Mike Smith Is Dead—Pt. 5

The newspaper notice appeared in the paper on Thursday, the funeral would be Monday. That became significant because Friday morning two black sedans arrived at the Holiday Inn. Kip’s room faced west toward the highway and he had been gazing into the hazy morning. Four men got out who definitely were not salesmen. Kip could tell when one bent over to tie his shoe he was carrying a weapon.

He called Maggie on the hotel phone. “I have to go, I’m putting you in danger by being here.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Listen Mags, I’m not supposed to be alive and most of all I’m not supposed to be here. Believe me it’s too long a story to tell you right now and if anyone asks just say I’m dead. You have the death certificate.”

“Well isn’t that something?” He could tell she was angry. “I go to all the trouble to track you down in God knows where, and now you say you’re running away again. Listen Michael, you never could sit still and are just as unreliable as you ever were. And, tell me, what do you think I am supposed to do while you go back to la la land to sit on your duff and smoke cigars with Cubans or Mexicans in the sunshine?”

“I’m sorry,” he pled. “Get Bob to help you. If I stay here there’s no telling what might happen. I was told never to return. I’m sorry, I have to go.” Kip hung up before she could say more. He knew if they asked at the desk they wouldn’t know if Mike Smith had been registered or who he was, even his sister didn’t know what name he registered under. Kip used his special French passport and credit card to book the room. Plus, he had used the French passport to enter the country; the newspaper was probably the slip up he worried about. He picked up the hotel phone to call Hertz Rental, “I need a car to be picked up in an hour, and it’s a drop off one way to Dallas Love Field.” Next he called a taxi, “Important that the driver pick me up at the back door of Applebee’s restaurant, next door to the Holiday Inn.” Kip stuffed some clothes and toiletries into the new small carryon and left the large suitcase behind, including his dark blue suit and a note to deliver it to his sister’s room.

Kip called the desk and told them he was checking out early and to mail the receipt to the address given. He had listed his mother’s house.

Minutes later Kip ran down the back stairs and up the sidewalk to the back of the restaurant. He couldn’t see the front parking lot of the hotel from where he stood and justified if he couldn’t see it they couldn’t see him. Five minutes later the taxi a new Chevy stretch van pulled up and he climbed in and tossed his bag onto the seat beside him. A twenty dollar taxi ride with tip, and then he was let out at the Hertz location in town. A small Toyota car was waiting. Kip knew he had a nine-hour drive ahead and it would be nighttime before he made it to Dallas, plus he had not called Rosa. He skirted around Maryville on the bypass therefore avoiding a drive by the Holiday Inn Express.

Sometime in late afternoon along I-35 Kip saw a Walmart with a gas station. He pulled off the road, filled with gas, and went into the store to buy another burn phone and a deli sandwich. He immediately called Rosa. “Rosa, change of plans, headed home my love; field no questions.” He talked to a recording and wondered if his message was too cryptic. “I hope her cell phone isn’t bugged.”

She called back a few minutes later. She was crying so hard he couldn’t understand her and had to pull off the road.

“Love field. I’ll need to go home, I’ll make changes for Monday.”

Kip hoped that meant she would meet him at Love field on Monday. He replied. “Doubletree.” They disconnected. Late Saturday night Kip arrived at the Doubletree Hotel. He used the new burn phone to call Marcos. “Kip Waller here.”

He laughed, “Where?”

“Doubletree.”

“Well, chill out, we have mechanical issues and nothing is moving tonight, talk to you tomorrow. He snickered, “You interrupted a conversation I was having with my mechanic; anyway Kip, I’ll get up with you tomorrow.” He disconnected.

Kip checked in, got a room on the fourth floor and crashed on the bed. He woke the next morning to ringing of the room phone, He glanced at the clock; the time was 5 AM.

“Kip, it’s time you were up. What room are you in?”

“412, give me ten,” was all Kip said. He hung up and headed for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later Marcos stood at Kip’s door with two cups of coffee and a couple of sticky buns.

Kip gladly accepted the coffee and pastry. “Thanks.”

“It’s American coffee, a little weak, but only thing available.”

“Well, I’m here and all is not well in the ville.” He tried to talk through mouthfuls of the sticky bun. “They seem to think I might be there, or at least think I am there now. Newspaper article on my mothers obit really screwed me.”

“Where’s Rosa?”

“On her way I think. Supposed to be here Monday.” Kip sipped a drink of coffee.

“Well, the court released the airplane to us on Thursday, but the bad news is right now it needs work. Sam got here last night and is on it already this morning. I got the keys and looked it over as soon as I got here; the hanger mechanic told me about a couple of issues, it really looks like the previous owner got a little upset when he found out it was going to be repossessed, lots of stuff taken out and cut. Parts are hard to come by; FedEx made a delivery last night and is supposed to deliver today. So, we might get off the ground by Tuesday or Wednesday if we’re lucky.”

Kip sipped his coffee and pointed with his little finger. “I don’t like swimming with sharks in the Gulf. Or sucking sand in a Mexican desert.”

Marcos nodded. “Me either. If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, we need some grunt work. Handing tools and parts to me and Sam.”

“I’ll need work clothes.”

“Not a problem, I have an extra coverall.”

“Cool. A little stretching will do me good after being cramped in a Toyota for 650 miles, with bad guys looking for me.”

“You don’t think you were followed here do you?”

“I hope not. I don’t know how they knew I was in Missouri, except maybe the newspaper announcement of my mother’s passing and my passport picture being processed in St. Thomas, they took a shot I might show up, I didn’t know I was going to be listed in the paper as a surviving son. My sister has a married name so she wouldn’t hit radar and she was only listed as a surviving daughter, but it was easy to trace my family to my mother and me.”

“Oh yeah, sorry to hear that man, happens to us all.” Marcos dusted crumps from his lap. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, and thanks Marcos. I’ll get my shoes on and then let's go help your mechanic.”

Marcos laughed. “Oh, Sam’s a bit different, but the best jet mechanic in the business.”

“I’m going to hold on to the rental until Monday, weekend rate includes Monday, that way I can pick up Rosa if indeed she’s coming. Something’s going on with her. Let me get my act together and I’ll meet you at the hanger in few minutes or so. How are you getting to the field?”

“Borrowed the hanger mechanic son’s Cushman scooter.” Marcos stood and walked to the door. “Got anything other than deck shoes?”

“Athletic shoes.”

“You’ll need boots, drop a wrench on those shoes and you’ll lose a toe. What size do you wear?”

Kip looked at his feet. “Ten and a half wide if available.”

He laughed. “I’ll run by Walmart. I have a saddle bag on the scooter I borrowed from the hanger guy.”

A half hour later Kip walked into hanger 32R. Marcos was standing on a platform below an open engine on the opposite side of the fuselage of a luxury jet aircraft. He was looking upward on a tall ladder. The long legs of the mechanic were all that was visible from below. “Hey,” Kip said as he walked in.

Marcos ducked and waved. “Boots and coveralls in the locker room.”

Kip searched the multiple doors until he came to one marked “locker room.” On a bench was a pair of work boots and brown coveralls. He put his shoes and jacket in a locker and slipped on the coveralls and tight boots. “Wish I told him to pick up boot socks.”

A loud banging and a few expletives flew from the hanger.

Kip emerged from the locker room and walked over to Marcos and the platform. “Your labor has arrived.”

“Hey, Sam take a break and meet Kip.” Marcos climbed down to floor level. “Sam flew in from Argentina yesterday.”

There was a tray of tools and a thermos of coffee and three cups. Marcos began pouring coffee. “Sam meet Kip Waller, an old friend, he’ll be riding with us if you can get this bird in the air.”

Kip looked over at the approaching mechanic who was unzipping the front of her coveralls. She was a tall Argentinean woman with tightly pulled back hair. Kip thought she might be better suited for Gaucho pants and a tucked blouse rather than coveralls.

She extended her hand. “Hi, it’s really Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam.” Her hands were solid and rough.

Kip must have looked startled or embarrassed because when he shook her hand she giggled.

Marcos noticed.

“Kip, she’s the best in the business especially with small jets, and can break every bone in your body if she if she sees a need. She used to be an Argentine commando and spent ten years as a guard at the embassy in Washington DC.” He laughed. “She’s been taking apart jet engines for several years now as well as pushing these birds through the sky.”

“Oh, cool.” If he had any prurient thoughts they were quickly dissuaded. “If we’re attacked in Dallas it’ll be women to the front.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Sam smiled and tossed a dirty shop rag at Kip.

To be continued ....