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I don't want to take the kid.
I don't even want to take General Wilson.
I was just being a good guy. No good deed ever goes unpunished.
"Okay, then, it's settled," General Wilson said. "Randy and I will pick you up at oh dark hundred at the Magnolia House. That way you won't have to leave the Army van at the airport."
[FOUR]
Ozark Municipal Airport
Ozark, Alabama 0655 5 September 2005 J. G. Jenkins, the somewhat plump proprietor of the Greater Dale County Funeral Home and Crematorium, Inc., incongruously attired in a loud flowered Hawaiian shirt and powder blue shorts, did insist on taking a ride around the pattern with Castillo before turning over his Flying Hearse to him.
In the end, Castillo was glad he did.
As Castillo turned on final, Jenkins idly mentioned that he was sure Castillo was aware that the Rucker reservation-and Cairns Field-was restricted airspace.
"You're going to have to go to either Dothan or Troy before heading for the beach."
"Yes, I know. Thank you."
And another lie leaps quickly from my lips.
I'd forgotten that. And, if you hadn't reminded me, I would've taken off and flown the most direct route to the Gulf-right over both the base and the airfield.
I doubt they would've scrambled jets to shoot me down. But there damned sure would have been a lot of FAA forms to fill out.
"Explain in two hundred words or less why you have done something really stupid like this."
He set the single-engine, high-wing T206H down smoothly on its tricycle gear, then taxied to the hangar where General Wilson, Randy the Fourth, Neidermeyer, and Max were waiting.
Castillo was a little surprised that Jenkins hadn't at least asked questions about Max getting into his pristine airplane-it was painted a glossy black, like a hearse, and the tan leather interior spotless. He concluded in the end that Jenkins had decided in view of the three hundred fifty dollars an hour that he was charging for the use of his hearse-dry, as Castillo had to fuel it himself-it was necessary to accommodate the customer.
"Well, I guess you're my copilot, General," Castillo said after he'd shut down the engine and his passengers approached the aircraft.
"Charley, I'd be useless in the right seat. I haven't flown in years, and…"
General Wilson held up a Sony digital motion picture camera. Neidermeyer had an almost identical one hanging from the lanyard around his neck.
When Castillo looked at him, Wilson said, "I'd really like to get pictures of the damage, Colonel."
Castillo looked at the boy.
"Well, I guess you're my copilot, Randy."
"Yes, sir."
Castillo motioned to the double doors on the starboard side of the fuselage and said, "Then hop in and make your way forward to the right seat."
Wilson and Neidermeyer would take the middle-row bucket seats.
The bench seat in the rear was just wide enough for Max to lie down, if he wanted.
"What do I do about a seat belt for him?" Castillo wondered aloud.
"Try to fly smooth and not come to a sudden stop," General Wilson said.
Castillo sensed the boy's eyes on him as he trimmed out the airplane and set the autopilot on a more or less southwesterly course for Pensacola, Florida.
