Almost Dangerous by Joseph W Bebo

Author:Joseph W Bebo [Bebo, Joseph W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joseph W. M. Bebo Books
Published: 2020-04-03T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Day 11

Two days later I was in a small, twin-prop plane, flying over the lake on my way to Albany. From there I would take a 747 into Tampa Bay, Florida. On the trip down to the capital our plane flew through some bad turbulence. We were bumped up and down like a carnival ride. I wasn’t particularly bothered, but the flight made several people quite nervous, including our inexperienced stewardess.

I fatalistically imagined the plane plunging down in a smoky plume into the steel-gray lake below. I could almost hear the sound of the engines whining in impotent defiance. I visualized the hard surface of the water rushing up to my window. I wondered what my last thoughts would be. Maybe I’d feel a few moments of pain. Maybe I’d pass out before we hit the ground. Contemplating my own demise came easily to me with years of practice. If it happened while flying in a small plane over the lake, so be it. There were a lot worse ways to die. They were happening all around me.

I tried calling Mary one last time from the airport before getting on the plane. She answered after the sixth ring. She must have forgotten to put her answering machine on to screen her calls. She was obviously still upset with me. I could tell from the venom in her voice when she heard who it was. I told her I was going to Florida for a few days, and asked if I could see her when I returned. She said she was busy and didn’t know when she’d be free.

I looked at the lake below as the plane bounced us around like Mexican jumping beans. Was there really a Loch Ness monster down there like ‘Champ’, hidden beneath the deep, unfathomable waters, waiting for some unsuspecting angler to hook him? Like the monster who was slaying people here in our own small town. A monster who had probably been there all along, hidden beneath the facade of polite society, concealed by our inability to see the horror lying in the depths of a deranged human soul.

My plane arrived in Tampa exactly 1:30 Sunday afternoon. I rented a car at the airport and drove across the Tampa Bay Bridge to quaint St. Pete. I went to my hotel first, a big, pink, turreted place down on the beach. The literature in the lobby informed me it had been a naval hospital during the Second World War. From the looks of my room, with its small dimensions, creaky floors boards, old-fashioned door knobs, and small single bed, I could believe it. I planned to enjoy myself while I was here. I’d get my obligations out of the way as quickly as possible, and then hit the beach.

Freshening up, I put on my favorite blue Hawaiian shirt - the one that made me look like a short Magnum PI - and headed down to the police station, where my brother was being held. I thought it was hot when I left upstate New York, but it was positively broiling in downtown St.

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