Flying Too Close to the Sun by George Jehn (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

“Remember, do not take any of the money,” Woody reiterated. “He probably knows exactly how much and if you do...”

“Shit. I was going to hold back enough to tide me over and pay for my place ‘til I can, hopefully flip it.”

“You know, you make selfishness into an art form. Do not do that! We don’t want the little guinea coming after us! It’s bad enough that without a job I won’t be able to make ends meet. If I know your sister, she’ll probably force me to sell this joint and who knows what comes next?”

“I gotta go,” Rhodes said.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Erik returned to his dump motel a different person, a stick figure with a jumble of blond hair and lots of lost innocence. He grabbed a bite at a fast food joint down the block, but it just floated in his stomach. He watched TV for a while, but sleep wouldn’t come. Fully dressed, with head wedged between two musty pillows he constantly tossed and turned. He had to escape this garbage heap, find a pay phone and call Christina, disguising his voice in case the cops were listening in. He’d meet her at some out of the way place, tomorrow after he had the money.

She was still out sick and the news he had to impart would certainly make her feel better. He’d passed a bank of phones at a gas station, so he drove there after getting quarters from the same slimy desk clerk. Maybe I should boil the coins before using them? He dialed her number and put in three quarters. Would that gorilla David answer? Instead, another male voice identifying himself as Officer Spinelli picked up. Erik thought it was a joke, but when the cop gave his badge number the anticipation turned to foreboding. Was Christina arrested? Were they interrogating her, now? Would he be next? He played dumb. “Sorry. I was trying to reach a friend at this number, Captain Christina Shepard.”

“Are you a member of the immediate family?”

Erik recalled the night the cops questioned him. This was the same tone of voice. “I’m just a flying buddy who called to say hello. Is everything all right?”

“I’m sorry, but Ms. Shepard passed away earlier today.”

All Erik could blurt out was, “This some kind of sick joke?”

“Right now, all indications point to a major seizure-related head injury.”

“What…?”

“I’m sorry. What did you say your name was? Perhaps you can shed some light…”

Erik slammed down the receiver. Christina dead? The news hit him like a blast of red-hot jet exhaust. He felt helpless, but since there was nothing more he could do, he returned to the motel. After saying a silent prayer, he was wide awake and also paranoid that Woody or his partner might attempt some shit. While pondering the faceless concrete wilderness surrounding his room, he continually glanced at the dial of the small clock permanently affixed to the scarred night table, its luminescent numbers seemingly glued in place. He traced the trails the cars’ headlights left on the ceiling over and over, like bright rivers running through the crevices of a mountain range. Occasionally a car would stop. Would the flimsy door come crashing down? Was Christina really dead?

.     .     .

Per the norm, Juni and Angela Rosario began their routine before sunrise. It was a rough night, as his thoughts kept returning to what he’d heard on Fox News. A well-known woman pilot, Captain Christina Shepard had died from head wounds associated with a fall during an apparent grand mal seizure. As he sat at the kitchen table barely picking at his breakfast, Anita asked, “You okay?”

“I got so much shit on my mind…”

“About the bakery?”

“Lots of stuff.” Although media interest in Christina’s death would quickly abate, Juni knew this was a personal tragedy that would drag him down further. Pondering this he said, “Funds are so low I don’t know how the hell we’re going to make it. Antonio must sense something’s wrong, because he’s considering dropping out of school to work here and I don’t want that.”

“He and I spoke about it,” Angela replied, “and he wants to help.”

“But if he stays in school he can have a better life.” A moment later Juni stood up, went to Angela and put his arms around her. “My family deserves better. If I’d ratted out the prick at the bank none of this would’ve happened. Not a day goes by I don’t regret it.”

“You did what you thought was right.”

Juni softly kissed her, went into the spanking clean bakery, switched on the fluorescent sign and the world knew the Genoa Italian bakery was open for another day.

.     .     .

Like flying westbound into a strong jet stream, Erik felt the dawn would never reach its final destination. At first light, he breathed a sigh of relief. As daylight took possession of the outside world, the wind ceased blowing through a crack in the window molding and the low-hanging mist vanished, seemingly sucked up into the air. As the longed-for light finally burned through the yellowed curtains, Erik prayed this personal nightmare would end, soon. When he looked into the mirror, even though the eyes staring back were badly swollen, they could pass muster. He stepped outside into the still dank air, cautiously glanced around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. After throwing his belongings into the back seat, he hoped this would be the end of a crazy scheme hatched by Christina Shepard, seemingly a lifetime ago. He started the car and a nearby diner provided temporary solace, even though the rock-hard English muffin along with three cups of acid brew didn’t help his stomach.

He circled Woody’s place twice and nothing appeared amiss. There were no other cars in sight including the Benz, so he pulled up directly in front. With nerves and muscles on full alert, he cautiously approached the front door and almost jumped