“Yeah, yeah,” Slipper said rather disdainfully, because he was trained in the old days and understood modern forensic science about as well as he did his VCR, which he still didn’t know how to work. “I already was gonna do all that.”
Thirteen
Trooper Macovich had flown the First Family to the helipad downtown and then returned to the state police hangar where he was now up on a stepladder, cleaning bugs off the 430’s bird-proof windshield in the glare of lamps along the tarmac.
Yeah, being a helicopter pilot was glamorous, all right, Macovich sourly thought. Nothing more exciting than hauling around the governor, who was blind as a bat, and that family of his, who acted as if they were royalty. Hell, the Crimms never thanked or praised him, and he hadn’t gotten a decent raise in a while, either. It wasn’t fair that Andy Brazil could be suspended for an entire year and then dance back to work as if nothing happened.
Macovich hoped Andy got what was coming to him and that everybody else did, too. Macovich wished something magic would happen in his life to help him out of debt and ease his relentless, exhausting sexual cravings. Women and most men didn’t have any idea what it was like to have a stallion between your legs that was always kicking, bucking, and snorting to get out of the stall, even when the horsie, as Macovich called it, was asleep. His lustful nature had trotted into his life at a very early age, and his father used to chuckle with pride and call his boy Thorlo Thoroughbred, not realizing that little Thorlo was developing a big problem that would eventually dominate his body and his life. He had to have women, and it was expensive. He had to have women who were sexually insatiable and skilled enough to stay in the saddle no matter how hard the ride, and female company like that was hard to find.
Macovich stopped scrubbing away bugs for a moment when he noticed a Land Cruiser boldly pull up and park right in front of the state police hangar. A tough-looking white kid with dreadlocks climbed out and walked toward the helicopter as if he had every right in the world to do as he pleased.
“Hey!” Macovich said sternly. “This is a restricted area.”
“And I’m lost as hell,” the kid replied. “Can you tell me how to get to the regular airport? I got a flight to Petersburg in fifteen minutes and I’m gonna miss it for sure if I don’t get there fast.”
“There ain’t no flights to Petersburg,” Macovich said as he scrubbed a stubborn splat with the rag. “Petersburg’s only thirty-something miles from here, so why you need to fly there? Just drive and you can get there just as quick.”
The other road dogs had their windows down, listening and tensely wondering what Smoke was going to do. Man, worried Cat, if Smoke skyjacked that chopper, there wasn’t a way in the world the dogs were ready to fly such a thing. Cat could see from the backseat of the Land Cruiser that the cockpit looked like a spaceship, with hundreds of overhead switches and circuit breakers and other components unfamiliar to him. He nudged Cuda.
“What we gonna do he shoot that trooper and take the chopper?” Cat asked.
“Maybe we steal a Peterbilt and haul it in the reefer?”
“Won’t fit in any reefer I ever seen.”
“Yeah. Have to take the top off the reefer with a blowtorch so the propeller would have some room. That the biggest propeller I ever seen.”
“They’re called blades,” Possum corrected them. “Boats and prop planes got propellers. Not helicopters.”
“Well, they still ain’t gonna fit!” Cat said, annoyed.
“Just go south on the interstate and you can’t miss it,” Macovich summed up directions to Petersburg.
“How ’bout I pay you to drop us off in this thing?” Smoke nodded at the huge, beautiful helicopter. “How fast could it get us there?”
“Ten minutes, unless we got a head wind. But I can’t give you a ride. The helicopter is used only by the governor and his family.”