Russell Andrews - Midas

“Because somebody told him to. Because he’s scared, just like me. Or at least he should be.”

Justin wished he’d brought a flask with him. He’d sneak into the bathroom, have a long pull, and feel a lot better than he felt at this moment. But it was just wishful thinking. Something he didn’t have much time for. “Who did your husband fly when he was in the Air Force?” he asked, when he finally got away from the image of nice, warm alcohol flowing down his throat. “What kind of passengers?”

“Everyone.”

“The president?”

“No. Everyone but him.”

“The vice president?”

“Sure.”

“He piloted the vice president? Vice President Dandridge?”

“Yes.”

“Who else?”

“Lots of them. Secretary of state. Defense secretary. Everyone had their territories. Hutch had the Middle East a lot. That was his route.”

“He never left the Air Force, did he?”

“No.”

“They just let him take time off from his duties to do something else.”

She nodded.

“The people he was working for, they must have been pretty important to arrange that.”

She nodded one more time. He was beginning to wonder if he’d hear her speak again.

“During the time off, did he fly some of the same people he was flying for the Air Force?”

Another nod. Then, “I think so. Yes.”

“Was he still flying to the Middle East?”

“Yes. I mean, I was never sure where he was. He said it was usually better for me not to know. But he forgot sometimes, and told me things. They slipped out. Or else he’d give me hints. It was kind of like a game. Once he called me up from a hotel and I asked him how he was and he said, ‘I fell down the tower,’ and I didn’t know what he meant but it sounded bad so I got all concerned, but he was just laughing and told me to think about it. After we hung up, I figured out what he meant. He was saying Eiffel Tower to let me know he was in Paris. I think he flew the secretary of state there for some secret conference. No, it was the vice president, because after that he flew him to Saudi Arabia. I remember because Hutch brought me back this little veil thing, like Arab women wear, and he said that Dandridge was making fun of him on the flight back. Whenever he had time, Hutch always tried to bring me back something from one of his trips.”

She laughed now, at the memory, then started to cry. She was starting to break down, so he asked her a question quickly, wanting to get her to focus again. “Where else did he fly, Terry, while he was flying these special people? Over the past year and a half.”

“Florida.” Suddenly she jumped up, ran over to the kitchen counter, brought back a bottle. “This was from his last trip there, that’s how I know where he was.”

Justin looked at the bottle. The label said it was Havana Club rum, aged fourteen years.

“This is Cuban, Terry. Not from Florida.”

“I know. Hutch said they sold it in Florida ’cause there are so many Cubans there. Refugees.”

“Where else did Hutch fly?”

“Texas. A lot of times to Texas. I don’t think I can keep talking,” she said. “I think I’m going to start to cry again.”

“You’re entitled to cry,” he told her. “Can I just finish my coffee? I won’t talk about Hutch anymore.”

She nodded. He took another sip. It was cold but he pretended not to notice.

“I heard that you’re selling the house.”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“Because they told me to.”

Justin put his coffee cup down. “What? Who told you to?”

“The people who bought it for us.”

“Who was that?”

“The people Hutch was working for. That was one of the reasons why he did it. They said they’d buy him a house. This house. And they did. Now they told me to sell it. They said I could keep all the money. But they said to sell it and move away.”

“How did they tell you this?”

“On the phone.”

“When?”

“The day Hutch died. They called to say that his plane had crashed, that he was dead. They said I should sell the house, that I could keep all the money, they’d take care of it, not to worry about the mortgage. They said I should just take the money and use it to go somewhere else.”

“Who called you?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Justin closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, he said, “Terry. If you tell me who called you, then maybe I can find out who killed your husband.”

“And maybe, if I tell you what you want to know, they’ll also kill me and my little girls. I think you better leave. I shouldn’t have talked to you at all.”

Justin tried to think of something else to say, to prolong his stay, but no words came. He stood up, stretched his stiff back, and let Terry Cooke escort him to the door.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “I just want to get out of here, forget everything that’s happened.”

“Where are you going? I mean, when you sell the house.”

“My parents live in New Mexico. I thought we’d go out there. It’ll be good for the girls. Maybe I’ll be able to eat and sleep out there.”

“I bet you will.” He reached for the doorknob. “Can I just ask you one thing? Did Hutch own his own plane?”

“No. He never needed one, really.”

“Whose plane was he flying?”

She didn’t answer.

“Terry, why was he in East End Harbor? Why that airport? Why that town?”

“You think it’s because of the bombing, don’t you? The Harper’s bombing.”

“Yes. That is what I think.”

“My husband was a pilot. All he did was pick people up and drop them off. He wasn’t political. He didn’t even like the Air Force all that much, they just let him fly. He was just a good guy who liked to fly.”

“Why East End Harbor, Terry?”

“Did you see him?”

“What?”

“Hutch. My husband. Did you see him. . after the crash?”

“Yes.”

“Was it. . was it bad?”

“I think it’s always bad when someone dies who doesn’t have to.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. With them still closed she said, “He was going to stop, you know.”

“Hutch? Stop what?”

“He was going to stop working for these people. He didn’t like what they were doing.”

“He told you that?”

She nodded. “He just flew them. And it was exciting at first. Glamorous and fun. And he made a lot of money. But he said he thought he was working for the good guys. Only it turned out they were the bad guys. That’s what he told me. So he was going to stop.” She sniffled, holding back another barrage of tears. “Well. . he did stop working for them, didn’t he? He just stopped a little too late.”

“Why East End, Terry?”

“I don’t know. I guess even bad guys have to live somewhere, don’t they?” When he nodded tentatively, she took his hand. Not shaking it, just holding it for support. Or simply to have some human contact. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Things are just so muddy. That’s what Hutch would have told you. Things are muddy. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Justin said, then he gently released his hand, thanked her for talking to him, stepped outside. She closed the door behind him and he heard the click of the lock turning inside. He walked to his car that he’d parked in the thin gravel driveway. Muddy, he thought. A strange phrase but an accurate one. Things were definitely muddy. Thick, slimy, filthy, and muddy.

He got behind the wheel, started the ignition, glanced in his rearview mirror. . and there were those eyes again. The big brown round saucer eyes that he’d seen peering out at him from behind the Cookes’ front door.

“You know, it’s dangerous to get into strangers’ cars,” he told the little girl.