Last Flight by Thomas A. Chase

Author:Thomas A. Chase
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2013-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

10. Le Renard Rouge

Charis shook Rob’s shoulder. “Robby, wake up! Robby!” “

Why? What is it?”

“The phone.”

She switched on the lamp beside the bed. The telephone continued its insistent ringing. Rob blinked awake and fumbled for the receiver. “Hello,” he mumbled. “Skipper, it’s me, Cash. I’m, uh, in a little trouble.”

Rob rubbed his eyes, looked at his watch. The digital readout showed 10:05 P.M. But that was Eastern time. In Paris it would be—he had to think a second—3:05 A.M. He said into the telephone, “It’s three in the morning!”

“Sorry about that, Skipper. I’m at the Renard Rouge and …”

“The what?”

“The Renard Rouge. You know, the Red Fox, the famous nightclub. And I don’t have enough cash and, shit, my credit card won’t work. Damned thing must be maxed out.”

“What do you want?”

“I need some money, Skipper. To pay this goddamned bill! Don’t know who else to ask. There’s a couple of those French police guys here plus the manager and half the staff and either I pay up or it’s off to the slammer.”

“How much do you need?”

“In funny money, it’s about two thousand something, whatever that is.”

Rob almost blurted out, “Maybe jail would do you some good.” Then he realized that there could be a heap of trouble if Cash was arrested. Their flight back to Boston would be canceled since there are no reserve first officers sitting around Paris, and it would take half the day, at the earliest, for the company to send over a replacement. Some of the passengers could be protected on the New York flight, then shuttled back to Boston. All would be unhappy. And if Rob’s flight was canceled, Crew Scheduling would most likely deadhead him back on the New York flight also, because on Monday, he suddenly remembered, he’d be sixty, no more a Trans Globe captain, no longer authorized to command a flight across the Atlantic. Damn, he wanted to work his last crossing, to make that final landing, not deadhead.

Rob suspected, too, that Cash may have overindulged. It would make for a sensational story if the press learned that an airline pilot had been tossed into jail—in Paris!—after a night on the town. Trans Globe did not need that kind of publicity. Rob had his loyalties—despite Frank Yeganeh. “Okay,” Rob said acidly. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Please hurry, Skipper. They’re turning out the lights.”

Rob replaced the telephone, then he turned to Charis and frowned. “It’s Cash. He’s at a fancy nightclub and can’t pay the bill.” Rob shrugged his shoulders. “He even said please.” Rob’s arm encircled her bare shoulders, and he drew her closer. He whispered, “I have to go help him.” He kissed her and said, “It’s been so wonderful being with you, Charis. Thank you.”

He eased out of the bed and dressed quickly, then returned to Charis’s side. When she sat up, the covers dropped away, revealing her small breasts, their exquisite contours silhouetted by the lamplight. He wanted urgently to caress her again;

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