A Little Trouble
“If you gotta be down,” I said, “might as well be in a place like this.”
My voice seemed to come from far away. The guy on my right raised a shot glass. Flip the barkeep said, “Claro que si.”
I wasn’t talking about the club itself, or the three card tables where I’d lost my shirt, but about Tijuana, the warm breeze in from the ocean. It became a rule when I learned to fly. If I had to run from life, I ran someplace warm.
I didn’t have a plane at the moment, part of why I ran.
My third mug was empty. I tried to catch Flip’s eye for a refill, but he was distracted. So was every guy in the place. The four mariachis who had strolled the room for tips now stood together for a salsa number. The couple making the request was a mismatch. He was stout and brown, with veins I could see from the bar. She was tall, white, and blonde, in a halter that got my blood going.
If I were sober, I would’ve been able to watch her more closely. On the other hand, I was drunk enough to believe I had a chance with her. Not a bad tradeoff. My eyes flitted between the couple and the band. I wanted to see who stopped first.
The mariachis flourishing to a finish, I remembered a mint in my pocket. I popped it in my mouth and was on my way. The haze of three beers gave way to a clean scent that had to be hers.
In the best voice I could muster, I said, “May I have the next dance?”
“Of course.”
Her stout partner had something to say, but he never got it out.
“I came with you,” she said. “Doesn’t mean I’m yours.”
He smiled. Couldn’t deny her anything. “Si.”
She requested another song I didn’t recognize, and we walked hand-in-hand to the dance space. That was enough for her to tell.
“Can’t dance, can you?”
“Nope.”
“Stay close and try to keep up.”
Staying close was easy. She whirled from arm’s length to within an inch of my nose. Keeping up? No chance.
Now and then we got to touch, palm-to-palm, arms around waists. When the song ended, my legs felt like toothpicks. I turned to kiss her and met the stout guy’s flat stare.
I could stare back, start something. Instead, I looked at her.
She shrugged it off and let him take her hand.
I stepped back, keeping my eyes on her. Might as well look for as long as I could.
The next dance was a tango. Her partner liked to dip her, as low as his reach would allow. She went along.
He was about to let her up from a dip when his head jerked toward me. The mariachis stopped with him. Everyone stopped for two seconds, tracing his head-jerk to a gunshot.
Some people scattered, but more began to brawl. Diving after a flash of blonde hair, I caught the woman’s wrist.
She struggled against me until I said, “Safer leaving than staying behind.”
Once we were clear of the club, she pulled me to the left.
“I’ve got a car,” she said.
“Me, too.”
She liked my idea better.
“This isn’t a car,” she said, “and it’s not yours, either.”
“You got me. It’s a jeep, and it belongs to a friend. Thanks for waiting a few miles to get picky.”
“Don’t mention it. Who are you?”
“C.J. Stone, pilot-for-hire,” I said. The pilot part was reflex.
“Where’s your plane?”
“I sold it a while ago.”
“A long while.”
“You wanna get out?” There was no meanness in my voice.
Her laugh was the kind I liked best, the quiet kind you have to listen for. “That depends,” she said. “Where are you headed?”
“I don’t know.”
“My hero.”
“Yeah. About that, any idea what I saved you from?”
In the rearview mirror I watched her retreat behind her eyes and relive the shooting. She closed her eyes, shook her head. A bruise had formed between her right eye and cheek.
“No idea. I met Nino last night. He came onto me. We…”
She was justifying herself, to me of all people. I cut her off: “So you know nothing about him.”
“Nothing.”
No way to tell what about or how big, but I knew she was lying.
Whatever her trouble was, it didn’t have to be mine. A better man would be looking for a polite way to shake her. He wouldn’t be thinking as I was. In degrees. Like I could handle a little trouble.
As I had that thought, steering got sluggish. These roads carved out of the sand can get rocky. I checked the road, then the gas gauge. Empty.
“Relax,” I said. “Got two spare cans in the back.”
“Swell.”
“I was going to fill up at the club. Wasn’t expecting to run out of there.”
I caught her look, about to say, Weren’t you?
“You didn’t have to take my car.”
“You didn’t have to pull me out of there.”
I leaned over and kissed her.
Her lips had a peach taste. Our throats were dry. Better at this than talking, we kept it up a while.
When we did pull back, her eyes and voice a little softer, she said, “This isn’t a car. You tricked me.”
“I sorta did. What’s your name?”
Worry swept into her eyes. “Grafer.” Seeing my expression, she added, “You know it, don’t you? That’s why I didn’t—”
“It’s your husband’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Never heard of him. I was thinking, what a horrible name for a woman.”
Again the quiet laugh. “My name’s Sonia.”
Her eyes darted down. She was ready to tell the story of her life to this point. I didn’t need to hear it.
“Where are you staying down here?”
She looked to be wearing very little makeup, which usually takes a lot of work. The way her hair fell, it had to be professionally cut and styled. The white halter and skirt were smooth, like they’d never been folded into a suitcase. Her speech told me nothing of where she was from. Maybe she was an actress.
“At a friend’s villa,” she answered.
Villa. “Not using it herself, huh?”
“No, she’s not. And I’ll guess you’ve never seen a villa before.”
“I have.”
“From inside?”
“No.”
I liked how easy our conversation was.
“My friend had a mural done on the ceiling. That’s a painting—”
“I know.”
“Want to see it?”
“Sure.”
From a distance, finished in white stucco with a high arched entrance, the villa looked as if it had no doors. As if the breeze swept right through.
A dark oak door was set in the shade of the archway. A key from Sonia’s purse let us into a main room cooled by ceiling fans and floored in polished wood. The room was unfurnished, with more archways left, right, and center.
“This room is to stand in and decide where we want to go?”
Sonia didn’t answer. She led me to the right.
The mural in the bedroom was a tangle of naked men and women. I needed a bit of a refresher, but she didn’t seem to mind. Our sex was easy, too.
Afterward we lay on our sides facing each other on the starched sheets.
“You said you were a pilot.”
“I did.”
“You mean you’re not one?”
“I guess I am. It’s…I can’t think of myself as a pilot if I haven’t flown in a while. A fighter isn’t a fighter if he hasn’t…You don’t get it.”
“No, I do.”
We kissed again, pressed against other sharing warmth. The first time, we satisfied curiosity and a kind of primal need. This time, there was emotion. I’d shown some deep scars and she wanted to nurse them.
I was drifting to sleep when she said, “I know where we can get a plane.”
“Where?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“At least tell me what kind of plane.”
She kissed my forehead and my nose. I kissed her shoulder, her breast.
“A Grumman Goose,” she said.
Anyone who could fly had heard of the Goose: a versatile, spacious plane that could take off and touch down by land or water. Grumman had made a civilian model available that year, to those who could afford it.
I wanted to catch the words themselves. With a Goose, I could be a pilot again.
You’d think I’d be too excited to sleep after that, but with Sonia’s head on my chest, her knee between my thighs, I had one of the most peaceful nights I could remember.
I thought we’d wake up in the same arrangement. When my eyes focused, I was clutching a long pillow.
The sun shone through the bedroom’s high windows. My pants and shirt were as I left them on the floor. She hadn’t hidden my clothes, a good sign.
I dressed and walked out to the main room. In daylight, I saw the center archway led to an eat-in kitchen and a sliding window with a view of the beach. Several people were tanning or dipping into the water.
I stepped toward the window, thinking she might have slipped away. Then I heard something shatter in the far left room.
I called her name.
No answer.
I ran straight into a bathroom. Sonia was wrapped in a bathrobe, on her haunches among the shards of a ceramic mug. Her feet were bloodied.
“I’ll get that,” I said. “You get back in the shower.”
I wasn’t sure she heard me at first. “There’s a dustpan and broom in the closet.”
“Roger.”
While she washed her feet, I swept and sopped the puddle of tea. It made me wonder. The way she danced the night before, she wasn’t the clumsy type. What would shake her so as to first drop the mug, then cut herself on the shards?
“I like to run along the beach,” she said, “before the crowds.”
We were in the kitchen, she on a stool, me playing barkeep.
“You were smiling in your sleep, so I didn’t wake you. A few minutes after I got back, there was a phone call.”
She looked past me to the icebox, avoiding the phone on the counter.
I kept my voice matter-of-fact. “Your husband?”
It didn’t seem that big a mystery to me, but Sonia took it like a sucker punch.
“What did he say?”
She didn’t seem to hear me. “He has money. He never lets go of anything he wants. And he wants me.”
Like she was a statue.
“The Goose you said we could get, that’s his, too.”
She nodded. “I never thought…”
“What?”
“He had Nino shot.”
Nino, her jealous and now dead dance partner.
“He told me. He knows where it happened; he knows I left with you.”
“How close is he?”
“God. We live in San Diego.”
Twenty miles to the north. If I ran, I wouldn’t get far.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
I was thinking of the Goose. “Is he a betting man?”
“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Sonia said. “Richard knows where we are.”
I looked up from my cards. She unbuckled and took off her belt.
“He has to send someone after us,” I said. “Little chance he does that in daylight. And it’s easier to make a stand here than on the move or someplace we don’t know as well.”
“So we stay in and play strip Texas Hold’em?”
“You said you’ve watched him play.”
“Since before we were married. He makes me sit there like a trophy.” Her eyes lit up. “You want to know if he has any tells. You’re going to play him.”
“Right.”
“Do you know yours?”
“I have a tell?”
She rolled her eyes. “When you have better than a pair, you go to touch your nose.”
“You’re kidding.”
In Texas Hold’em, each player is dealt two cards. Then five community cards are dealt. First three on what’s called “the Flop”; then the fourth, “the Turn”; and the fifth, “the River.” After each card-reveal, players bet or fold based on who looks to have the best five-card hand. No-Limit means a player can bet it all at any time.
I opened the next hand with the jack of hearts, picked up the jack of clubs on the Flop, and the jack of spades on the River.
Sonia pointed. “See.”
And I saw my finger right there. “Damn.”
“Richard’s eliminated most of his tells,” she said. “But if you take him deep enough into a game, and he gets a card he needs on the River, he goes to his cheek.”
For the rest of the day, we played poker and raided the icebox. We didn’t drink or do the deed. We had to be ready if Grafer did take a run at us.
Much as I’d assured Sonia about the day, when night fell, I worried Grafer would kill us in our sleep. I went ahead and placed the call.
“Who may I say is calling?” the operator asked.
“Tell him it’s the man who kidnapped his wife.”
There was a pause. I think the operator gulped. “Hold, please.”
“This is Richard Grafer. Who am I speaking to?”
His voice was not panicked, not playing too-cool. I’d say it was annoyed, wanting answers.
“My name is C.J. Stone. I fly for a living, and I hear you have a plane.”
“You heard wrong. Is there anything else of mine you might want?”
I hadn’t heard wrong. He’d hesitated before bluffing.
“It’s called a Grumman Goose. It’s the only thing you can wager for Sonia.”
“I can have you taken care of—”
“I saw what you did to Nino.” I paused as if seeing it again. “I’m not that brave.”
He didn’t hang up. I’d gotten to him. “You said wager. Exactly what kind of wager?”
“Your game, No-Limit Hold’em. All I have is about two hundred dollars and your wife.”
“And you want my plane and my wife.”
I realized what I wanted when he said that. “Whether she ends up with me is her decision. Whatever she decides, you let stand.”
“Fair warning: I don’t lose often. And never with stakes this high.”
“Wouldn’t be where you are if you did.”
“You’re a desperate man.”
Sonia told me it was some romantic notion of his.
“Pretty much.”
“What the hell,” he said. As if I’d asked to play polo. “When do we do this?”
“Your choice.”
“Tomorrow.” He paused for effect. “High noon.”
“Noon.”
“Do you need transportation?”
“Sonia knows the way.”
“She should.”
Grafer appeared to own a small forest, but it wasn’t hard to spot his manor house. Built sometime in the last century, it was still a castle, tower and all. Its shadow gave Sonia a chill.
“So this is why you’re dressed for finishing school,” I said.
She didn’t answer. Other than directing me, she hadn’t spoken the entire drive.
The castle had a double-door entrance with a buzzer. I buzzed and heard a loud chime from inside.
“Lot of rooms in this place, huh?”
There was her laugh.
I heard the locks slide back. The door opened and a man about my height stepped out. He glanced at Sonia, but focused on me.
“Mr. Stone, Richard Grafer.” His hand was out as soon as he said my name. I shook it.
Height was only thing we had in common. From his voice on the phone, I figured he was my age, but in person he looked and sounded younger. Not a kid, just as young and fit as I wanted to be. Blond, good skin, good teeth. He was the perfect tennis partner for Sonia.
“The bruise on her cheek,” he said. “I assume you didn’t give it to her.”
“I didn’t.”
“Fine. Follow me. I keep the plane in the back.”
Grafer led us down a spotless hallway filled with paintings, artifacts, awards I knew nothing about. He had to have servants, but I couldn’t tell anyone but he lived here. Everything had its own spot. The dancer I’d met in Tijuana wouldn’t fit in by a longshot.
The walk was meant to intimidate me, and it worked. Another set of doors led to more forest, but a dirt strip had been carved out in front of a hangar. Grafer unlocked the hangar and there, as promised, was the Goose.
“Feel free to inspect her. I’ve kept her in fine shape.”
I did a slow walk around her. She was painted gold with red highlights. Coming to the nose on the pilot’s side, I saw the words Grafer’s Goose in shiny script.
“A golden Goose,” I said.
I must have been beaming. Sonia gave me a nod as if to say this was my reward.
“What the hell.” Grafer’s voice brought me back to earth.
As we reentered to the house, he offered me “a drink before the war.”
“No thanks. If you don’t mind—”
“Certainly. The game room is on our right.”
We walked past a dartboard, a jukebox, and a pool table, to a baize gaming table complete with a balding, bespectacled dealer.
“This is Ernest,” Grafer said. “My regular man recommended him. I want to insure a fair game.”
Ernest let me inspect the cards.
“We’ll play three hands. If you’re still solvent by the third hand, I’ll put up the Goose and Sonia’s freedom. I’ll have the marriage annulled.” One last attempt to sway Sonia. “Agreed?”
“Agreed,” we said together.
Grafer sat to the dealer’s left. He wanted first chance to play the first hand. I sat opposite. Sonia watched from the seat next to Grafer.
On the first hand, I got the jack of spades and the two of hearts.
Grafer bet a hundred. I called it.
The Flop was the queen of clubs, the six of diamonds, and the ten of hearts.
Grafer put down another hundred.
With no prospects and no means to match his raise, I folded.
Ernest shuffled and cut the cards. No tricks I could see. I took a breath. Had to think of Grafer as a man, not a castle or a plane.
I started the next hand with the king of hearts and nine of hearts.
I bet fifty, knowing if I lost I’d be out.
Grafer called the fifty.
Ernest dealt the jack of spades, three of diamonds, and seven of clubs.
No help. If only Grafer had a tell on the Flop.
I checked to him. He bet fifty. The king was too good. I had to call.
The Turn was the king of clubs. “Check.”
“Fold,” Grafer said.
So going into the final hand, my two hundred and change was intact. Would he keep his word? Would he bet the Goose and his wife on one hand?
I got the queen of hearts and the ace of hearts.
Grafer checked. I bet a hundred.
The Flop was the ten of diamonds, the three of spades, and the king of hearts.
Grafer leaned back from his cards and, with some effort, took off his wedding ring and placed it in the pot.
I put in fifty more.
“Very good. Who says what my ring is worth these days?”
The Turn was the jack of hearts.
Grafer bet fifty with a smile. “One more round.”
I called.
The River was the ten of hearts.
Grafer slid the keys to the hangar and the Goose into the pot. Reaching back, he went for his cheek.
I tossed in my change and showed my cards.
“Oh, my.”
I barely heard Grafer as he showed the king of diamonds and the ten of clubs.
He had a full house to my straight flush.
Grafer remained stunned as I collected the money and keys. I couldn’t take his ring.
Sonia followed me out without a word. She didn’t seem happy; she didn’t seem anything.
When we reached the hangar, I said, “Gotta show the Goose to a friend of mine back across the border. The jeep belongs to him, too. I need someone to drive it down.”
She nodded. I gave her the keys and directions to Zath McGrath’s.
As I opened the forward hatch, I saw the gold lettering again: Grafer’s Goose. I’d fix that.
I hit the starter and the props hummed to life. Takeoff was smooth, and when I’d climbed to a thousand feet, I let myself relax.
Then I saw the gas gauge. I was losing too much fuel.
Someone had cut the fuel line. It looked fine on my inspection, but any one of Grafer’s house staff could have cut it during our game. He had put on a great shocked expression when he lost. I might have seen through it if winning hadn’t made me giddy.
The things a pilot ponders when he’s about to crash.
I had to compromise between enough fuel and enough slope to soften the landing. I climbed to twenty-five hundred feet.
The radio worked, and my heading was right, so I tried to raise Zath.
Finally his voice broke through the static. I made my report as short as possible.
“Can you make it to tidal pool?” he asked.
“That’s stretching it.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“How?”
“Can’t worry about me if you drown, can you? And Siege, if you fuck up that Goose any more’n she’s fucked, I’ll kill you.”
Zath had lost use of his legs in a crash. That was sabotage, too. A friend of ours got him work as a mechanic, close enough to a tidal pool so he could float and forget life.
A thousand things fought for my attention.
I remember reaching the pool with almost no control of descent. My left pontoon hit water, spinning me around and around.
I remember thinking God spoke French: “Mes anges. He is one lucky bastard.”
“We’re both lucky.” That sounded like Zath.
“I take care of my friends.”
I’d heard that phrase, that voice, after Zath’s crash.
It wasn’t God. His toupee and mustache came into focus. “Jock,” I said.
“He lives!”
Zath wheeled over and checked my eyes. “Good. I’ll be getting my bed back.”
My head and chest were stiff, but my neck itched like hell.
“Relax, kid. You’re sewn up is all.”
That took a while to register. “How’s the Goose?”
“Spin beached her pretty good, right where we can get at her.”
“Great.”
“Yeah. Can’t say the same for my jeep, can I?”
“She’s not here?”
Zath knew I wasn’t talking about the jeep. Just to needle me, he asked, “She who?”