Hardbingers

3

Jack was dozing in his car outside the Twin Airways hangar in the wilds near a Long Island burg with the improbable name of Muttontown, when Joe Ashe pulled up in a very retro, very bright yellow Chevy SSR pickup.

"Thank God," Jack muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He'd been having trouble hooking up with the Ashe brothers the last two times he'd needed to fly. He hadn't been able to get past their voice mail earlier so he'd driven out to wait. He hoped Joe wasn't here to get ready for another charter.

Joe, tall and skinny, stepped out of his truck and ambled toward Jack's Vic, a curious expression on what little was visible of his face. He wore shades and a cowboy hat low over his fair, shoulder-length hair. The lower part of his face hid behind a short beard just the far side of stubble.

Jack stepped out and waved.

Joe grinned when he recognized him. "Hey, Jack," he said in a molasses-thick Georgia accent. "How're they hangin, boy?"

Jack had borrowed that accent last week when he'd braced the yeniceri from the rear of their Suburban.

"Need your help."

Joe laughed. "Some more larkin like that tire-dumpin gig? Man, that was so fun it oughta be illegal." He struck a pensive pose with a hand to his chin. "Hey, wait a minute. I do believe it was."

"Got to get to Nantucket, Joe."

"Not a problem. Long's you don't need to go today."

"I need to be there now. As in yesterday."

"Shoot, man. I got a charter scheduled for midday." He looked at the gray clouds lidding the sky. "Course that might not happen. Got a heap of weather on the way. A snowy nor'easter, they say."

"What about Frank?" Frank was Joe's twin brother.

"On a charter to Tampa. Lucky bastard. He'll probably stay there awhile to wait out the storm."

"This is really important, Joe. Please. I'll pay you anything."

"Ain't a question of money—question of time. Why'nt you just go commercial? And if you can't do that, I reckon I can call on some folks'll be glad to take you."

"The how is as important as the where and the when. I need to bring along some hardware."

Joe stared at him a moment, then said, "C'mon inside where it's warmer."

He led Jack to the hangar, unlocked the door, and deactivated the alarm. Inside Jack saw a Gulfstream jet and a few small prop models.

In the cozy office in the front corner, Joe started a pot of coffee. Looked like he'd set it up the night before so it would be ready to go.

Jack said, "How long will it take you to get me there?"

"Do 'er in half an hour, tops."

Jack glanced at his watch. "It's only a little after eight. You can be back by nine-thirty."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa." Joe held up his hands. "This here ain't like jumpin inna pickup. You gotta do all sorts of checks'n shit."

"Well, let's get started. I'll help."

He opened his mouth and Jack expected another refusal, but Joe caught himself. Maybe Jack's desperation had seeped through.

Finally he sighed. "Shit. What the fuck. Let's do 'er. How long you plan bein there?"

"Overnight. Less if you can hang out and—"

"'Fraid you're gonna have to get back on your own. Last thing I need is to get snowed in at ACK."

"Ak?"

"A-C-K—Nantucket Memorial's ID code. Come on. Let's get doin if we're gonna do this."

Jack wanted to hug him but figured Joe wouldn't appreciate that.