Chapter 27

“We’re inside a metal tube, Mark. You can test inside the airplane? How do you get any reception?”

Since when did psycho-bitch get her tits all technical? I’m gonna guess she’s thinking about banging the big guy. I’ll have to ask Bill how her tits are doing.

“Mark?”

“Uh, yeah ... it’s about 44dBm. But timings are not right.”

“What does that mean? Is your design failing? Do I have to go back in?”

“Calm your tits. Ya think my designs don’t account for this shit? I can handle the freq drift over the whole rated temp and voltage. Ya must think Bob and me are idiots. That, woman, is called engineering.”

“Mark, why are you...”

“Mark, whom is Bob?”

“Robert Dundron. The other principle. Bob and me, we’re the two original engineers for the SoCal company your father bought.”

“Why have I not heard of him?”

“I give up, Bill. Why not?”

“That is not what I meant. Sandra had asked Janice for a list of her principal designers. Why was he not on that list?”

“Don’t know, man. Not as if Bob’s a new hire. He’s been with us since shortly after we graduated.”

Whoa there, doggies. Why would Janice not list him as a principle? Bob’s the only other guy that really knows how all this shit works. Maybe I should run a daemon on Bob to make sure Janice and her big Machiavellian business tits aren’t up to weird shit.

“Interesting. I will have to ask Sandy about this, and about Dundron.”

“Yeah, Sandy knows the guy. Bob is cool. Also, the last I knew, he’s the guy now banging Janice.”

Yeah, laugh it up, psycho-bitch. I was banging you once. Whatever.

“Looks okay. Dianne’s installation has been verified. What’s next?”

“San Jose.”

“When?”

“Uncertain. I will probably not be able to make the San Jose contact for at least twelve days.”

“Yeah? Guess what, boys and girls, we’re gonna stop off at the big fuckin’ ditch.”

“The big what?”

“Socata TBM november seven zero zero charlie sierra is cleared to KGCN, via V12 INW V291 KACEE BISOP. Climb and maintain 7000, expect 12000 five minutes after departure, departure frequency 127.4, squawk 1610.

“Ground, TBM zero charlie sierra is cleared GCN, V12 to V291 via Kacee Bisop. To seven thousand, expect twelve in five minutes. Departure on 27.4, squawking 1610. TBM zero charlie sierra. I am at Cham’s, ready to go.”

“Zero zero charlie sierra, taxi to runway eight via fox to golf, hold for release.”

“Take fox to golf for runway eight, and hold for release. Zero charlie sierra.”

Must be at least six knots cross-wind component. Don’t wanna crab much more. Will take too much rudder to kick on the flare. Got enough runway, so take your time asshole, don’t force it on the deck ... What the...!? Fucking ice. Gotta get it back up.

“What’s wrong, Mark?”

“Had ice on the runway, so I took a bolter.”

I’m an idiot. That was too fuckin’ close. One little gust and would’ve been a smoking piece of toast off the side of the runway.

“Where will you land?”

“Flagstaff. We can rent something there to go visit the ditch.”

“I have no gear.”

“Yeah? Weren’t you an eagle scout or some shit like that? Ya know, ‘always prepared’.”

“Do not be mean, Mark. Bill had no notification or time to assemble any gear for this trip.”

“Whatever. Bill, they probably got all sorts of places to buy shit in Flagstaff. Guess we’ll be burning a day to get ready. You two fuckers go get shit for snow camping. I’ll be waiting in my plane. I need to call the gunny, let him know my pos.”

So psycho-bitch is standing up for the defenseless little Billy boy? Interesting. Yep, she’s definitely planning on banging Billy boy.

“Is this legal? The main entrance to the North Rim is closed.”

“They shut the North Rim down every winter. Why the fuck you care? Ya got a gun and feebie badge, don’t ya? Call it official business.”

“Mark I do not think that...”

“If you don’t wanna hang, go be a pussy and drive around to the south rim. I’m gonna go. Here’s my route itinerary. Come pick me up in four days at Jacob Lake. If it snows too much in the next two or three days, I’ll backtrack, go down the Bright Angel, come back up and meet ya losers at the South Rim in five days. If I’m not outa the ditch in seven or eight days, y’all will probably have to wait until the spring to retrieve my carcass. Questions? Bye.”

“Mark! Stop! Are you fucking crazy?”

“I’m not the one that’s crazy. Bye.”

To this day, I am uncertain why I was determined to isolate myself from Bill and Dianne, and walk through the snow-covered north rim of the Grand Canyon. But this was keeping with a trait that would intensify over time – upon observing a piece of unfettered nature, I chose to abandon humanity and run headlong into the ‘wilderness’, even without a thirty-second risk assessment. My wild, perhaps impulsive, side had emerged and become predominate during the years after my discharge from the military; some what say that my post-discharge beard represented that.

And another facet about this period of my life, was that my inner dialogue was conflicted and inconsistent. As I proceeded through this era, I came to understand the two sides of my internal dialogue. Part of me wanted to just surf, walk the wilds, drink beer, and get an occasional blow-job. Another part of me wanted to save my country from the commies, somewhat peculiar to a child of the cold-war era. My reasons, nee rationalization, about what I was doing, and why I was doing it, took me into thoughts of a perceived noblesse oblige; that is, I was full of shit.

I do recall one other thing about this particular jaunt into the wilds; I remember that it was one of the times where I could not bring myself to care about personal risk. This level of dark ambivalence is not necessarily bad. Not caring about caring provides one with an unbounded sense of freedom. And the illusion, and allusion to, of freedom was, and remains, important to me.

But back to the basis for my (marginal) outdoor competence. While Nick, Joe, and myself had done many side-canyon hikes to the main canyon, we avoided hiking in the winter above 5000 feet and/or took routes where the snow did not conceal terrain features. To be precise, I had yet to have any relevant experience with hiking in a snow pack of any appreciable depth, much less the stuff found above 7000 feet.

I donned my ‘snow-plow’ bunny boots, gators, and pack, while ignoring the supposed exhortations of psycho-bitch. I cannot recall Dianne Santiago’s exact words, but I do remember some of her more colorful adjectives and adverbs, noting that Dianne’s repertoire of insults had improved over the last year or two.

Bill Hats was, conversely, strangely quiet and never offering an argument, not discouraging me to seek the wilderness alone; which I did appreciate.

Yeah, these Ponderosa Pines are good stuff. Good wind and snow block. Gonna hang out here until that shit passes through. Should’ve done full snow shoes? ... Nah, fuck that. This new shit falling now will probably be only a few centimeters. The stuff under it is hard-packed.

Whoa. All the sounds. So different. The trees must be creaking under the weight of the snow. That’s cool. Cool? Hah, I crack myself up. The falling snow sure attenuates the fuck outa everything, both light and sound.

It’s starting to open up to the west. Becoming intermittent. Time to step out again. Listen to that snow crunch. Damn, I’m making a mess of the fresh snow, ruining the scene. Whatever. Odin will strike me if it pisses him off. Wait, who was the guy? Boreas? Nah, he was the North Wind dude. There needs to be a goddess of snow. Yeah, Dave said there was a Tang and Song goddess. Tengliu? Wonder how the commie Chinese square their Buddhism with a goddess from their ancient dynasties? Some religious people are so full of shit.

Pinyon? Sage? Yep, gotta be below six thousand. This side canyon should take me below the Walhalla. Will be at the snow level before sunset. Have to find a ledge or flat place to camp. Water should be okay if I stay just below snow line.

“Fucking-A. Look at that.”

Who the fuck was I talking to? Maybe the gods? Damn good job there, Jupiter. You may have been an asshole to the Romans, but you never allowed sunsets to be fucked up ... This is a good place as any to setup for the night.

Well, just fucking dog-shit. And double dog-shit. Looks like its gonna dump for the third day in a row. Gotta pack it up and get down into the canyon.

“Oh, shit. Wrong canyon, shouldn’t be going east.”

Should’ve gone down that side ravine, three clicks back. Why the fuck do I keep talking aloud? Am I going psycho? Whatever.

Better take a back-azimuth to that pinnacle, then another to Vishnu Temple ... Yep, that means I’m about here. Went to far ... Fuck this, I’ll just keep going past Wotans, then back up the next big canyon.

“Hello there, weirdo squirrel.”

Yeah, fuck it. I’m gonna feed the little guy. It’s off season, ain’t no one here, and all his chow is 600 or 700 meters up above and under snow. Lemmee log his furry little ass into my notebook. Where did I see those noisy blue jays, not to mention all of the other critters? Log that shit too.

Shit, gonna have to get lower. Slush. Fucking hate slush. I’ll climb up a little to get water, then back down to get outa this shit. If this shit doesn’t stop, gonna have start towards Bright Angel canyon within two days. Whatever.

Oh shit. Look’s like I’m busted. Those two rangers don’t look happy. Whatever.

“I’m not late, Dianne. What’s with the welcoming committee?”

“My God, Mark. You really did it. The rangers said that your route would be over fifty miles, at least half in the snow.”

“Nah, less than a third was in the white stuff. I mostly kept under the snow line. While I’m here, I got something for you people. Y’all still taking wildlife reports?”

“Uh, yes we are, but only if the time and accurate locations are recorded.”

“Cool. I got all of that shit. Went down at Atoko, past Siegfried, Juno, and Venus. Then back across from below Vishnu and Wotans, took the side canyon back up to Walhalla rim. Then took the main trail down to Phantom. Let me tear these pages outa my notebook. Here, take my map. The locations are numbered for my notes.”

That woman ranger seems all interested. She must be the biology dweeb. That guy doesn’t look impressed. He must be the law, and he still doesn’t look happy. I’m gonna guess that is a man that needs to get laid and log some hooter time.

“Incredible ... Remarkable ... Perfection ... Stan, this is essential. We haven’t been able to complete a survey of the southern Walhalla Plateau and its drainage areas this season.”

“Sir, may I see some identification?”

“Yep. gotta get it outa my pack.”

“Thank you. I am going to cite you for...”

“Stan! No. Please do not ... Mister, I would like for you to talk to my supervisor.”

“Tell ya what, Mister Ranger. I’ll do an interview with your wildlife nerds if ya don’t bust my dumb ass.”

“Stan? Please?”

“Mister Jackson, you are a fool, and you are lucky. Please tend to Terry’s questions.”

“Ya gotta deal, dude. But I really do need a shower first. I mean, I don’t wanna be around me now.”

Bill thinks that’s funny? What is with rich people and their weird humor? Whatever.

“Socata november seven zero zero charlie sierra is cleared to KRHV, via V210 HEC V12 PMD AVE ROM V485 SJC. Climb and maintain 10500, expect flight level 220 five minutes after departure, departure frequency 124.85, squawk 1011.”

“Flagstaff Ground, cleared KRHV via V210 HEC V12 PMD AVE ROM V485 SJC. To ten point five, flight level 220 five minutes after departure. Departure frequency 124.85 and squawk 1011. Zero zero charlie sierra is ready for taxi at Hale FBO.”

“Read-back is correct. Taxi to runway three via alpha to alpha nine, hold short and contact tower.”

“Alpha to alpha nine. Hold for three. Good day, ground. Zero charlie sierra.”

“Thank you for flying Bullshit Airlines. Please fasten your seat belts and refrain from shooting your asshole pilot ... Uh, its gonna be a bit rough for the first five to ten mike, people. Strap your ass in.”

They’re both back there talking on their fancy cell phones? What the fuck about? I’m about to fly over the Grand Ditch and they’re on phones? If those cell phones get any more common, people are never gonna look up and see all the cool shit. Whatever.

Why is Bill coming up here? The patron visiting the peon help? He sure as fuck didn’t act aristocratic while at school.

“Dianne said that she’s actually not that surprised you walked that route. I did question her decision to meet you at the South Rim. She was adamant that you would be there. Quite the extraordinary journey, Mark.”

“Nah, me and my buds being running around in these parts since Jesus was a Lance Corporal. Basic field-craft. But I am sorta pissed that psycho-bitch didn’t flash her fancy Treasury ID to get me off the hook. I was interrogated by those wildlife biology nerds for over two fucking hours. I dunno, but that has to violate some of the Geneva Convention shit.”

“You do like hyperbole.”

“Yeah? I’ve told ya a billion times not to exaggerate.”

“Dianne did warn me that you do try to be exceedingly clever.”

“Yep, I can crack a funny sometimes. So did you two wimps find a way to hike in?”

“Yes we did. It was exceptional. I was pleasantly surprised with Dianne’s outdoors skills ... It is my understanding that you were an electronics technician in the military.”

“Yep.”

“Yet you exhibit excellent field skills. So do all Marines get field training?”

“Ya know, your sister asked that same question ... The Corps is really big on basic infantry training for everyone. Cook, tech, admin, supply, whatever. We all do a few weeks of ITS right after boot. The grunts do a hellofa lot more.”

“What weapons and field training do technical people in the Marines receive?”

“I dunno what’s going on now in the suck. Back in the 70s and early 80s, wingers did not do much other than an annual rifle and pistol re-qual, and run a PFT once or twice a year.”

“Yet, according to the colonel, you have sniper-level skills.”

“Sure as fuck am not a sniper, dude. That, at least in the Corps, is at a totally different level. They got a special school for that shit. Way past my skill level. But to get promoted, at least in the Marine Corps, you have to shoot well. And we gotta qualify out to 500 meters. So there is that. But hittin’ a man-sized piece of non-moving paper, while laying prone, sure the fuck is not sniper stuff ... You gonna tell me why ya carryin’?”

“Carrying?”

“You’re carrying a weapon. Why?”

“If you are wondering about my shooting abilities, my father had the colonel train me before I left for college. As for my bearing a pistol now, I was so instructed.”

“By who?”

“Special Agent Johnson.”

“Why?”

“To provide back-up to yourself and Dianne.”

“Ya got papers for carrying?”

“Yes, and so does Sandy.”

Interesting. Miss blonde musician is now armed and dangerous? Guess I was right, he’s my body man. Fucking weird accumulation of humanity we got going here in this little spook-filled gaggle.

“So what’s going on back at the Palace?”

“Per Special Agent Johnson and Dianne, our property has been secured, and most of the colonel’s department has been removed.”

Secured? Removed? He, at least according to Sandy, is supposed to be a member in good standing of ‘last of the good guys’. Bill is now using spook euphemisms?

That’s interesting. Why’s he giving a sneaky look back into the cabin?

“Mark, you need to know a few things.”

“Dude, be careful. Gunny Scott and Jonathon want me kept on a short leash.”

“I understand. But this is more of a personal nature. My parents and my self had a recent discussion about you. We consider yourself to be the single most important subject to Hats Industries, and not just for the conveyance of business matters.”

“That’s pretty fucked up, dude. Puttin’ all your cookies in my basket is a really dumb shit move. Even my cat thinks I’m an idiot.”

This dude laughs at the most stupid shit. Whatever.

“You must understand this, Mark. Your understanding of the world may be invalid. Cucullus non facit monachum.”

What the fuck, over? Now the ‘dumb jock is doing Latin? Do I look like a Socrates student or some shit?

“Gesundheit. You should probably take some vitamin C for that. What did ya say to me?”

“Literally, the cowl does not make the monk.”

“I still dunno what ya saying ... Uh, the clothes don’t make the man?”

“Not really. First-level appearances of situations are deceptive. Mark, the world does not work the way most think it does.”

“Yeah? Well, no shit, Batman. About everyone knows that.”

“Yes, many do have some limited realization of this; but only if one has seen much of this world, such as yourself. Although it runs deeper. It can be argued that the direction that history takes is not always a happenstance guided by the basic human needs. The level of societal and cultural manipulation has changed and has become deeper, and arises has become more powerful and more centralized with each passing decade after World War II.”

Geez, why the fuck is everyone giving me history lessons? Him and the gunny should talk.

“Yeah, so what? The powerful and rich have always manipulated shit. That ain’t nothing new.”

“You explained parts of this to me while we were students at Fullerton. About the force of that technology exerts on people, the diminishing effect of the majority’s will on outcomes, and a decreasing number of people that are able understand the mechanics of modern society.”

“I said that shit?! Dude, I never remember saying that. But it does sound sorta profound.”

“You did not use those exact words, Mark. But your thoughts on the world, that you shared with me, and when combined with my father’s attempts to explain his monetary methods, that was the meaning I extracted.”

“Still dunno what all of this heavy-duty philosophy has to do with why you consider me so essential to Hats Industries.”

“Actually, it was derived from a conversation that my step-mother had with the colonel, and subsequent further thought given by my father. The relationship that you have developed with Sandy further enforces that.”

Oh shit. This does not sound like it’s going in a good direction.

“Bill, just because I’ve have seen your sister’s spectacular body naked doesn’t make me valuable to the company. Your shit makes no sense ... Wait, Mrs Hats is your step mother?”

“You did not know? My father married Sandy’s mother when we were three. They were both widowed.”

“That explains why she’s a lot better lookin that ya, Bill. And what does Mrs Hats have to do with me? I don’t even know the woman.”

“It was probably my mother that had my father investigate your background upon learning of my sister’s attraction for you.”

“Yeah, that’s been explained to me, her being a poor little rich girl and all of that shit. I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either, I figure they were just covering their ass. But I’m not gonna be a problem for long, so Miss Mommy Hats can rest her little tits.”

“I do not understand, Mark.”

“Ya need to know something about high-class women like Sandy, and this shit has rang true for me for the last ten years. They don’t see guys like me as permanent. Sandy will eventually get tired of my shit and kick me to the curb. Think of it this way, dude, I’m a temp.”

“You have failed to understand my sister on many levels, Mark. My initial response is that...”

“Bill, the colonel wants to talk to you. He is on my celluar.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“On the bench seat ... How is it going, Mark?”

“Uh, just watching my plane fly itself. Really demanding shit, ya know?”

“You remain just as interesting as when we first met. Do not change, Mark ... I need to get back to work.”

I’m interesting? Whatever. At least I ain’t psycho. Go get your crazy ass back to ‘work’. Type away, bitch. Just how many reports does a spook Treasury Agent need to write? Who the fuck even reads that shit?

“ ... because of the consolidation in the southeast, primarily Florida”

She may have outstanding tits, but she’s not only psycho, but totally whacked. Fuck it, just say it to her, man. Fucking do it.

“You really are bat-shit crazy. I don’t know how to fly a many-motor. And I would lose my license if the feds caught my dumb ass.”

“Many-motor?”

“Multi-engine aircraft. Flight dynamics are different than single engine planes. Dammit, Dianne, if shit went south, we’d be crispy, burnt toast.”

“Then learn how to fly the Hats’ airplane, Mark. You have seventeen days.”

“Fuck me. Then ya have to let me go get my instructor, assuming that she’ll be available.”

“Mark?”

Why’s the big guy coming into this conversation?

“I would think that a six-figure contract would be sufficient inducement.”

So the rich baseball jock is stepping into the fray with his wallet open? I’m gonna bet a twenty that his motivation comes from the psycho-bitch’s tits. Misguided, but can’t blame Bill. Those are outstanding tits. He gonna have to give me a SITREP on those tits one of these days.

“Yeah, I will hit her up with that. You offered, Bill, so you pay.”

“Agreed. Go get your flight instructor, Mark.”

Rich fuckers. They think that enough money will make anything happen the way they want it. Yeah, I’m full of shit, Bill is right, money really can buy just about anything. Jane is gonna freak over a six-digit payday.

“You did as well as I had expected, Mark. The DE had nothing but good things to say. He was impressed that you did this in in less than seven hours of instruction, but he was somewhat concerned about me turning you loose on your own.”

“I’m not about to do anything stupid with any many-motor, especially this crate. These things are complex pieces of under-performing crap, at least compared to my TBM.”

“I cannot disagree. I still have three days under my contract with Hats Industries. Do you feel okay with this machine? If not, there is the five-day Simcom course for new 340 pilots. They are located in Florida. I recommend it, Mark. This is probably the most complex airframe you have flown.”

“Yeah, was thinking ‘bout that. With less than ten hours in it, was thinking I shouldn’t be driving much of anyone around. How ‘bout a few hours under the hood? I still don’t feel good about taking the 340 into the soup. And maybe a few more hours on emergency procedures and systems?”

“We can do that. You should rest from the check-ride. We’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”

“Let’s go up right now, Jane. I’m okay. That check ride did nothing to stress me.”

“Okay. Fuel it up. I will go in and file. We’ll limit ourselves to two instruction hours today, and maybe three or four hours each for the next two days.”

“Ya know something there, Jane? You’re my favorite CFI. As a bonus, ya wanna use my TBM to get your re-currency? I’m gonna be taking this crate to Florida, anyway. So you can fly my TBM back east, and I’ll follow.”

“Fucking relax, gunny. You did a BI on Jane Fillingame yourself. And she is, unlike me, a real, live professional pilot. Which is what you idiots should have been using instead of my dumb ass.”

“Watson, I will agree that you are a dumb-shit. Okay, she will fly the Socata. But one thing, either Sons or myself rides shotgun in whatever bird she is driving. When are you going to be ready?”

“Whenever I get the roster and equipment list. And I wanna stop off at the stumps and get Sandy and the furbags. They’re gonna fly with me on the 340. You other losers can ride the TBM with Jane.”

“This is my first time in Dad’s plane in years. I don’t think Dad has flown this for at least five or six years. Do you like it, Mark?”

Shit. She’s all perked up waiting for me to comment on daddy’s pretty little trolley bus. Gotta keep those tits relaxed.

“It’s a comfortable airplane. But I really need more training if I’m gonna do anything other than fly it to Florida. Which reminds me, did Mister Hats find himself another plane driver?”

“Scotty did not tell you?”

What the fuck now? No one tells me shit. Not even Nick. I’m gonna butt-stroke that boy.

“Tell me what?”

“You will be Dad’s pilot.”

Say what? Somebody is fucking high on drugs and feeding this lady a line of BS.

“Not a good idea. I need another twenty or thirty hours in this little bus before I’m anybody’s official driver. And nobody told be shit about being daddy’s chauffeur.”

“You are not a chauffeur. And you seem to be flying his airplane just fine. I always feel safe flying with you, Mark.”

Yeah, I’ll fly you anytime, lady ... Guess someone will eventually tell me what the fuck is going on when we get to Florida ... Looks like Nyota is using Darcy as a mattress. Wonder if a five or six kilo kitty even registers on a doggo over 30 kilos?

“Wow. What was that?”

“Bach’s Flute Partita in A minor.”

“Good stuff, lady. Did you play this good before you went to Fullerton?”

She’s not gonna answer? What? She can’t strip and talk at the same time? Wait, she’s takin’ clothes off?! Oh, yeah. Now that’s a bod built for...”

“You coming to bed, Mark?”

“Have you studied religion, Mark?”

Weird question, old man. Why is Mrs Hats giving me the stink-eye? Good thing that Sandy did not inherent her mommy’s tit gene. Guessing that Sandy’s tits came from her biological daddy’s side. I thought all rich assholes married big titters; so why did Jason Hats marry a no-titter? Guessin’ that he didn’t get the memo about rich guys and large hooter coefficients.

“Mark? Have you studied the origins and history of religion?”

“Uh, no, sir. Didn’t have the time to take that stuff.”

“I would guess not. Actually, neither did I, not the undergrad level, at least until my thesis advisor at the War College suggested such studies.”

The old man is about to ruin some damn good chow trying to discuss my least favorite subject. Gotta deflect this shit.

“Uh, talk to Sandy about that stuff. I think Sandy said she did a semester or two on religion stuff.”

“I did, Mark. Dad, why are we discussing religion. This is not a comfortable subject for Mark.”

“I was not aware, Mark. Suffice to say, for you to move forward, and for you to understand and give meaning to the tasks we have at hand, I would encourage you to understand the history and culture behind humanity’s spiritual belief systems.”

Yeah, right. I’ll jump right into that shit. Just as soon as I finish chow and take your hot daughter down to the beach ... Well, I do get religion every time I see her tits...

“Shall I serve dessert, sir?”

“Please do, Leon.”

Now I remember where I saw this Leon guy. He worked at the school cafeteria.

“Uh, Mister Leon. Didn’t you work at Cal State Fullerton?”

“I did, sir.”

“Dude, I’m ‘Mark’. Mister Hats is the only ‘sir’ around these parts. So how ya get this gig?”

“I hired Leon, Mark.”

“Yeah? Good hire decision, Sandy.”

What’s with mommy? I’m not supposed to hang with the hired help? Maybe daddy needs to rail mommy more often. A good railing would help mommy’s attitude.

“Remember the graduation party? He catered that.”

“Yep. I sure do remember that. That was damn good chow at that party, Leon. That was a nice spread. You’re gonna have to show me how ya did those ribs, man...

“Mark, we will need you to fly Sandra and myself to Tampa, as I am on the arts and orchestration committee.”

“Sorry, ma’am. No can do until I take the SIMCO course.”

“You are under contract, Mister Watson.”

What contract? How much wine has this no-tits old gal been drinking?

“Uh, no such animal, Mrs Hats. Never signed no contract to do any charter work or flying. I only delivered your Cessna 340 as a courtesy to Mister Hats. Tell ya what, If I got time, I’ll let y’all hitch a ride on my TBM for free up to Tampa.”

Daddy looks okay, but mommy is turning red and looking non-happy.

“So are ya about ready to go to the beach, Sandy? We need to get...”

“Jason, I thought this young man was to be the departmental head for transport services.”

“Most certainly not, dear. Mark is, or was, the co-founder of the Orange County operation we bought during the last round of acquisitions. His functions, per the acquisition contract, was to be my chief of security systems and be the Director of Engineering for his existing operation.”

Shit, hope I didn’t start an argument between the parental units. Don’t get your panties in a wad, old people.

“This is the man that is the supposed security systems expert? Sandra, is this the young man that I had previously investigated and...”