Sonora Run

By John Stephen Tighe

CEO Robert Griff Vandergrifts lifehis careful, well-constructed lifeis slowly beginning to unravel. His relationship with his fiance is in the toilet and his trucking companys financial position is in jeopardy.

As Griff and his business partner, Ron Bowman, fly out in a Beech Baron from California to Arizona to meet Bud Applebaum, another shareholder who now owns ten percent of the business, both are deeply concerned about the future of their company. Both, fed up with Buds lack of straight answers and outright lies, barely make it to Tucson after their twin-engine airplane succumbs to mysterious mechanical problems. Determined to get to the bottom of their companys financial mess, Griff and Ron soon discover that Applebaum has been unscrupulous in his business dealings. Suddenly, two middle-aged, honest, and successful business owners unknowingly find themselves in the midst of a drug war waging on the border between Mexico and America, Mafia dealings, and an FBI sting.

With their lives in peril, unexpected twists and turns lead Griff and Ron to a surprise ending and a new adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450220866

John Stephen Tighe

John Tighe is the former CEO of a mid-sized cross-border trucking company. Sonora Run, the first in a trilogy, is inspired by real-life situations shared by friends, family, and acquaintances. After residing in Mexico for ten years, Tighe currently lives in New York.

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Part One

Chapter One

FRIDAY, AUGUST 9

TURTLE ROCK, CALIFORNIA

Robert Vandergrift, Griff to his friends, sat in his car under the open garage. He needed to think and gather his feelings. The only sound was the car’s engine crackling as it cooled off, the perfect sound track to the end of a relationship. Was it over? He sensed the beginning of the end weeks ago, but failed to confront the obvious. Last night’s party at the house of some friends, wound down in anger and silence, and when he left for work that morning, Jeanne was still in bed, asleep. Somewhat to his relief, the workday passed without a phone call. He figured she was hung over. But now that he was home, he didn’t want to go inside. Slowly, he got out of the car, left garage and climbed the exterior stairs. The wooden steps could have been gallows.

Jeanne, are you home? Griff followed the Oriental runner across the living room tiles. He dropped his keys on the lacquered cabinet and laid his blazer on the couch. Apprehension fogged his mind, and justified or not, jealousy pricked his heart. He’d rather have her there angry than not there at all.

Griff tugged open his Jerry Garcia tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar. He braced his middle-aged, six-foot frame for whatever waited inside. His eye caught the sunset breeze blowing the sheer curtains off the open balcony slider. Jeanne?

No response.

Griff pushed through the curtains as the sun was sinking deeper into the California haze, drawing a cool breeze off the hillside. Jeanne was tucked against the rail holding a lit cigarette and gazing at the sunburnt hillside. Her dirty-blond hair lolled over a soft teal sweater. He decided to pretend everything was normal. Hi, sweetheart, are there any cottontails down there?

No. Her voice was terse.

Are you all right, Honey? Is there something wrong?

She turned to face him, crossing her arms. It just isn’t working, Griff. Not anymore.

What?

You … me … us—this relationship isn’t working. I told you in the beginning—don’t play games with me.

Sweetie, what’s going on? I—

Smugly, she said, Please don’t tell me you love me. You’re just a—just another player.

Griff reached toward her, but Jeanne held up her arms.

Don’t. She turned her back to him and leaned on the railing.

Sweetie, I do love you. What’s going on? I wasn’t the one caught kissing a stranger, he thought.

She faced him. It’s all a lie, just a goddamn lie.

What?

She threw up her hands and said, "You, you—you bastard! This isn’t working.

I’m the one who should be upset, Griff thought. Jeanne, talk to me. I don’t understand. Last night—

Don’t patronize me—you’ll never understand. You just don’t get it.

Get what? I know you’re under a lot of pressure. It’s the bar exam, right?

He managed to get a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away. She took a final drag and flicked the butt over the rail. As she stormed into the condo, Griff made sure it went out. Then he followed her.

She flipped on the overhead lights. Griff stiffened for battle as he watched her pour a glass from a half-empty bottle of merlot.

I really don’t know why you’re upset, he said, now angry himself. I wasn’t the one smoking marijuana and half-lit last night.

An open letter lay on the kitchen table; the rest of the mail remained stacked beside it. Silently, Jeanne turned from the counter, grabbed it and thrust it toward him. Griff took the paper while she took another gulp of wine.

Griff looked at the letter, puzzled, The Orange County Assessor? It’s just about our property taxes.

Jeanne leaned against the counter. Our property taxes—you mean your property taxes! You told me this was our condo. Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know, she said, glaring at him. I’m a lawyer, goddammit!

You were a lawyer, Griff said, then regretted it.

I still am, you bastard.

He opened his hand holding the letter, What’s wrong with the letter? It just provides the condo’s assessed valuation for ’86. It seems—

Don’t equivocate with me—not when this condo is still in your name and your name only. ‘Honey, we’ll share everything, I’ll buy a home for us.’ You’re so full of it.

Jeanne, I can fix this, easy. You don’t know this, but I was planning—

You bet you’ll fix this. I know my rights, you penurious son-of-a-bitch. She drained the last of the wine and pushed by him.

What’s a penurious—she can’t be this upset for Christ’s sakes.

The front door slammed.

Griff sat for a moment to give her a few minutes to cool down, certain she would return. I sure know how to pick ‘em, he thought. He walked to the front door and stepped onto the balcony. This wasn’t his first rodeo, but his hope that it would be his last, faded in the screech of tires.

The Hudson Bar and Grill’s usual Monday morning crowd was mostly affluent sales people reviewing week-at-a-glance diaries and plotting the market’s possibilities over scrambled eggs. Griff grabbed a table under the front end of the restaurant’s namesake, a pink ’49 Hudson mounted on the wall like a hunting trophy, and tried not to remember the many times he’d been there with Jeanne. One of the buoyant young waitresses set down a mug along with a steaming coffee pot. Hello, sad face, all by yourself today?

Griff managed a smile and ignored the innocent irony. Shows, huh? Just business stuff, you can leave another mug. Ron’s joining me.

The waitress smiled a private smile and went to fetch another mug. My partner and his charms, thought Griff. The ladies never get enough. Then there’s me and my lack thereof … Jeanne hadn’t called all weekend. Griff passed the long hours listening to radio baseball and tinkering with his car.

Here you go, said the waitress, leaving the second cup. Griff picked it up and looked inside as if it held the answer to his problems. It only reminded him that during six months of living together, he and Jeanne managed to swipe a full set by telling their waitresses that someone else was joining them. The coffee was cold by the time he lifted his own mug.

Out of the corner of his eye, Griff caught sight of a familiar madras blazer. His partner, Ronald Bowman, slid into the opposite seat.

What’s with the facial hair?

Ron stroked his chin and grinned.

You’re late. Traffic bad or what?

In a foul mood, are we? You and Jeanne have another fight?

As a matter of fact, she’s gone.

Ron’s teasing expression didn’t change. Gone where—why? Tired of your magnetic personality is she? Gone to visit Mama? Shopping?

Stop, I think she left me.

His partner finally got the message. Sorry, Griff, I thought you were still joking. Do you want to tell me what happened? Weren’t you about to propose?

Griff’s eyes turned down. I was going to wait until after the bar exam. I didn’t want to distract her. He decided not to talk about what happened at the party. Fortunately, the waitress returned and spent a moment flirting with Ron before taking their usual orders. The sound of china breaking behind aluminum doors broke their concentration for a moment as the waitress turned to leave.

She was waiting for me when I came home Friday. The whole thing was ridiculous. She was pissed about the condo, yelled, and left. I hung around all weekend thinking she’d call or something. When I tried her office this morning, they told me she quit on Friday. They wouldn’t tell me anything else. I’m getting worried.

‘Getting worried’? I think you would already be worried. What set her off this time?

You make it sound as if we fight all the time.

Sorry. I was just picking up on past vibes.

Aw, hell, you’re right. Anyway, I put the property in my name only to secure it. Griff thought for a second. You know, now that I think about it, when we started living together I did tell her it was ours. She must have thought that ‘ours’ meant when I bought it. My plan was to give her joint title as a wedding present.

Ron refilled his coffee and poured in a fat dollop of cream. He stirred for a few seconds before speaking again. Griff, I know you. You run your life as if it were a business. You sure you weren’t keeping the title in your own control until you were sure about her? You can come on pretty strong with your business and all your toys, my friend. There has to be more to this than just a condo.

Their food arrived. Griff let the waitress set down their plates before responding to Ron’s comments. What, you think I’m controlling? How am I controlling? Sure, I pay for everything, but I don’t tell her what to do. Just about the only thing I ever insisted on was no smoking in the house. She had no reason to walk out without calling me.

Ron sprinkled Tabasco on his eggs, picked up his coffee and said, Are you in denial? You don’t allow smoking on your boat, in the airplane, or in the car, either. Hell, you carry a portable phone around the size of a brick. I suppose you’ll want Jeanne to have one next?

Hey, I—

Whoa, perhaps she just wants some independence. How old is Jeanne now, thirty, thirty-one? Maybe, she doesn’t want to go back to being a lawyer. Perhaps she wants to move back to the East Coast, get married, or have children? Maybe there’s something going on you’re unaware of.

The friends locked eyes. Do you know something I don’t?

Ron folded his hands over his belly and leaned back. You know, Griff, you never told me why Jeanne came to LA in the first place. I understand that she was with a big-time firm in New York City. Why does someone give that up to sell law books out here?

Griff shrugged. "She never wanted to discuss it, so I left it alone.

For a few moments, Ron said nothing. Maybe … he began and then stopped.

Maybe what — come on, spill it.

Whatever was on his partner’s mind, Ron waved away. Heck, maybe your hair is just starting to curl over your collar. How about a haircut? Shave that mustache. Show her a little romance for a change. Impress her with your moves instead of your money. And start courting her all over again as if nothing happened. Then you can surprise her with the changes—including the title.

Griff tried to speak optimistically. Sounds like a plan, but I think she’s maybe planning to sue me.

The workweek passed—Jeanne didn’t call, didn’t get in touch with her friends, nothing. Griff sat on the couch watching baseball and late summer reruns. Jeanne’s things were still in the condo, so he remained hopeful. Otherwise, a second empty weekend lay ahead. As he entered the Friday freeway rush, he opened the sunroof, but the cool evening air failed to douse his anxiety. Just like a flame melting hot wax from thought to thought, Griff continued to feel a harbinger of insecurity floating in his mind. His life, his careful, well-constructed life, was slowly shifting. First the problems with the business, now the problems at home.

This isn’t right. I deserve better. I know we haven’t spent much time together lately, but with my business problems and her schedule … man. I don’t even have any phone numbers for her. She can’t leave like this. We love each other … don’t we?

But there was no escaping his suspicions that Jeanne was gone—only the doubts chasing each other around his mind. Dammit, at the least I deserve a phone call to know she’s okay. What a fiasco. I don’t even know where to look for her. Christ, why does everything have to come at once?

An hour later, Griff reached the Irvine exit. He turned into the local convenience store for some needed groceries and then drove the XKE up the long hill into tranquility. His condo was set in the enclave of Turtle Rock nestled in the foothills running to the Pacific. Garden homes crowded below ridgelines left to nature. Bark-colored condos edged the two-lane blacktop along the valley floor. Streetlights yellowed a gravel sidewalk as it meandered through manicured grassy knolls. Further on, a park with barbeques and nature trails followed a dry creek bed. Coyotes hunted jackrabbits, stray dogs, and cats.

He pressed the clicker, hoping to see Jeanne’s Porsche parked in the garage. Disappointed, he grabbed his groceries and retreated upstairs. Everything was as she left it. No note, only feelings of emptiness. After putting things away, he changed into jeans and a faded T-shirt. He wanted to laugh and cry as he wandered through the condo. But remembering would not purge his remorse. Dinner consisted of two boiled hotdogs and a can of baked beans, chased by a Corona. Going out was not an option—there was always the chance she might call.

Chapter Two

MONDAY, AUGUST 19

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Not long after sunrise, Griff drove the twenty year old Jaguar into John Wayne Airport’s executive terminal lot, its wire wheels gleaming from a fresh acid bath. He loved the sound of the car. The toggle switches and Lucas gauges were irresistible to the pilot in him. He punched in his security code to open the gate and drove the Jag onto the tarmac, where numerous private planes were tied down. He admired his twin-engine airplane for a few seconds before turning his gaze to the sky.

It was that special half hour after daybreak. The air was crisp and the bellies of the clouds were beginning to turn shades of crimson and orange. A light breeze chilled him while he untied the Beech Baron, sampled for condensation in the fuel and opened the left cowling to check for oil leaks. Griff was a meticulous pilot.

He and Ron were on their way to Tucson to meet Bud Applebaum, another shareholder. Griff did not consider him an equal, even though Applebaum now owned ten percent of the company and ran dispatch operations from Albuquerque, New Mexico. He had come aboard when Griff negotiated a merger with his father the year before. Applebaum Senior retired and sold his stock with a long-term note. Griff’s relationship with the son grew testy soon after the ink dried.

Griff was in charge. Applebaum understood this from the beginning, although now the man seemed to have ambitions in another direction. Griff and Ron needed to understand and straighten out operational issues, which were rapidly deteriorating the company’s financial position. The board of directors meeting was scheduled at the end of October. As CEO, Griff had the ultimate responsibility to turn things around. Both men were deeply concerned.

Griff’s business and personal life all seemed to be mushrooming out of control. As he walked around the airplane, his mind drifted in and out of the issues facing him. He didn’t fully understand them, but was determined to get to the bottom of his problems. He couldn’t let the spiral continue. There was a solution for everything and failure was not an option. He had to set priorities. Griff was confident he could mend the business—but he wasn’t so sure about his relationship with Jeanne.

A few moments later, a new BMW coupe pulled onto the tarmac. It was Ron, with his new wife, Cindy. The couple sat in the car for what seemed an unusually long time to Griff. Finally, as they climbed out of the car, Griff saluted and continued his walk-around, inspecting the rest of the airplane’s empennage. Out of the corner of his eye he admired Cindy’s beach-fresh good looks. She and Ron made a textbook California couple—attractive, healthy, and seemingly very happy.

Is my scrupulous friend concerned about leaving his prized Beemer on the tarmac or just delayed for love? Come on, Ronny, you lovebirds have been married three months now, Griff thought. Love—where the hell is she? He still hadn’t heard a peep from Jeanne.

His friends came up as he was emptying the right engine’s fuel sample. Is it a good day for flying? Cindy asked.

Griff stood and shook hands with Ron. His friend’s Nordic good looks complemented his wife. Griff then turned and warmly hugged Cindy—inhaling her light and fragrant perfume. There’s a bit of weather over Tucson, but nothing to worry about. Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning, he reminded himself. Griff had logged almost three thousand hours of flying time, half in his Baron and most with an instrument rating allowing him to fly in inclement weather. The forecast was for rain and isolated thundershowers along their route of flight. Tucson was reporting strong winds and turbulence in the area. Pilots were advised of wind shear near the airport, but Griff was confident that the weather was tolerable and not an impediment to their trip. He smiled at Cindy. Are you coming with us, or do I have to imagine that perfume all the way to Arizona?

Ron grinned and put his arm around her waist. She’s taken, pal. Are we flying on instruments?

You bet. Flying with air traffic control monitoring always made Griff more comfortable in the congested LA skies. Besides, the weather east of Palm Springs required it. Listen, I’m sure you won’t mind if I continue my check.

You go ahead, said Cindy.

And take your time, grinned Ron.

Cindy waved. Take care, Griff. We’ll get together when you guys get back.

Griff nodded and entered the airplane. He removed the sunscreens from all of the windows and carefully folded them. Ron boarded and made himself comfortable as Griff heard the BMW pull away. Damn, I still can’t believe it. Griff said, pulling his maps and navigation aids from his briefcase.

Believe what?

That a woman like that—, he didn’t feel like stating the obvious.

Ron shrugged. She’s twenty-five. What choice did she have—join a nunnery? She’s lucky … I’m a catch, you know.

Very funny, I get it—the woman is definitely over the hill. Fat chance! I’d say you are the lucky one, old man. Hasn’t Cindy noticed that you are beginning to look a bit chunky around the middle? I take it married life agrees with you, or have you lost your directions to the gym?

Ron pulled the door shut and locked the latch. Let’s be careful on that ‘chunky’ stuff, old man. I’m not the one well into my forties. I’ll be back on the weights next month. Being married requires some time to settle in. By the way, did you catch the Buick Open Sunday?

Forty-one is not well into anything and golf was the last thing on my mind this weekend, Griff said, turning his attention to the airplane.

Speaking of the fair sex, have you heard from Jeanne? I thought—

No, I’m at a loss what to do. After this trip, I think I’ll hire someone to find her. I can change the condo ownership with a ‘quit claim’ deed. You’re right—there has to be more to her leaving. Maybe I’m overreacting, and just need to give her some space, huh?

Look, ‘Mr. Sensitive’ you’re not. It must be your Irish-Catholic upbringing. Women need attention—not absent, workaholic soul mates. Jeanne’s going through a stressful period. She’s probably feeling abandoned, maybe even too dependent.

Dependent? Ouch!

Did she take her things?

No, her clothes are still in the closet.

Then this wasn’t planned. She probably will come back when you are not there. Follow your instincts and give her some time. Leave her a note about the condo and your feelings on the kitchen table, if you want.

Griff turned on the master switch and adjusted the heading instrument to the compass setting before asking, Where’d you get all this insight?

I married it, Ron said chuckling. He then changed his tone. Seriously Griff, Jeanne has said some things to Cindy. Think about it.

Things … what about my things? he said, his mind now emotionally stuck in a half dream. He turned his attention back to the airplane.

Griff switched on the radios and called for a weather briefing. He then requested their instrument clearance, which was filed the night before. The controller replied, asking them to call back in ten minutes. Griff handed Ron the airplane’s checklist to read aloud and the two began their start-up routine. Ron seemed to enjoy helping even though he was not a pilot. The left engine came to life, then the right. All instruments