Caracas Bound

A shot Lou took with the black and white setting.






The morning comes with the monkeys and the birds and the dawn. I'm sure there are bugs in there as well but they are drowned out by the screeching. I also can hear moaning that turns into pleading and finally shouting at those fucking monkeys and birds. If Lou was armed right now there would be gunfire and then silence. But he is not and the rest of this racket is not mixing well with the hangover.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He shouts one last time before a couple of empty beer bottles are launched into the jungle. There is a momentary lull in the jungle noise and then it washes back in like the tide. Lou sits up and holds the sides of his head for a moment. "Jesus... "
I look at him with the one eye I have open. We are both in chairs at on the patio near the pool. With the exception of the bottles around Lou and me, the area is clean. You would never had guessed there was a party here last night with hundreds of people. We, however, have our pounding heads to remind us that it was a real.
There is a full mixed drink next to Lou's table that still has ice in it complete with pineapple and cherry garnish, untouched from the party... which must have just broken up a little while ago. Lou reaches for it just as a tucan bolts from the jungle and lands on the table. He pulls back as the bird steals the fruit from the glass and flys off, shitting on the table before he goes.
"You BASTARD." Lou is genuinely put off. He wanted that pineapple. He defiantly grabs the glass and drinks the contents and then winces.
"Hair... of the dog." He says
"Gentlemen." Arturo and his personel secretary walk up from the direction of the main house. "I trust you had a good time at the party last night?"
"I should hope so," I tell him, "These aren't my pants." Nothing. Arturo looks at my pants and then at his secretary. I shake my head, "Just kidding."
"Breakfast is being served on the patio of La Joya de la Montaña. Will you please join us before you leave us this morning?" He looks at the two of us and I can see his nostrils flare a little bit. "I have taken the liberty of providing a change of clothing in the cabanas for the both of you. Breakfast will be served in twenty minutes." With that he turned and they were gone.
"Well, at least he said we were leaving today." I hear Lou say as I look down at my bare feet.
"Where are my shoes?"
"I know you were joking about your pants, but these aren't my pants." Lou turns and shows me the rhinestones on the sides.
"Those were on that black girl you were with last night." I tell him as I spy my shoes near a pile of clothing at the side of the pool.

We come down to the main house, La Joya de la Montaña, and join the small group at the large table on the patio. A couple of the girls I had sex with last night are sitting with Paulo. I feel strangely comforted by this. Seated next to Arturo is Miss Anson, who looks a little older... harder up close, like she might kick your ass if you pissed her off. The rest of the table is filled with what I guess are relatives.
We are served a Lobster and Scallop frittata with a smoked swiss cheese. There is a lot of fresh fruit that seemed quite appealing after the abuse we put ourselves through last night.
Coffee is poured and conversation errupts in small pockets around the table. Lou and I sit back and listen. Not the same crowd we sat with for lunch just two days ago. It is like a Sunday morning brunch with the relatives, but in Spanish. Lou sits and smiles when they smile, laughs a little here and there. It pisses me off. I am going to learn this language if it is the last thing I do. I hear the word "hero" and then all eyes are on Lou. He turns his attention to me and asks something about Abby and damage and the run yesterday. I have the feeling that the whole Antonelli episode is a little embarrasing to him. He doesn't like the attention. After talking to him on our long flight from Ferdi's outside Mexico City I learned a lot about what he had been through. He had performed that lifesaving act many times before... but the results were different.
"Mr. Allen," Paulo starts, "you certainly have a way with an airplane. How long have you been flying?"
"Oh, most of my adult life I guess?" (yeah, in a passenger seat)
"Miss Anson tells me that you do the work on your airplane as well."
"I kind of wonder how she knows that, but yes I do the work on Abby."
Anson smiles, "Abby... is that short for Abigail?"
"Yes it is." She has an accent that I just can't place.
"I know this plane. Is it not owned by Jerry?"
Uh oh.
"I fly with Jerry, yes, but he was injured on our last leg and I had to take over." I hope this girl doesn't blow our shitty cover story.
"You know Jerry?" Lou asks after sipping his coffee.
"I flew with his brother Mike." She talks to Lou, but is looking right at me. "Up until he was killed by Javier's men up near the border."
"I worked for Mike, but that was before I actually started to fly with the plane. I know what happened to him. That's why we don't fly to far north any more."
Arturo waits patiently for a chance to interrupt. "My brother and I would like to ask one last favor of the two of you and your Abby."
"I hope it doesn't involve the type of cargo we dropped yesterday." I try to sound light hearted, but serious.
"We have received a request from the Antonelli's in the states to have Chris flown to an airstrip near Caracas in Venezuela. There he will be transported to a yacht and transported back to the States for his recovery."
"And how is it we can assist you?" I am hoping that Anson is taking that flight seeing it is totally the wrong direction.
"Unfortunately our Miss Anson has to make a flight down to Argentina with some of our product, and this leaves us with only one choice for the flight with Mr. Antonelli."
Oh shit. You don't refuse guys like this. But then again we are supposed to be old pros in this business according to Lou.
"That is quite a bit out of our way, Mr. Domincan. But for you we can manage it somehow. There might be a little trouble with the fact that we have no registration numbers, or radio, or transponders of any kind. "
Paulo smiles, knowing we would do it or he would find someone else to fly "his" new plane.
"Wonderful. Mr. Antonelli has requested that the two of you fly Chris personally so he can thank you himself." He takes a bite of his breakfast, chews, and swallows. "As for the plane, we have taken the liberty of giving you registration and certification that will not be questioned by anyone. We have also included a hand held radio set. There is no... how you say, transponder? This you will have to deal with some way. But a man with your reputation should not need such things."
I look at Lou. Here we go again. Now we are flying to Venezuela with a mobster's son. Jesus Christ what I wouldn't give to be back at La Corazon with Jerry drinking beer and playing bumper pool.
"And our money?" Lou asks.
"We have added to your money another hundred thousand dollars for your assistance in these matters." He sips his coffee, "I have had my men place the bags back in the compartment aboard your Abigail. It is there for your inspection."
Lou smiles and waves him off. "No need for that, Senior Dominican." It would be a horrendous insult to these men to even suggest that we would need to "count" the money. We seem to be golden with these guys and we want to keep it that way.

Breakfast comes and goes and we head on down to the hanger to check on Abby. Anson follows along. She has to make her run and needs to do her pre-flight.
"When you see Jerry, tell him Abigail says hello." She says over her shoulder as she hops out of the vehicle.
"Cute. Yeah, I'll tell him."
She turns her head as she walks, "Yes, that is me... Abigail. I thought you would have known."
"I thought the plane was named after Mike's wife." Lou says, aware of Abby's history as told to him on our flight from Mexico City.
I watch as she heads into the hanger. "It is."

We watch her do the walk around on her plane, trying to not be obvious as she goes about her inspection. So this is Abigail. The accent is Moroccan if I remember Jerry correctly.
"I always thought she was dead."
Abigail bends over and looks at the main mount brakes on her plane. She has a nice ass. "Doesn't look dead to me," Lou says astutely.
In the back of my mind I wonder if we will ever get back to Jerry and home to tell him we saw her.

She gets loaded and is on her way when they bring Chris out on a modified hospital bed. The men load him into the plane and then use tie-downs to fasten him to the floor. I stop them before they get to far and have them move him forward for balance. They bang him around quite a bit. He is out of it, probably dosed himself into oblivion. But that is good. Let him sleep. When the men have him set up and left Lou goes to the cargo space in the back of the plane.
"They locked it for us. What the hell good are keys anyway." He says as he reaches back.
"I don't have them. They are up in the cockpit in Jerry's bag."
I walk up front and see that they have moved the bag. "This pisses me off... these fuckers touching our stuff." I look inside and am surprised to see that pistol is still there. I pull the clip and make sure there is still ammo in it and then put it back. I find the keys and we make a quick check of the bags. Without laying it out and counting it we really have no idea what is really in there. It looks like there is more than when we started and that will have to be good enough for now.

We do a walk around and check our fuel. It will be a little shy of a thousand miles to Caracas. As we finish up a runner hands us a manila envelope with a flight plan and a cell phone number we are to call when we land. And that is it. We are ready to go.