Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

“What’d you do with the tape?”

“The first time I took it home and burned it in the fireplace, but it probably would have been only a matter of time until some maintenance guy became suspicious if another tape mysteriously disappeared. If that happened Shepard or Preis might hear about it and put two and two together, meaning no more cockpit discussions, or worse yet a changed or canceled plan. Next time I brought along a portable tape player, listened in my car and then reinstalled it. Since I had done it before, that entire process only took about twenty-five minutes. I brought you in when I had all the needed info,” Woody added with a shrug of his shoulders. “I have to admit, the entire set-up was foolproof. They took all the risks and became prime suspects and we got the dough.”

“Not a bad deal!” Rhodes exclaimed.

A smiling Woody continued, “I even made Shepard and Preis hurry up during the robbery when I thought they were taking too much time. I didn’t want to make them appear too suspicious.”

Ingrid got up and poured more wine. “It was flawless,” she added with a wry smile. “Woody even “slipped” with the cops and made his disdain for Shepard known. Can you imagine, that little bimbo complained to Woody’s boss about…”

“Don’t give me all the credit,” Woody broke in holding up his hand, not wanting to rehash what she reported to O’Brien. “Shepard concocted it and we simply reaped the benefits of their work; the thieves stealing from the robbers. Not a bad deal.”

A smiling Billy slid over on the couch and slapped Woody on his jelly-like shoulder. “C’mon, you did more. Wasn’t it your idea to have your dying old man sign the phony trust agreement right before he croaked, leaving you what turned out to be his hidden, but nonexistent nest egg?”

“Not me,” Woody added, shaking his head. “Your sister invented that one, which would create a plausible explanation of where we got the money. I needed it just in case the cops wondered why I quit, or if we couldn’t bury it in the company. However, I do suspect the cops will have some more questions for me when they find out I resigned. But I’ve got a convincing reason.”

“Then you both deserve a pat on the back.”

“I don’t want that,” Woody added, shaking his head. “But, I will take a job starting at two-hundred thou, along with a piece of the action.”

“Well, ah, you’ve got it!” Rhodes replied in a thick Boston accent. “I had the twang down pat for the eye-talian. I figured he’d concentrate searching in the Boston area.”

“We planned every little detail ahead of time,” Woody interjected. “But hey, there’s another, important item that goes with my new job.”

“What’s that? You want a car?”

“Nah, but we have to get together more often, especially now that we’re partners and colleagues.”

“While I’m thinking of it, partner here’s my new cellphone number. I finally bought one and it’s always on. And let’s not forget another important item.” Billy laughed loudly as he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a tight-fitting white tee-shirt emblazoned in bold, black letters of the EAST BOSTON MARAUDERS. “The truth is that the three of us make a great team. And I don’t mean softball. We played hardball like the fucking pros.” Billy raised his glass, “To the East Boston/Parsippany Marauders.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Erik was waiting patiently in the shadows on the dark, semi-rural road. Peering through a pair of cheap binoculars, he saw so many lights illuminated in the Montgomery household he figured they must be stockholders in the local electric company. While waiting until certain Woody’s daughter, Stephanie was tucked away, Erik pondered the depressing drive along Route 46. He was unfamiliar with Jersey, but was convinced its architecture must have sprung from an act of sorcery. There were high tension towers with wires that seemingly reached to the clouds and acres upon acres of gray concrete that made up desolate towns with grimy motels and restaurants with windows so dirty you could probably scrape a meal off them. The fast-food outlets were the only things interrupting the depressing landscape, with garish fluorescent signs announcing their presence. The twenty-four hour donut shops probably comprised most of the nightlife in a State sandwiched between New York City and Philadelphia that even Benjamin Franklin had referred to as a keg tapped at both ends. But when compared to New York, Jersey still had a slightly lower State income tax, confirming that the tightfisted airline pilots cared more about their wallets than anything.

While waiting he was shivering, the prickly chill slowly climbing the vertebrae of his spine like walking up steps to a church, fear exacerbated because he didn’t know the true persona he was dealing with; a common criminal, a sociopath? The anxiety was compounded by the penetrating dampness on a night when summer was taking its last gasp, a time when the northeast winds replaced the comforting southern breezes, bringing the first hint of cold weather. The autumn-like wind whining through the leaves caused the tree boughs to rustle and sway, their branches clicking together, sounds that cooled his body even further. A number of times he wanted to start the car and flip on the heater but couldn’t, lest someone discover his presence.

Montgomery’s front door abruptly opened and a man much larger than Woody emerged. Erik’s jaw muscles began twitching, followed by a warm feeling fueled by anger and forged into a steel-like rage spreading throughout his body. With head bowed, he silently exited the car.

.     .     .

Rhodes still had to meet with an architect at a posh upper east-side Manhattan condo he had just made a down-payment on, so he begged off more wine and bid adieu. Riding a high, he didn’t pay attention to the tall blond guy who passed him. But Erik noted the build, ratlike features and birthmark.