

Familiar with the airfield because of his job, he jumped into action. Spinning on a heel, he moved out of the gas puddle and headed for the night watchman’s office.

“Wait for me out here,” he directed to Helen and Josie.

Clear of the wet fuel, he began to run the fifty-yard stretch. The security guard’s only job was to keep riffraff out of the airfield and assist any late-night pilots. At almost nine in the morning, the guard had no idea of what had transpired outside his window during the night. Otherwise, the cops would already be there to investigate, and Isaac would have been notified. A golf cart sat a few feet from the door so the on-duty guard could make regular patrols around the property.

The fuel tanks on Isaac’s Cessna were completely drained, and with the holes as small as they were, he knew it would have taken at least an hour for all the gas to dribble out. Beyond that, all the guard had to do was look out his window and see that the visiting planes had new paint jobs.

The office door wasn’t locked and burst open under the force of his urgency.

Arnulfo Chavez, the portly night guard in his late forties, appeared to have no interest in physical activity or even getting out of his rolling desk chair. Empty Pepsi cans, pretzel bags from the vending machine, and a Butterfinger wrapper littered his workspace. Despite the large window overlooking the grounds, Arnie hadn’t noticed Isaac striding across the tarmac. Startled at the intrusion, he turned away from the small color television and toward the door. A tense silence filled the room.

“What are you doing here?” Arnie finally asked. His English was broken and had a heavy Hispanic accent. “I did not know you was on patrol today.”

“I’m not,” Isaac said tersely. He had known him for a couple years now. Arnie tended to be lax on the job, but there had never been any cause to comment on it. “Have you been here all night?”

The blunt question took him aback, and he answered defensively. “Yes. Why?”

Isaac pointed his finger at the window. “Then you should be able to explain why my airplane is trashed.” He glared across the counter.

Arnie scrunched his brow in obvious confusion. At first, he thought it was a joke. But judging by the raging fire in Isaac’s eyes, he decided not to respond with a dismissive remark. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sat forward in the chair and rested his forearms on the littered desktop.

“Maybe,” Isaac bellowed with fury from Arnie’s lack of concern, “if you’d get off your ass …” He waved his hand around at all the junk food trash. “You would have noticed that someone painted, slashed the tires, and drained the fuel from every single plane out there. Meanwhile, you sat here and watched TV.” His face turned deep red, and a vein bulged in his neck.

Arnie finally rocked his squatty carcass out of the chair and moseyed to the window. The planes were a ways down the tarmac but close enough to see the obvious damage. A slightly green tint washed over his mahogany complexion.

“I …” He shook his head, incredulous. “I don’t know nothin’ about it. I was right here all night and didn’t see nobody,” he pled. “I swear no cars or nothin’ came in.”

“Exactly, Arnie. You were here. Planes don’t vandalize themselves. That’s almost a million dollars worth of aircraft out there, ruined because you didn’t walk your patrols. You don’t even have to walk.” Isaac slapped the counter and roared, “You have a golf cart!”

Arnie’s pallor continued to change. Now he looked visually sick, a nauseous shade of yellow with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache in the middle of his haggard face. Jobs like his weren’t easily come by. The night security position was a golden ticket. The city owns the airport, and government perks apply. With a screw-up this big, Arnie envisioned his salary and health-care benefits swirling down the drain. He had let his guard down with no excuses.

Harping on Arnie did nothing to help Isaac. It released some steam, but it didn’t get him any closer to Sarah. He had to keep moving forward, go beyond what he couldn’t change to what he could. His airplane was out of commission. End of story. No amount of ass chewing could change it. He needed a fast ride to Albuquerque.

The regional MedEvac plane was parked inside the FBO hangar attached to Arnie’s office. Isaac stepped to a waist-high door and reached for a set of keys on a pegboard hook. The MedEvac plane was for medical emergencies only. A specially trained team of pilots and EMTs used it to transport critical patients out of the rural area and to advanced medical facilities in places like Santa Fe, Albuquerque, or Denver. Technically, Isaac did have a medical emergency, and the air ambulance was the only functional plane he had access to.

“Señor, you can’t come back here.” Arnie moved across the room. He planted his sturdy frame in front of the gate faster than Isaac thought possible for a man with so much extra girth. Arnie held both palms forward like a traffic cop.

“Get out of my way, Arnie.” He stared down at the man six inches below. “My wife’s in the hospital, and I need to get there. I’m taking the MedEvac in hangar one.” He twisted the handle of the half door and pushed.

Arnie saw the determination in Isaac’s eyes and realized that no amount of coaxing would detour him. He also feared for his job and refused to be accused of further dereliction of his duties. In an unreasonable panic, he turned sideways and jammed his boot against the base of the gate. His right hand shot into a belt holster and removed a can of pepper spray. Without warning, he pointed it at Isaac and let loose a jet.

Isaac saw it coming a split second before it happened. He turned away and absorbed the blast on the back of his shirt. “Dammit, Arnie! What the hell are you doing?” He stepped away and put his arms around his face before turning around. “Shit! That burns!”

“Señor, I cannot let you take the plane.” Arnie continued to hold his pepper spray at the ready. The entirety of his outstretched arm shook from the adrenaline in his system. “Nobody takes the plane except for emergencies.” His finger was still on the trigger, but he had stopped squeezing. The five-foot-six security guard was clearly in a level of stress far beyond what his decision-making skills could handle. He had the look of a desperate animal fearing for survival.

If Isaac caught pepper spray in the face, it wouldn’t matter if he had the keys to the MedEvac or not. He wouldn’t be able to fly until the effects wore off, and that could take quite a while. Soon the cops were going to be there because Arnie was already dialing their number on a desk phone with his free hand. Isaac had no desire to be detained after the police arrived. A series of questions would be one more thing to slow him down. He and the girls should leave while they still had the chance.

Back outside, he stripped off his shirt. The spray had soaked through the fabric and irritated the skin on his back. The fumes burned his eyes and sinuses. He pulled it over his head and threw it to the ground.

Helen and Josie stood by the pickup and watched with wide eyes as Isaac’s tense, shirtless physique approached. Every muscle in his body stood in high relief, subconsciously flexed in anger.

Helen grabbed Josie by the shoulders and directed her to the backdoor of the gray truck. “C’mon, Jo. I think we’re driving.”

They all buckled in, and Helen asked, “What happened in there?” She crinkled her nose. “Whew. What is that smell?”

Josie coughed in the backseat from the leftover effect of Arnie’s aim.

Isaac started the engine and pulled the gearshift into drive. He made an arching turn across the tarmac and accelerated out of the airport. He checked the gas gauge and found a satisfactory three-quarters of a tank. Then he explained everything that had happened in the office.

“Let’s just drive there like we originally talked about.” Helen placed a hand on his bare shoulder. “No more complications.”

He nodded. “You’re right. That’s all we can do now.” He took a deep breath to calm himself and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Jo, you okay back there?”

She had taken the filtered news of her mother’s situation well, but she was quieter than normal due to the obviously strange turn of events. She was young, not dumb, and didn’t have to be told that things weren’t going well. “Yes,” she said softly.

“That’s my girl.” Isaac tried to put on a reassuring face.

Helen turned around and gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Mom, call Dad and let him know the change of plans. Tell him we’re still going ahead and we’ll see him there.”

While Helen relayed the news to Tom, Isaac navigated his way through town and used the reprieve to take inventory of the situation. Since the unexpected phone call, the morning had delivered him one disastrous scenario after another. He couldn’t help but wonder if so much chaos was in some way his own doing. He tried to think of his life and what decision could possibly have led him to this point. A killer had taken Caroline from their lives earlier in the summer. The same man now threatened to take Josie. What was supposed to be a weekend of refreshment had turned into a living nightmare and potentially life-threatening situation for Sarah. His most expedient means of transportation was destroyed, and to top things off, he now had a three-hour drive to relive everything. Three hours to keep the worst thoughts at bay. Three hours to reach Sarah, hopefully still alive.

South out of town, they traversed down Highway 68. The slow, winding route took them deep into the mountains.

The world felt like it had turned its back on him and hung his family out to dry. He didn’t think it could get any worse.

Chapter Fifty-One

W
ith the cunning of nature’s best predators, Ricky stalked his prey. He blended in, pursued Josie from a distance, and gave no cause for alarm. His blue, avian eyes were poised for the kill.

Isaac, Helen, and Josie were headed exactly where he knew they would. There is really only one obvious route from Taos to Albuquerque, one way he confidently presumed they would go.

When he vandalized the airplanes, he knew Isaac would have to drive. The damage he inflicted on the Cessna was far beyond a quick repair. Now on a long, scarcely populated stretch of blacktop, he tailed his prize of all prizes from a quarter-mile back. Everything progressed famously.

Traveling south on Highway 68, Ricky began running the soon-to-come sequence of events through his head. He had practically memorized every curve, twist, and rise on the two-lane road. His GPS tracked the route on a screen. A little blue car represented his position.

In the seat next to him sat a bag full of trade secret tools. The cans of spray paint were long gone, disposed of for good. He still had the fireworks though and another concoction he had formulated in the night. The trap, like any good snare, needed camouflage. Everything had to look as authentic as possible. He felt confident it would fool anyone, even Isaac.

At approximately three miles outside of town, Ricky had not met a single vehicle on the road. Time for action drew near. Each rotation of the tires pulled him closer. All around, nature’s stone walls rose up and funneled them into the narrow Rio Grande Valley. There were mountains to the left, the river to the right, and more mountains beyond.

He sped up and gained some ground. Isaac drove like a bat out of hell, and Ricky refused to be left behind. The winding road offered the sole sanctuary in the rugged terrain. Once off the beaten path, untamed wilderness stretched out for hundreds and hundreds of square miles.

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

Chapter Fifty-Two

L
ife kept throwing punches below the belt. Sarah could die, and Isaac might not reach her in time to say farewell as she embarked on her final journey. He did his best to ignore the raw emotion in his heart and drive, focusing solely on the road ahead.

His foot floored the accelerator as they rounded a curve and hit a straightaway. A galvanized guardrail on their right separated the road from the river below. A rock face rose several hundred vertical feet to the left. The speedometer quickly climbed from fifty-five to eighty miles per hour. He wanted to go faster, but the snakelike track didn’t allow for more speed. It followed the water-carved canyon and methodically rolled southward to lower elevations. With Helen and Josie in the pickup, he couldn’t risk being reckless and taking the bends any hastier. Regardless of Sarah’s condition, his mother and daughter’s safety were currently his responsibility.

Helen said something. Whether she spoke to him or Josie, he couldn’t say. He heard but did not listen. His mind was too busy retracing the plethora of radical events. His airplane was trashed. He clenched and unclenched his jaw at the absurdity of it. Three planes parked at a rural airfield vandalized beyond use. And all the while, a paid security guard sat on his butt nibbling candy and guzzling Pepsi. It was preventable, and they should be halfway to Albuquerque by now. That was what really infuriated him.