Goat Rope: A Pilot's Tale

By Daniel Blore

Darrington Hunter, a pilot working for a failing airline, bails out of a stifling marriage and into the South Florida fast lane. The financial pressures of "living large" lead him to liaisons with the quick-buck world of criminals. A brush with the law emboldens him. His Flight Attendant girlfriend Sharon Jensen, a stunning beauty with a chronic bent toward the illicit, applauds his march toward the criminal life. Mysterious forces keep him moving toward crime, even as he internalizes his moral qualms. Wayne Smith becomes his underworld mentor and guardian. A man who epitomizes the good life bought with dirty money. A flight in a twin-engine Cessna, deep into South America to support a money-laundering operation, is Darrington's immersion into the dark side. His life moves at a feverish pace, and swaying allegiances leave him feeling alone wondering who is who. He takes back his soul in a rousing ending of score-settling action. Airline life before political correctness, little airplanes and the sleaze and glitz of the fast lane are all graphically depicted in this tense, soul-searching portrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 21, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469769264

Daniel Blore

Daniel Blore is a long-time pilot now working for a major airline. A lover of words and literature, Goat Rope is his first booklength work.

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Goat Rope

A Pilot’s Tale

Daniel Blore

Writer’s Showcase

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

Goat Rope A Pilot’s Tale

All Rights Reserved © 2001 by Daniel Blore

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writer’s Showcase

an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

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This book is fiction. Any similarities to any person, place or thing is merely coincidental.

ISBN: 0-595-15961-3

ISBN:

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Epigraph

1

PREFLIGHT

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

TAKE OFF

13

LANDING

14

15

POSTFLIGHT

16

17

Epilogue

To my editor, mentor, provocateur,

devil’s advocate, drinking buddy and friend.

Also my wife. Debra

Thanks to The Writer’s Room of Boston,

my oasis in an inspirational city.

Epigraph

That humanity at large will ever be able to dispense with Artificial Paradises seems very unlikely. Most men and women lead lives at the worst so painful, at the best so monotonous, poor and limited that the urge to escape, the longing to transcend themselves if only for a few moments, is and has always been one of the principal appetites of the soul.

Aldous Huxley

The victor belongs to the spoils

Anthony Patch

Goat Rope—definition—A very confused situation

To teach new cowboys the art of roping a moving target, such as a horse or steer, novices would be put in a pen full of goats, which were smaller and less dangerous, to hone their craft. Traditionally, the old-timers would gather to watch, drink, whoop and be amused by the ensuing melee. It was not a pretty sight.

1

I’m alone. Me, the airplane and fifty-five million dollars. And a body wrapped in clear plastic, fastened with shards of duct tape. A fallen comrade, unknown to me fifteen minutes earlier, sits in the copilot’s seat.

Through the night, we will fly across the Caribbean. A flyspeck against the water. For the moment, I sit back on the wing and try to enjoy my last few minutes of freedom, breathing the humid air deep into my lungs. Trying to look at the end of the blue in the clear skies. The low sun is hot and the reflections burn my eyes. I have run out of options. I need to go. Soon. I have to get out of the tropical hell that is Panama.

The roar of the engines brings me to life. The twin-engined Cessna 310, sturdy and well used, which had performed admirably all that day, passes into the early evening sky. The adrenaline rush surges in sync with the noise and at the beginning I am scare-rushed to the edge. My dead passenger is impassive.

Don’t sit there mocking me with those blank eyes, you dead bastard! I’m sitting over here soaked in sweat, shoulders aching, my nerves making me saw the rudder pedals back and forth and you just sit there with that smug look on your ugly face. I’m sick to my stomach and getting higher than hell from the gas fumes inside this flying bomb, which I’m sure aren’t bothering you any, and if I lose it, trust me, you’ll be the first to know. Screw you. I’ve got to calm down a little. You’ve done this all before. This is my first, and definitely my last, time out. And you certainly won’t be any help, so try not to piss me off. Okay? At least we’ve got a good plane and not a hell of a lot to worry about for a few hours. Of course, then, the AWACS radar might nail us. Or the damned ground-based radar. Then they’ll send out an intercept on us. Lot of damn good we’re going to do against that in a damn Cessna. Or maybe the guys who were my big buddies a few days ago might pay me off with a bullet instead of cash. Fifty-five million dollars does weird things to people. You think?

Well hell, all that’s making me feel a lot better. You couldn’t drive a straight pin up my ass with a jackhammer. We’re out in no man’s land now; no use sitting down here at five hundred feet. There’ll be plenty of low level later on, that’s guaranteed. No use being down here now. Fifty-five hundred feet ought to be a little cooler, more relaxing, too. I’ll just push the power up and let her rip. Damn sun is hot. Be gone soon. Can’t wait until tomorrow. What the hell you doing here anyway?

I wish you’d tell me some of your stories. That might help. What happened in your life to get you to sit in one of these? Lotta shit man. You should have seen me a few years ago. Mr. Atlanta suburbs. I couldn’t wait for a change. Tonight’s your lucky night, Slim. I’m going to tell you how I got on this circus ride.

PREFLIGHT

2

A few years ago, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, when I looked at how my life turned out. I was floundering in a bad marriage, which was on its way towards a bitter and financially devastating divorce. At least I’d gotten hired by the airlines, but after two and a half years on the job, I was feeling smothered. My old lady had a short leash on me. Didn’t trust me at all and seemed jealous of my career. The first rumbles of the airline failing were beginning to surface. I’d grown fat, lethargic and unhappy living under the thumb of my better half in the suburbs of Atlanta. I figured transferring my job to the Miami base and moving to Fort Lauderdale were the first steps toward unwrapping my cocoon of mediocrity.

I sold the house and a little over three years ago, I rolled into Fort Lauderdale in a twenty-four-foot U-Haul dragging the remnants of my suburban Atlanta life.

I tossed my stuff into the apartment and the next day started on step two. I’d put on thirty-five pounds and it was time to do something about it. The running craze was full-tilt, so I bought a pair of New Balance’s finest and headed to the Par Cours track at Holiday Park. I felt like I was running away from something.

How’s it going Slim? You still with me? I am waxing a bit. I’ll toss you a change of pace. Let me tell you about my first trip out of Miami base. I’m looking around for a new path and fate tosses a superhighway in my lap. Another example of be careful what you wish for.

A week after my move to Fort Lauderdale, I picked up a one-day trip to add some time to my schedule. Besides, I was anxious to fly out of my new base. It wasn’t a very good trip, the kind you always find discarded into open time. Three stops up to Memphis, then a five-and-a-half hour break, and three legs back.

In the crew lounge that morning, I met the captain, a big, fat guy who was all sweating and laughing and red. His uniform was so tight that you’d swear he’d put on fifty pounds by surprise and didn’t have time to get clothes that fit. When he bent over to pick up his flight bag, I almost pissed myself when his shirttail popped out and he gave us all a good shot of Texas cleavage. Things were loose; it was going to be a good trip.

On the airplane was a different story, aesthetically speaking. We had three young reserve flight attendants, one better looking than the next. I focused on Dani, the lead. You know how it goes. At the gate in Miami and all three stops: running the rap, telling jokes, talking dirty, all the old stuff.

Know the difference between a Big Mac and a blowjob?

No.

Want to go to lunch?

That sort of thing. She’s up in the cockpit while we’re flying, giving us neck rubs and keeping things going.

The Captain was eating it up. You copilots get all the ass. Looks like she’s got it bad for you.

That’d be great, but I don’t know what she’d want with some fat guy like me. I’d take it though.

Hell, you ain’t fat boy. You look a bit underfed to me.

Great, but I’m not trying to screw you.

Better not be. What would your wife think? You’re married, ain’t ya?

My wife is, me, I’m thinking.

I think that lil’ ol’ gal could help you make up your mind right quick.

Ah, she’s just teasing.

Boy, what rock you been hidin’ under. That girl knows what that thang is for.

In Memphis, we grabbed the van to our luxury accommodations, Hojo’s on Elvis Presley Boulevard, to kill our five hours. Typical airline hotel. Very mediocre, where the staff viewed us more as an annoyance than a customer. I wasn’t in my room five minutes when the phone rang. I thought for sure it was wifeypooh bed checking me, like she always did, five or six times per layover. However, when I heard Dani’s voice on the phone, I was caught absolutely flatfooted.

Hi. It’s Dani. I can’t believe it, my room’s a mess, and the maids haven’t cleaned it. If you’re not sleeping or anything, why don’t I just come over there and hang out.

Big stud. I’m sweating and turning all red. I, uh, can call housekeeping and have them come up. If you want.

They’ll take forever, and besides, I’d rather have someone to talk to. You can tell me some more jokes, unless you’d rather be alone.

No, no. Come on down. I’ll prop the door open. Here I’ve been horn dogging this woman all morning and when she offers to come to my room, all I can think to do is call housekeeping for her. Maybe I could be a bigger jerk and call security to keep her out. What a dink.

I jumped up, did a quick pass through the room and opened the door. Dani was already in the hall, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind, her uniform a little disheveled, a few buttons undone and her hair down. I was in love.

I let her in and went back to where I was sitting in the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

Make yourself comfortable.

Okay, thanks. This is a lot better than waiting for the maids. Besides, I don’t much like to be alone.

She kicked off her shoes, threw her bag on the sideboard and sat down on the bed next to me. I didn’t consider myself a rookie, but this was unbelievable. I was all nervous and sweaty-palmed, like a kid out on a date, where he’s sure he’s going to get it, but he’s not so sure the girl knows it. I’m talking and pretending to watch television and all the time my mind is racing. One minute I’m sure she wants me to make a move and before I could act, I started thinking about her telling the crew how this horny idiot jumped on top of her. Just to be honorable, I did remind her I was somewhat married.

About the time I couldn’t stand it anymore and I’d talked myself into tossing all caution out the window, and put a hand on her leg, she stands up and heads for her suitcase. I was crushed. She’s leaving. She’d had enough of some guy who mentioned his wife every nineteen seconds and stared intently at Andy of Mayberry. Dani grabbed some things from her suitcase.

I’m going to take a shower.

Minutes later the shower door reopened and the room filled with a sweet smelling steam. I did a neck-snapping double take when I saw her dressed only in towels. She had thin, exciting, pouting, angular arms and shoulders. The one towel hung from her breasts, which were not huge but definitely big compared to her thin frame, and barely touched her slim, straight hips. The other towel was wrapped and tucked around her mane of blonde hair. She wore it like a crown above her blue eyes and full lips, which she’d already tinted to a frosted pink.

Any pretense of cool left me and I tracked, more like gawked at, her every move. I faintly prayed that the towel would fall, or rise up, or disintegrate. Anything. Her uniform did not do her justice. I thought girls that looked like her lived in Los Angeles and posed for Playboy.

After rummaging in the suitcase for a few seconds, I figured the show was over, but she climbed right back into her spot in the bed. A stronger sense of awareness and closeness overtook me as the humidity from her damp body filled my nose and touched my skin.

At that stage of the game, Andy of Mayberry was over and I figured I couldn’t go too far wrong. Inches from me sat a magnificent, young, taut, vivacious, freshly showered, luscious and hopefully horny, reasonably naked lady and I had absolutely no idea how to make a move. It’d been a while and, like the proverbial deer in the headlights, I was frozen in her glow.

Dani took the lead. She stretched and moaned and the barely sufficient towel slipped, exposing a perfect, firm breast right at my eyelevel. She rewrapped, giving me a glimpse of what little the towel covered.

A coy, little girl smile was on her face.

Oops, excuse me. I’m sorry about that. My muscles are really sore. Would you be a dear and rub my shoulders.

I would love to. I thought I sounded composed, but I moved too fast, almost jumped. I touched her sensuous, damp skin, and I hurt with pleasure and expectation. She sat while I rubbed her shoulders and neck, bobbing her head forward. She slipped the towel from her head and I worked my hands up under the wet hair and rubbed the back of her head and neck. I inched my way down, once again, to the shoulders and further down on her back. Slowly the towel came undone. She did nothing to recover it. I slid my hands around from behind and caressed her breasts. Dani moaned softly. That was like the opening bell of a boxing match and I turned her toward me and kissed her. Dani’s face sexed up at me.

A little overdressed, aren’t we?

I can take care of that. I ripped and pulled.

What was that you were saying about a Big Mac?

We looked like a porno flick in high speed, covering all the bases, but sprinting to the end. The second time was more like dessert. We took our time and enjoyed. Dani choreographed our every move and I submitted. This wasn’t married sex; this was movie sex. Real sex, that wasn’t timed out between the news and Carson.

There was a moment, with her on top of me, when I looked up at her beautiful face and knew she owned me. I would move out of my home and in with her, if she asked. I wanted to be doing exactly what I was doing, forever. Exactly.

Thank you, Dani. That was beautiful. You’re beautiful.

Well, thank you Darrington. She smiled like a child had brought her a bouquet of flowers and was waiting to be praised. That was real nice. A nice way to spend the afternoon. Can I order something to eat?

Uh, yeah, sure. What’re you flying the rest of the month? Maybe we can match up some of our trips.

I’m on reserve. I don’t know what I’ll be flying. I’ve got to get some time off later on anyway. My boyfriend wants to take me to the Keys for a week. Do you want anything from room service?

Boyfriend? Nice? She rocked my world and is ordering room service like we’d just gone for a walk. Is this standard? What’d I been missing? Boyfriend? Nice? Did she just hand this out to chubby guys who look like they needed it? I knew I had to move up a level and become part of that world.

Back in Miami, Dani gave me a quick kiss after we deplaned.

Want to meet me at Rudy’s later on? Say about ten?

I’m busy tonight, maybe some other time.

Yeah, sure. Well, welcome to Miami base. Tell your wife I said, ‘Hi.’ See you around.

She knew I was married and laughed, a bit derisively, at the frustration that my face must have been showing. Driving home I should’ve been mad at Dani for teasing me and I should’ve felt guiltier than I did, or at least a little guilty, but all I could think about was my entrée into a new world. She just used me and I sang out loud, as loud as I could, keep on using me, ‘til you use me up. Bill Withers would have been proud with the volume rattling the windows in my old VW Bug. I felt newborn, anxious, eager, naive, energized. I swore to hit the track and the rest of my life full-tilt.

Over the next few months my marriage flushed under the weight of temptation and my desire to live life to its fullest. Fullest did not include a suspicious wife with a short leash and a two-drink maximum. Gee honey, don’t you think you’ve had enough? What’ll people think? She’d persecuted me with accusations of chasing flight attendants from the time I first got hired, which I never did. I decided to show her what that program really looked like. In my mind, the marriage was over before we left Atlanta. However, those things develop inertia and tend to ramble along well past their usefulness. I was financially wiped, but without kids and very little alimony, I hoped I could rebound soon enough. At least before the airline bombed.

Freedom became my drug of choice. I exercised ferociously. Within a month of the breakup, I had run off all the flab and was looking good. Dark tan, hair all sun bleached. My old car sales skills kicked in, a Rolodex full of phone numbers and excellent phone skills provided me a whirlwind of dating. I honed my lines to a slippery smoothness. GQ became my bible. It was all falling into place by my thirtieth birthday party, where I drunkenly proclaimed myself the Fort Lauderdale Flash.

My daily regimen became the maniacal schedule of someone afraid to miss a minute of life. I only closed my eyes for a few hours a day. I bought a condo downtown, followed in short order by a white Corvette and a beautiful red, white and blue Pitts Special. The next few years I was living large, flat out all the time. Drinking, dating, hanging out, traveling, just having it all. It couldn’t have been better, but like my old man always said, ‘all good things must pass into bad.’ After three years, it was starting to get old.

3

"Christ Slim, was that lightning? That’s the last thing we need! Man, am I jumpy. The radar isn’t showing anything. But with all that snow on the screen and the bright pinpoints of light, I’d bet this sonofabitch hasn’t shown any weather in years. Piece of crap. There’s some more lightning. Looks pretty far ahead and maybe a little west of our course, maybe over Belize or Mexico. What do you think? Were you scared shit the whole time you were flying these things? Dude, the glow off these instrument lights isn’t helping your complexion any.

We’ll keep an eye on these storms and handle them if we have to. So much for the perfect airplane I was promised. I don’t know anything else wrong with this hunk of pig iron, but let’s not think about it. More comfortable when my asshole’s not chewing seat cushion. No airline maintaining this thing, not like my DC-9’s, but I guess that’s part of this sort of thing. Could be worse. I flew some side jobs for another guy. Let me tell you about this dipshit.

By 1983, my lifestyle had soaked me in enormous debt. Everything on time, I was barely making the payments. Along the way, I had picked up a fair amount of the support on my mother up in New Jersey. After the first round of pay cuts at work, I’m making fifty-five thousand and it feels like fifty-five hundred.

Everyone figures the company’s going down, the papers thought that financially strapped was the airline’s first name, and I realize I don’t feel all that bad about it. Management was on my ass, and the bad vibes floating around about the financial condition of the Airline made it tough to go to work. Besides, if it was going to fail, I had the feeling I didn’t need to ride it to the end. I was restless and ready for a new adventure.

Late summer, I was flying the Pitts. The high G forces knocked a grunt out of me and punched me back into the seat. A piece of parachute rigging was digging into my side and my concentration was off. The world rotated slowly as I finished an Immelman and exploded into a blur of color in a violent snap roll. It was about then I was deciding to change my life. The little biplane responded instantaneously to my touch and through the windscreen the world turned around and over. My flying was disappointing; my head wasn’t in it. Unusual.

I was thinking about money and girls. My airline was on the brink and I was a year’s salary behind. I needed a raise or a big score to get things settled. The chief pilot was on my ass constantly and I didn’t care. Around Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport there had to be some way to score big without becoming a career criminal. If I didn’t do something, all I would have when the airline folded was a worn out uniform. I didn’t want to change my lifestyle. I couldn’t cut my mom off. If I could just recoup the money I lost in the divorce, one shot, break even. Hell, it was stolen from me.

Then there was Sharon. I’d met her on an overnight a few days before and would see her the next day. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. We talked and drank a lot in Cleveland. She seemed to want to believe all the stories I told her. I could be anything my imagination could conjure. She wanted me to be the Flash. Inside, I was afraid the real Darrington wasn’t enough for her, and I was afraid I could never live up to what I’d told her. She was beautiful and funny, worldly yet naive, a vision. I hoped she would keep our date for the next day. Her definitely had a vague sound to it, like she was really into it when she said it, but it might not stand the test of time.

Something small flew past my head as I started to push into an outside loop. I found the nut I had dropped a couple of days earlier. I was upside-down and it was lying on the Plexiglas canopy above my head. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my pocket, broke off my routine and headed back to Executive. The voices on the radio brought me back to the present and focused me for the landing. To the east, the city was vibrant, outlined by the ocean and under a perfect sky. The little Pitts skittered down the runway, slowed, and I pulled to a stop on the gas ramp. I popped the canopy and returned to earth. My buddy Larry was there to greet me.

Larry had been pumping gas at the airport for the last eight years and he knew everybody’s business and participated in most of it. Rumor was pretty strong that’s how he could afford a van that cost twice what he made in a year. He was a goofy looking guy with a potbelly, thinning black hair and horned rimmed glasses, kind of like you would picture Lumpy Rutherford of Leave it to Beaver at forty-six. I suspected a fair amount of larceny in his heart. He and I had grown close over the last couple of years and he’d never burned me.

How’s it going there, Darrington? You out doin’ some flip-flops in your mo-chine?

Yeah, but they weren’t pretty. Just wasn’t into it. Airplane’s always fun to fly though. Can you top me off?

No prob. Get one of the guys right on it. You coming back for some beers later? Friday night, everyone’s rarin’ to go.

Most likely. Going to go running first. Let me give you some money for beer.

Nah, no way. You supply the hangar the least we can do is supply the beer. Today’s payday. We’re okay.

My hangar had long ago become party central. Everyday at four o’clock, motorcycles, cars, golf carts and just about every other imaginable conveyance would head toward my hangar when the businesses at the airport let out. You could set your watch by it. The faces in the crowd varied, but the people I considered friends were constant. They were the core of the crowd I dubbed the usual suspects. Larry had a key to my hangar so this went on whether I was there or not. I liked them, and stopped by almost every night I was in town.

At the track, the day had just started to get hot. The late morning sun seared directly into my muscles, allowing them to stretch and loosen easily. The little breeze eased the warm smell of damp cedar chips into my nose. Buz’s black Corvette rolled to a stop next to my white one in the parking lot as I finished my warm-up exercises. A smile spread across my face for my friend. The Par Cours track in Pompano Beach was a comfortable place to run and I made it a point to show up at least once a week when I knew Buz was going to be there. Every other day I ran in Fort Lauderdale.

Dangerous Darrington, how the hell are you? You know? Driving over, I figured you’d be here.

Great, man. Good to see you. Ready to knock out a few laps?

Yeah. Let me warm-up first. I think I’ve recovered enough from our last trip. How about you? What’s new?

Same old crap. This running might come in handy if the airline folds. Keep me ahead of the bill collectors.

By the time we were ten minutes into our run the repartee had ended and was replaced by the measured breathing, cadenced by the muffled footfalls of quality running shoes on the cedar chips that covered the track. The sun was relentless, blazing out of the never-ending blue sky. We wove through the palm trees, side by side. We were both slinging sweat and deep in our own thoughts.

Buz was my idea of an airline captain. Great pilot, cool and calm, smart, funny and handsome. He could drink all night and fly all day and look good doing both. Fifteen years older than me, Buz was a friend, mentor and hero. At work we flew together whenever possible, most months bidding the same trips.

We picked up the pace in the second half of the fourth lap, finishing the five-mile run at what passed for a full sprint, sucking wind as we sprawled on the benches under the trees.

Whew…. Damn…… Good run…… Damn good.

I hate when you show up. I was going to take it easy today. You young guys got no respect.

Just trying to urge you on into retirement my man, so I can move up a seniority number.

I won’t be sixty for another thirteen years. With the mileage you’re running up on your bod, I’ll outlast you.

You just might be right. Of course, if things keep going the way they have been, we might not have an airline to retire from. Hear anything new?

Nah, same old crap. Stock’s in the shitter and management has their heads up their collective asses. I’m in pretty good shape financially. If I could get a couple more years, I wouldn’t have to work too hard if they pulled the plug. Sure would stink though.

I’m not in that good shape, but I could probably last six, maybe twelve, hours if I missed a paycheck. I was just thinking today, it’s about time to make some changes. Get going on a new course. Airline is getting boring anyway. Time for an adventure.

"I know what you mean, but those paychecks never get boring. Besides, you’re screwing everything in sight, drinking and partying.

How boring is that? Just downsize some on your debt and put a few bucks in the bank. Hell, you’re young. You’d be working for another airline in no time. I talked to Lizard the other day and he sold his boat. Probably a good idea."

Either that or start hauling dope. I hear that pays well.

Buz cocked an eyebrow toward me, Yeah, right up to the point they slap your ass in jail. Stay away from that shit.

"That’s all I need. Wind up sharing a cell with some