A quick scan of the
Times
web site shows that the MMM boys were busy last night, but apparently got out safely. I go have breakfast at the buffet, and then the captain and I take our aircraft back to California.
I arrive in Upland about 11, and spend a fruitless four hours searching for the MMM's, finding neither them nor anything else useful to do. Bored, I head back to Starbuck and back home, in plenty of time to get ready for my day with Perez.
We're back in Terminal 7 which is bustling with travelers, but not in need of us. It means we can talk about whatever, and we do, going from basketball, to the MMM's, to my golf adventure, and back again. She asks me to do the Dallas thing again this week. Last week's haul put the total up at 80 kilos, which has to be a serious financial drain on the cartel.
I discover she's going to San Francisco to visit her family for the weekend, and won't be at mom's on Sunday. She asks me what I am doing, and I don't tell her about Taylor, just that I might go to the movies with friends. I remind Perez that I work for an airline, and she should let me know when she needs to fly somewhere. Then a thought occurs to me.
"Don't forget I can take you to Hawai'i with me for free any time I go. You've never been, and it's time you learned to snorkel."
"I will, Air Force, I will." I'm not sure that she means it, but I do.
Shift end we meet at her
tia's
for tacos, such a Thursday night tradition that Ariela had saved a table in the back for us. We're done eating by seven, and Perez suggests we go check the news for the motorcycle men.
I suggest we drive out to Hesperia and go flying. She stands up, takes my hand, and leads me out the door almost faster than I can get the tip down on the table.
FreshBurger is closed when we get there, and I am already changed into me and sitting in my underwear. We walk behind the store, I pick her up, and gently lift into the air. I point to the twin circles burned into the roof, explain how they got there, and can barely hold on while she nearly laughs herself to death.
Then it's off, up, down, around, forth, back, in, out, left, right, slow, fast, and everything else I can think of until she's satiated. We land back behind FreshBurger 90 minutes after we left. She has her hand on my chest as I put her down, exactly as Celeste did, though Perez doesn't slide it downwards. I am surprised that I am disappointed by that.
"Promise me," she looks me in the eye, "that you won't do that out here with your sportscaster friend." She has yet to catch her breath.
"I promise you that I won't do that out here with anyone but you."
She smiles and hits me on the arm. I think it hurts her hand. We get into her car and head for home, me becoming me again once we're safely on the highway. She drops me back at Starbuck, and says her last words, which are now her usual last words, ‘don't do anything stupid.'
What qualifies as stupid?
It's Thursday, the first Thursday after the LA city council banned the rooftop parties downtown. Celeste Nortin might, just might, be standing on one of those roofs. Stupid or not stupid, that is the question. Whether tis nobler to be celibate or have sex while the Army watches? And, to add to my stupidity, I would never have thought about it if Perez hadn't mentioned her.
I'm going anyway.
I drive to Upland, change into my underwear, and make a giant circle so that I pass over Colton and approach downtown from the southeast, giving the impression that I started out that way. She is there, on top of the Bof A building. The drone misses me on my way in, but the I'm being watched feeling starts virtually immediately upon my landing.
She's facing the other way, but hears the pitter patter of my tiny feet as I land. Didn't have to worry about looking cool, because I'm grounded by the time she sees me.
No words come from her mouth, she takes my hand and leads me to the door,
deja vu
of Perez not a couple hours ago, except that we're going in this time, not out, the stairwell at the ready. There's a camera in there, high on the ceiling, but not so high that I can't fly up and break it into many little pieces.
Celeste is naked by the time I get back down, grabs me with passion I have not felt from anyone in weeks, exchanges one long kiss (tongues included), and then makes clear where I need to be. Part of me remains fascinated with the effect I have on her, part of me wishes I hadn't come.
I give her a half hour or so today before I pull out and carry her over to the stairs. She's so remarkably beautiful, I just prefer her awake. She's unconscious, head on my shoulder, for a good 20 minutes before she stirs.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"I wasn't sure you would come. It's been a month since I've seen you and I'm having withdrawal symptoms."
I laugh at that one.
"The General says to tell you good job on your first mission, and not to worry about any of the other ones in that envelope. He says to lay low, and they'll have a new mission for you in two weeks."
I have no idea what she's talking about . "OK."
"I won't ask you about that. I don't want the network to know I'm under duress. I tried to walk away, but it's not going to be easy."
"Don't worry about it," I squeeze her naked body a little, "We'll deal with it together eventually."
She smiles, I can't see it, but I can feel it through her entire body.
"What do you think about the Mysterious Motorcycle Men?"
"I appreciate the help, but they are going to get themselves killed. They should stop."
"Is that what you told them?"
"Yep. I don't think they will though."
"What do you know about them?"
"Nothing, except what everyone else does, they were pretty tight lipped, and they are pretty hard to find."
"And you're still going to work and being normal?"
"Every day. I still can't figure out what I can do to make a permanent difference, so I am just going on day by day."
She kisses me. I kiss her back. She gets up, gets dressed, I put my pants back on, and we exchange another long kiss.
"See you in two weeks?" Definitely a question, but more than just a request for information.
"Same time, same roof," is my response.
Then she walks away down the stairs, and I head back out onto that roof. I briefly entertain the idea of pummeling the drone into dust, but instead I blast straight up way too fast for it to follow, roll over and plummet down into the Inland Empire. Another big circle, and I am safely back at Starbuck and on my way home. I spend the rest of the night contemplating the meaning of my sad existence.
Friday disappears in a fog of nothing, running, the gym, tacos, people watching, Celeste on the news, and my brain sizzling on the frying pan. I actually go to sleep Friday night, letting my guardian cat protect me. Fog Dude stays away. I think he's learned who's boss, and it's a five and a half pound shorthair.
Saturday is amazing. Taylor takes me (I pay, she directs) to an Indian restaurant that is spectacular, simple, and authentic all at once, and then we laugh through a well chosen movie. The night ends at her front door, the two of us making out for a good ten minutes. She fits in my arms perfectly, and maybe in my life as well.
I am happy for half the trip home. As I transition on the 405, it occurs to me that I have 830 days, tops. Two years plus 100 days. Can I honestly enter into a relationship and not tell her that simple fact? Can I bring myself to tell her the truth? Should I? I lucked out with Perez, and I know Jen would have protected my secret, but do I know enough about Taylor? I become him, and stay up all night watching bad movies. A reflection of my life, minus the zombies.
Date etiquette says you don't call the next day, so I don't. I have a quiet dinner with mom and dad, mostly dad filling me in on all the new pilots they've been hiring, which does technically increase my seniority with the company. Not that it matters, I'm at 841.
After dark, I take my leave and drive the four miles to my hiding place in Anaheim, where the drone appears to have taken the night off. Feeling happy to be able to follow my old routine, I park Starbuck at the hotel, wander over to alley behind the Chinese restaurant, and launch skyward.
I find Joshua Barnes' house, and only have to float there an hour before he hits the road, joins up with his partner, and three of us are off toward South Central. This time it's a neighborhood near a major private university named for its location in our state, and a small group of bad people on the corner. Maybe we should just outlaw corners, since that's where the bad guys always seem to be.
The two men in black roar up, sort of fly onto the sidewalk, take down the two closest men easily, and go after a second pair. From the fifth man, behind the two warriors, a firearm appears. I take that as my cue. Molecules are no more as I move, slower than a bullet actually, but fast enough to take the dude down before he can fire.
Seconds later there are five unconscious bad guys laying and the three of us standing on the sidewalk. They are looking at me.
"We had him, man." Not the response I was expecting.
"Your backs were turned." Not what I was planning on saying, but better under the circumstances.
They are shaking their heads. "We knew he was there."
A lightbulb comes on, figuratively speaking. I look around, as far left and right as I can see without moving my feet.
"You have a spotter around here somewhere. An advance man who comes in and scopes the place. He's in your ears."
"We told you we know what we're doing."
The man at my feet stirs a little. I reach down and pick up his gun in my right hand. Showing it to the motorcycle men, I crush it slowly, for effect, then toss the lump of steel at their feet.
"Won't stop you from getting killed, just delay it a little."
"We're not stopping. We have to do something."
I pause a second. Try to look serious.
"Join the police. Join the Coast Guard. Become school teachers. You don't have to get shot to do something." I pause another second. "These guys are not the power brokers. Taking them out doesn't change anything. And when you've pissed off their suppliers enough, they will not be so easy to deal with."
All five on the ground are starting to recover. I nod toward the black bikes.
"Get on your way. Please think about it?"
They don't say anything, but are quickly gone.
I head out to Dallas, with a special diversion to Houston, and identify two flights that are packing evil, one headed to LAX, and the other to San Francisco. I let Perez know. Then get home in time to run and shower.
It's Monday, the day I should call Taylor, but I don't have to because she's working when I get into dispatch to do my pre-flight at seven. We get in a nice 15 minute conversation before Captain Amos appears and drags me off to make sure we're not going to crash. Taylor and I make a tentative Wednesday dinner plan, assuming we don't.
Perez is in the terminal office when we stop by, Captain Amos coming with me to say hello. I ditch him for a second, and tell her that there are three motorcycle men, not two. I know she'll have found number three before I get back.
Wednesday is my extra LAPD day, and Perez has indeed identified the watchman, another ex Marine from the same unit, Peter Thomas, who is on the phone with both of the other two in a conference call every time we know the MMM's were on the loose. She has no more idea what to do with them than I do, except she is reaching the point that she thinks we should rat them out.
We spend most of the day talking about projects I should undertake, with Perez trying to convince me that, if I am so bothered by the new construction in North Korea, I should go ahead and do something about it.
She suggests dinner, but I tell her I have previous plans with some co-workers. I don't mention Taylor.
I take Taylor to the fish place near my place on the ocean, then for a long walk around the light house. We spend a half hour in front of her door this time, alternately kissing and talking. Nice.
And then I drive to Upland, wishing the whole trip I knew how not to screw this up with her, and then I'm off in search of motorcycles.
I am definitely screwing up with the MMM's. They went out Monday night, Tuesday night, and apparently tonight. Yet somehow they managed to elude me three more times. It's so annoying. Tonight I got to the spot just as their victims were waking up, and I put them back to sleep out of frustration.
I may have to break my vow of secrecy and go to their houses. We need to have another talk, or something. Two of their assaults seem to have gone off fine, but they almost got themselves killed again Tuesday night.
Thursday is also Perez day, except she's not there, she's with the FBI. I get assigned to my old favorite Terminal 2, with Officer Emily Bradford, who I have worked with many times before. The two major Mexican airlines fly from here, one of the officers assigned always is bilingual, which is why I am here. My Spanish gets a serious workout, and the day passes quickly.
