Chapter 27 The Loner
Lt. Drummond made it to Rodeo in record time — twice in forty-eight hours…he was getting used to the route. He radioed ahead and made contact with Sampson. “Come to the same rendezvous area…I repeat, come to the same rendezvous area. We have a situation in progress at the ranch. It’s going down as we speak.”
“Wow,” Avery said. “We may be just in time for some action.”
“You'd better cool your jets, John,” said Drummond. “You just might get what you wish for.”
“My god!” Sammy said. “Look at all the media. Every television station in the southwest is here.”
Sampson approached Drummond’s police cruiser.
“We meet again. This Reirdon fellow of yours has tipped us off to the biggest drug bust ever in the state of New Mexico. We have six vans parked in a horseshoe formation on the far eastern edge of the Sanchez property. Are you guys ready to rumble? There’s only one way they can get out, and that’s right at us.”
“Where do you want us?” questioned Avery.
“We’re gonna set up a line of vehicles just north of here and about five miles in…toward the Sanchez ranch. If any of those poor souls make it out, they’ll run into a wall of gunfire. If you have rifles in that truck of yours, I suggest you get them out…and load ‘em up!”
Twenty miles away, the fireworks began. Forty patrol agents raised their rifles and let loose with a barrage of gunfire. The drug runners returned fire, and the New Mexico sky turned a bright red…the fiery smoke drifted to the west across the border into Arizona.
Drummond, Avery, and Dalton held their position behind their vehicle. Dalton looked left and right. “My God! It looks like we’re defending the Alamo!”
The roar of the distant gunfire subsided, followed by deadly silence…one minute passed…two..three…five minutes…then static on the radio…a border agent trying to make contact. “One of the vans got through our barricade. They’re coming your way…six men in a two-toned blue and white van…and they’re armed to the hilt.”
One single word was heard.”Copy!”
Drummond looked over at Avery and said, “It looks like Reirdon is getting a big 'Attaboy' for this.”
“You know we figured the Cartel was chasing him,” Avery said. “I think they’re more interested in getting back their merchandise.”
Drummond turned and eyed his third partner. “You okay, Sammy? You look like you’re about to lose your breakfast.”
“Not hardly, Lieutenant,” she responded. “I didn’t have any breakfast. I’m going to be fine. I guess I’ve finally graduated from traffic tickets.”
“You’ll do fine,” Avery assured her. “We got your back!”
Sammy had always aspired to be a police officer. She had to fight her way in. It didn’t come easy. Not a lot of calls for female cops, but the higher-ups started to take notice when she finished in the top five of her recruiting class. She outran everyone in the three-mile run. Of course, she failed to tell anyone; she was the top cross-country runner in 2008 at her high school in Cottonwood, Arizona.
And she was a straight shooter, outshining everyone at the academy. Sammy was so good with a firearm that her fellow recruits jokingly changed her name to Annie. It got to the point where Sammy liked the name better. She told Avery once, “Annie Dalton kinda has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Sammy positioned her rifle. “I got this, you two.”
Drummond and Avery smiled.
Avery, on the other hand, had taken one for the team back in 2010, and he would just as soon avoid another. Unfortunately, it’ll be a long time before he forgets that warm and fuzzy feeling when a bullet ripped through his left hip.
A depressed teenager had put a gun to his head one Saturday morning while sitting on a flat rock by the side of a creek, one mile north of the entrance to Sabino Canyon, a well-known hiking and camping area for the local Tucson residents.
Avery received a call in his cruiser about the deranged boy, and since he was just four miles away at the intersection of Sabino Canyon Road and Tanque Verde, he hightailed it north to the scene.
A crowd gathered along the trail. Avery jumped out of his vehicle, rushed past the crowd, and tried to talk the boy into handing over the weapon. After a lengthy discussion, the boy, instead of placing the firearm on the flat rock beside him, dropped the weapon. The gun bounced off the rock and fired, hitting Avery in the hip.
The agonizing pain Avery gets once in a while in that area of his body quickly reminds him of a Saturday morning — a crystal clear day with a typical southwestern deep blue sky overhead, which ends abruptly with a week’s stay in the hospital and a three-month rehab.
“John, you see anything?” Drummond said.
“Nothing yet, Charlie. But I bet it won’t be long now.”
Suddenly, the van appeared at full throttle, speeding toward the barricade. “Merry Christmas!” yelled Drummond. Gunfire quickly erupted, and the off-white van was riddled with bullets.
The driver of the van responded by quickly turning the steering wheel to the right; instantly, the van was on its side and rolled and twisted its way down the dirt road, coming to a stop less than fifty yards from the police barricade.
Two men emerged, their rifles blasting away. A border patrol agent at the southern end of the barricade was hit in the shoulder, and another bullet ricocheted off a patrol car and sliced through the right arm of a stunned agent.
Suddenly, what had been a howling wind turned deafly quiet…only the sounds of border agents reloading their weapons could be heard. Fifty yards away, two bodies, flat on the ground, showed no movement…no voices were heard from inside the van.
Avery put his arm around Dalton. “I’m okay, John. I’m okay!”
Dalton and Avery turned to Drummond. The Lieutenant’s left side of his face was covered in blood. Avery shook Drummond’s shoulder. “Charlie! Charlie!”
“I’m here, John,” Drummond said, as he struggled to get the words out. “I feel like I might have got in the way of one.”
Sammy rushed to his side as the helicopter circled overhead and landed in the middle of the highway.
Sampson kept low and shuffled toward the Lieutenant. “Guys, the copter is going to take the injured to Sierra Vista…they’ll be on the ground and be cared for in less than fifteen minutes.”
A spotlight lit up and surrounded the drug runner’s van. A dozen border agents surrounded the overturned vehicle…three of the agents raised their hands…one agent dropped his rifle, raised both hands, and wiggled all five fingers of his left hand and the index finger on his right.
Sampson stood up. “It’s over.”
Avery and Dalton watched their partner being carried on a gurney. Within seconds, Drummond was airborne, along with two injured border patrol officers. The helicopter headed west, leaving in its wake a tunnel of dust as it rushed through the streets of Rodeo and disappeared to the south toward Mexico.
Chapter 28
It felt good to shower and shave off the prickly beard I had accumulated over the past two weeks. The new clothes were a little loose, but would suffice. I looked in the mirror. I looked like I had been through a war, but I was still standing and ready for my next move.
The phone call left me with hope — the will to carry on. I had spoken to a friend I hadn’t talked to in over a year. Ace McGuire, a former Continental pilot, had been with the Network for 12 years. He had jumped at the chance to escape the rat race of commercial flying, and it didn’t take him long to say “yes” to an offer with the Network, where he would be the head pilot in charge of transporting company executives.
“Royce Reirdon! My God! Where the hell are you? The whole world is looking for you.”
I didn’t know where to begin. I took the humorous route. “I’ve been vacationing with a couple of low-lives and a handful of drug runners, and I thought I’d call you and chit-chat.”
“You’re all over the tube, Royce. We all thought you were dead…where are you, Royce?”
“I’ve just crossed the border in Nogales. Need a ride home for Christmas…where are you, Ace?”
Ace chuckled at my humor, still stunned that I wasn’t six feet under. “I’m in Phoenix. Just dropped a couple of head honchos off for the Arizona Cardinals game on Sunday.”
“Football! It seems like a lifetime ago. Ace, I need your help…can you get an okay from the higher-ups to pick me up and get me home?”
“Where do you need to go, Royce?”
“I promised my family I’d be home for Christmas…in Arkansas! Can you land that jet of yours at the Marana Airport, just north of Tucson?”
“Arkansas…Marana Airport…well, I guess. How are you gonna get there?”
“I’ll think of something…I’ll hail a cab…I’ll meet you on the tarmac.”
“This is crazy, Royce. Don’t the cops have an APB out on you?”
“Yeah, I’ll deal with them later. Please, Ace! Get the okay.”
“I’m on it, Royce. Get yourself to Marana. I think I know a couple of dudes there. I had to fly an exec in there last year for the Accenture Golf Tournament.”
“Thanks, Ace. I hope to see your smiling face soon!”
Chapter 29
Johnny Valenzuela lives in Rio Rico, a small town just off Interstate 19 — just 14 miles north of the border. He spends six days a week driving a cab for a living. Most of his customers who hail him down live near Nogales, but he’s been known to expand his area now and then, taking fares as far as the neighboring town to the north, Green Valley — a retirement community about halfway between Tucson and Nogales.
Giving rides to a senior citizen who wants to spend a day at the Desert Diamond Casino — about a forty-two-mile jaunt north of Rio Rico — is also a standard fare. Of course, half of the patrons who flag him down daily are heading across the border for a few hours of shopping in Nogales.
It isn’t a hard job, but Valenzuela still looks forward to his day off on Sundays — mainly because his passion is pro football. Ever since he was a star running back for the Nogales High School Apaches back in 2003, Valenzuela has been hooked on the game. For eight years running, the former prep star has been glued to his 50-inch TV screen — reliving every play as if he were the athlete taking a handoff from the quarterback.
Valenzuela wasn’t too thrilled about working on Christmas Day. For one thing, it’s usually a slow day, not a lot of action. He had just found a spot north of the border entrance, rolled his window down, took off his Arizona Cardinals hat, and was just about to take a snooze…when he got a live one.
His next fare was less than two minutes away.
Chapter 30
I settled my account and walked out the front entrance of the motel. The last words from the clerk, “But, señor, you paid for a whole day and night!”
I looked back at the clerk and said. “Sorry, I’m on the run.”
The cab driver put on the brakes and came to a screeching halt. The cabbie rolled down the passenger side window and asked, “Where can I take you?”
“The Marana Regional Airport, as fast as you can get me there.”
“Sir, that’s an hour and a half away. A little out of my territory.”
I flashed a hundred-dollar bill in my right hand. “Here’s a little extra for your time.”
The cabbie scratched his head, smiled, and said. “Si señor, get in!”
I caught the “look” right away. We were no more than five miles down I-19 when it hit him. “You look so familiar,” the cabbie said. “My name is John Valenzuela, but everybody calls me Johnny, of course.”
“The name is Royce Reirdon,” I said
“Yes, that’s it. You’re the TV anchorman,” Johnny said. “Reirdon…yes…yes! I’ve listened to you for five or six years. You do the play-by-play.”
“Not anymore. I’m retired.”
“Boy, Mr. Reirdon. I love football. I was an all-state running back not too many years ago. Wanted to play college ball, but no free ride for me.”
“Call me Royce,” I said as I gazed out the window. “Johnny, is there any chance you could put the pedal to the metal?”
“I can beef it up a bit, but this is a crazy corridor — especially the next forty miles or so the cops are out in force and would like nothing better than to catch me doing about 85…probably should stick to 75…otherwise you’ll be later than you want to be.”
“Gotcha. I understand. I’m just in a hurry to get home.”
Mr. Reirdon…I mean, Royce. May I turn on ESPN? Do you mind? I can usually pick it up on Channel 1490…love to listen to the sports.”
“You go right ahead, Johnny.”
We passed the Rio Rico exit, and Johnny informed me, “That’s my exit. I live just two miles west of the interstate. I have a small, two-bedroom patio home. I like it…just me and my dog, Rufus. He likes football, too. We sit there on Sundays and watch games all afternoon…I eat pizza, and he crunches down on a bone. Every Sunday, rain or shine.”
I continued to listen to Johnny jabber away. I closed my eyes. I suddenly realized how tired I was. Johnny noticed it, too. “You just take a snooze if you want. I’ll get you there soon enough.”
It didn’t take long to relive the nightmare. I remember filling up my gas tank in Socorro and then speeding off toward Las Cruces. I remember the Johnson brothers tailgating me and remember the sudden jolt as they plowed into the rear bumper of my car.
I lost control as the Lexus spun around and came to a stop up against a wired fence fifty feet off the highway. Before I could unbuckle my seat belt, one of them opened my car door and pulled me out. I saw the butt of the gun…then darkness.
I fidgeted as the image of a green door flashed through my mind…then a room with a saddle…the low-life Frankie Ray bringing me rotten food and lukewarm beer…and a girl, a beautiful girl. Oh, Maria. What a waste.
Johnny kept talking, but I was deep in thought, my body becoming limp. I shook as I heard gunfire, which went on forever…then silence…deadly silence. I see a hand, a bunkhouse door open…I struggle forward…four dead on the ground…and Maria, poor Maria.
I remember driving away…looking back at a burning barn…vehicles on fire…Maria is in the back seat…moaning…mumbling, “Father, where are you?”
“Mr. Reirdon, wake up!” Johnny said. “Listen!” he added, pointing to the radio.
I cringed. Why did I say “yes” to the cabbie? Why didn’t I say —No, Johnny? I’d like a little quiet time.”
Johnny’s smiling face changed to a concerned look. “Mr. Reirdon…I mean, Royce…are you in trouble?”
“I’m trying to get out of trouble, Johnny. I’ve been through an ordeal. Will you please help me? I need to get to the Marana Airport.”
We both listened to the tail end of the ESPN news flash. “Still missing is former CBC sports anchorman Royce Reirdon. It’s been twelve days since the well-known anchorman was kidnapped outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico, and it’s been two days since a drug-related gun battle occurred near the border of Arizona and New Mexico in which four men were killed — including Reirdon’s kidnappers. The latest update from authorities is that Reirdon is alive and has surfaced in Sonora, Mexico, in the historic town of Magdalena de Kino. Feared dead, Reirdon’s family now has hope that the father of two and six grandchildren is alive and well. In other news…”
Johnny quickly took the next exit, came to a stop sign, and turned right.
“Where are you going, Johnny?”
“There’s a roadblock ahead due to an accident. It happens on this highway too many times. I’m going to detour, pick up the Old Nogales Highway, and head directly for the south side of Tucson.”
“Are you still going to help me, Johnny?”
“You bet I am, Royce. I’ll make sure I have you there on time for your plane ride home.”
Chapter 31
Detective Avery and Officer Dalton followed Sampson to the Sanchez ranch one more time. Dalton let out a smile. “I thought you were done with dirt roads. Sampson’s got the lead on you once again.”
“This will be well worth it,” Avery said, as the ranch house had become barely visible as he pulled the cruiser in behind Sampson, who had suddenly pulled over to the side of the road near the entrance to the ranch.
“Why don’t you two hop in? I’ll give you a little tour of the forty acres,” Sampson said. “I know you’re tired of eating my dust.”
“Why, thank you, Willie. That’s very kind of you.” Avery said as he coughed into his handkerchief and jumped into the front passenger seat while Dalton crawled in the back. Sampson then floored the cruiser and headed north.
Suddenly, the crosses began to appear…four at a time. “My goodness,” Dalton said. “Every four to eight hundred yards, you see another. How many pounds of marijuana have they found out here?”
Sampson responded. “Well, not including the contents of the van we shot up, they’re estimating close to 58,000 pounds of marijuana, over 200 pounds of cocaine, 150 pounds of heroin, and close to a million dollars in cash, along with 50 or more firearms seized.
“My Lord!” Dalton said.
“How many of those drug runners lost their lives out here?” Avery asked.
“Only two survived, and we got them back in Lordsburg answering questions as we speak. To answer your question, thirteen are dead.”
“Wow,” said Sammy.
“Sammy, we’ve seen enough. Let’s get to Sierra Vista and check on Charlie,” Avery said, suddenly realizing where they needed to be.”
“I’ll take you back to your cruiser,” Willie said. “Take Highway 80 out of here to Bisbee and connect with Highway 90…that’s the quickest way. Let me know how Drummond is…and you guys keep in touch, you hear?”
“Thanks, Willie,” Sammy said. “It’s been fun!”
It took an hour and a half to get to Sierra Vista, and that was at full speed with the red light flashing all the way. Avery and Dalton passed through the old mining town of Bisbee. The city was a booming metropolis in the early 1900s. At one point, the area had become the richest copper deposit ever discovered, which in turn allowed the little town to prosper and become the largest city between St Louis and San Francisco.
By the 1950s, mining had come to a halt, and the residents of the small southern Arizona town were forced to fend for themselves. Avery’s last visit to Bisbee didn’t turn out to be a pleasant one.
“Back in my running days, I entered this God-awful race where you run through town for 4.5 miles. At the heart of the race is a stair climb — 1,000 stairs straight up. I had to be carried out of town in a stretcher.”
“I’ve often wondered why I can’t get you out for a jog, Avery…now I know,” Dalton said, making light of a comment for the first time in days.
“Hilarious, Sammy. Very funny.”
Drugs were the topic of conversation for most of the trip. Avery was disgusted with the amount of heroin seized across the country in the past three years. “It just keeps coming. There seems to be no way of stopping it.”
“The destruction it causes is what gets me,” Dalton said. “You remember that poor girl from back east we found in the bathroom at a Miracle Mile motel just last month? The poor thing had a spoon in her hand and burn marks and residue in her purse. Sometimes they get a hold of stuff…so potent…it kills them instantly.”
“I remember her,” Avery recalls. “She was a beautiful girl, an art student at the University of Arizona. It’s so sad.”
“I read an article a few weeks ago that blew my mind,” Dalton said. “Since the year 2000, nearly half a million people died from some kind of overdose of some type of opioid.”
Avery saw the sign up ahead: Hereford…Sierra Vista, 5 miles.
“What gets me is once a poor soul gets hooked, it becomes so dominating. It is so hard to combat it…the person struggles and struggles to get away from the drug to no avail. Hooked for life.”
Dalton agreed as they pulled into Sierra Vista. “We need better education and, what is so sad, we have to start early with the children, educating them down to the grade school level.”
“Well, we certainly got some of the drugs off the streets today,” Avery said as he smiled and pulled into the regional hospital.
Avery quickly found a parking space. “I hope Drummond is okay,” Sammy said as she shut the door on the passenger side of the cruiser.
“Let’s go,” Avery said as the two of them rushed to the entrance of the hospital.
“What room is Lt. Drummond in?”
The receptionist quickly looked through four pages of paper. “There he is. Charles Drummond. In Room 135, go down to the end of the hall and turn left.”
“Thank you,” Sammy said. The receptionist jumped out of her chair and watched the two visitors run down the hall. “You’re welcome.”
The door was slightly ajar. Sammy was the first to enter. She saw a doctor and a nurse at Drummond’s bedside. “Charlie, you okay, Charlie?”
Drummond raised his right hand, giving a thumbs-up sign. The doctor met Avery and Dalton at the doorway. “He’s going to be just fine. We cleared out all the fragments…most of which were lodged in the neck area. We’ll keep him until tomorrow as a precaution. He’ll be as good as new in a few weeks.”
Drummond welcomed his partners. “Did you two just come from Rodeo? How did things end up out there?”
“Charlie, it was a huge drug bust…maybe the biggest in the southwest…58,000 pounds of marijuana, over 150 pounds of heroin, and a lot of cocaine,” Dalton exclaimed.
Avery added. “Thirteen members of the cartel are dead…two were arrested and taken into Lordsburg for more questioning. If we can get some information out of those two, chances are we’ll put an even bigger dent in the Cartel’s operation. The drugs uncovered out there will never make it to the streets of Tucson…or the country for that matter.”
“Especially that God-awful heroin. Every time someone loads that stuff up their arm, it’s like playing Russian roulette. Those two who managed to survive will be in prison for a long time,” Drummond said as he moved his body to the right in hopes of getting comfortable.
“Rest assured, Charlie,” Dalton said as she gave Drummond a big hug. “We did well today. We did well.”
Chapter 32
Johnny sped down the Old Nogales Highway. He passed the turnoff to the Desert Diamond Casino, and within minutes, I looked out the window and could see the Valencia Road exit sign. Johnny quickly made a left turn, and we hooked up once again with I-19 and headed toward downtown Tucson.
We passed Congress Street, the Speedway exit, and the Grant Road exit. Now on I-10, we headed for the northwest side of town, edging closer to the Marana Regional Airport and my rendezvous with Ace and his Phenom 100 Jet.
Johnny moved over to the right lane, blew by the Avra Valley exit, and headed west. At any other time, I would have made an effort to view the landscape — we were weaving our way through the northern edge of the Tucson Mountains — with the beautiful Catalinas due north, the Rincon Mountains behind us, and the Santa Rita Mountains due south. I’d typically take in the beauty of it all, but not today. Today, I was in survival mode.
Johnny dropped me off at the entrance to the airport. We said our goodbyes. I handed him a little extra cash. “You buy Rufus a good bone, one that’ll take him four quarters to carve up on Sunday.”
“Thanks, Royce. It should be a good game…the Cardinals at home against the San Francisco Giants. Thanks again. I’m sure Rufus will appreciate it.”
I glanced back at Johnny, his elbows leaning on the top of his cab, his Cardinals’ hat on backward, a smile on his face. I picked up my black satchel and headed through the door, thinking how lucky I was to have met up with the likes of Johnny Valenzuela and Ramon Sanchez. They had helped me get this far…now it was time to see an old friend.
“Royce, over here!”
I made my way through the lobby and saw Ace McGwire propped up against a door. The sign above the door read: Executive Charter Departures.
“This way, my friend.” Ace said, pointing to his jet — a jet he called “Molly” — a name he reverently selected for its streamlined body, much like his second wife, Molly Kincaid. Ace once said, “Molly was a jet-setter, too bad she wandered away after five glorious years.”
Ace noticed my weight loss. “Man, you look like a skeleton. We’ve got plenty of food on board. We’ll get some grub in you. Looks like you can sure use some.”
“Yeah, I haven’t had a lot of time to sit down to a full-course meal. Did you say, we?”
I looked up and standing on the steps of the aircraft was Brad Jolly.
Ace smiled. “Brad has been worried about you. The whole Network has.”
“Welcome aboard, Royce Reirdon,” yelled Jolly, waving frantically with a big smile on his face.
I hugged Jolly and wiped away a tear or two. “It’s hard to find the words, Brad. I’ve been through hell!”
“I know you have, Buddy. I know you have. Let’s go home.”
Within minutes, we were cleared for takeoff. I buckled in and watched Ace maneuver, Molly, skyward. Ace made a gradual turn to the east, and I glanced out the window and watched the terrain fly by. I could see the Catalina Mountains below…the Foothills…and I remembered my little bungalow. For a moment, I thought I recognized Windspur Lane…my home…my backyard…my kidney-shaped pool — the beautiful color of turquoise…the reflection beaming off the surface of the water as the noonday sun beat down on the City of Tucson.
I stared out the window, searching for the Santa Rita Mountains to the south. Beyond the mountain range, off in the distance lay Mexico. Slightly over two hundred miles away, Ramon was frantically making final arrangements to bury his daughter, forced to say a final goodbye to his lovely Maria on Christmas Day.
Just hours ago, I was in Ramon’s pickup, making my way from Magdalena de Kino to the Arizona border…a Willie Nelson song, Angel Flying too Close to the Ground, echoed out of the truck windows and flowed into the early-morning Sonoran sky.
Maria Consuelo Sanchez. Was she my guardian angel? She spent such a short time on this earth. Like so many young people searching for an easy way out, Maria found it — and it proved costly, her life snuffed out, just nineteen years older than my Samantha.
Oh, Samantha. It won’t be long now. I’ll be there in less than three hours.
My family will be waiting for me. I don’t plan on ever being ALONE again.
Brad brought over a tray of sandwiches and a tall glass of milk. “It’s a little better than what you might get on a commercial airliner.”
He sat next to me. “Boy, it’s good to have you back. How did you survive it all? The last time I saw you was at your surprise party in Denver. That was just thirteen days ago. It probably seems like a month of Sundays.”
“And then some, Brad!”
“On the news, they said some thugs on the run kidnapped you?”
I took a deep breath and relayed the sad story to my friend. As I rattled on, I watched Brad’s facial expressions. “My God! You lost your memory?”
“Yeah. I did. It was so strange. I couldn’t for the life of me remember who I was, and then it was just last Sunday afternoon. I could hear static from a transistor radio, and suddenly, I could hear the new kid you had hired. Johnstone…announcing the San Diego-Oakland game, and something snapped into place, and I yelled out my name, Royce Reirdon.”
“You must have got clobbered pretty good,” Brad said.
“It could have been worse…and soon after, it did. It was like having a front seat at the OK Corral.”
I filled Brad in on the rest of the sad story.
“But why did you take the girl to Mexico? You must have been delirious!”
“Maybe so, Brad. Maybe so. I looked into Maria’s eyes, her entire left side covered in blood…listened to her plea to be with her father. I thought of Jake and Josh… my miserable existence…and what was important in life…something snapped inside me…I burned the money, the drugs…getting Maria to her father became an obsession.”
“Royce! My God! You’ve been through hell!”
I looked out the window of the Phenom 100. Molly was doing just fine. Another hour and her nose gear will touch down in Conway.
I explained to my friend how I had changed, realizing how I’d spent a lifetime in the dark — away from the important things in life.
My depression overwhelmed me, and the “mental disease” had become so hard for me to deal with at times, but there was always that escape. As soon as I heard the words “you’re on,” my world changed, and for a brief moment, I was above it all — above the pain, the agony — and then, in a blink of an eye, the camera stopped, and I’d hear the word, ”cut” and I’d return to reality…unplug…get up, walk away…and be ALONE, again.
I had said I told no one of my affliction except my shrink. I grabbed Brad’s arm, “I must call her…I need to call, Harriet!”
“In due time, Royce. First, we need to get you off this plane…get you to your family. They’re waiting for you. I’ve arranged for a car to pick you up and have scheduled a physician to examine you before we deplane. You have gone weeks without your heart medicine…your blood pressure needs to be checked, and your vitals need to be taken. A doctor must take a look at you.”
“Thanks, Brad. I know you mean well. “But believe me, my heart is in the right place now, and I have a clear head for the first time in a long, long time.
It’s like starting over, Brad. It’s like I’m the young reporter, standing on the sideline at a high school game in Little Rock, stuttering my way through an “on-the-scene” report. From now on, my next steps will be the right ones. I have a new lease on life.”
Ace interrupted our conversation. “Buckle up, guys. We’ll be landing in twenty minutes…”
Suddenly, the Phenom 100 veered to the right.
“We’ve got a slight problem,” Ace said as he opened the cockpit door. “I can’t get the nose gear to lock in place.”
Brad shook his head, and I did the same. I had just finished reliving the last thirteen God-awful days of my life. “And now what…a plane crash?”
“Don’t worry, Royce. If anyone can coax this plane down, it’s Ace. He did it with Continental once…he can do it again.”
“With Continental…what are you talking about?”
“Nothing to worry about, good buddy,” yelled Ace. “Yeah, Brad’s right. I was in a similar situation once, but I had my hands on the wheel of a Boeing 757 with 225 passengers on board... I couldn’t get the nose gear down then. But I landed the baby with a hard thump.”
“Ace, I feel so much better now,” I said sarcastically.
Chapter 33
Joan Reirdon had been in contact with Bill Trotter, a long-time friend of the family and the tower operator at the Conway Airport. Thanks to Brad Jolly, his TV Network, the media, and the sports world had been kept out of the loop, and very few people knew of the package aboard the Phenom 100, which had just been given clearance to land.
Joan, of course, had known Trotter for twenty years. She felt safe letting him in on the secret. Besides, he’d keep the family updated on the latest arrival time of the anchorman.
Royce Reirdon was just twelve miles from safety, on final approach — a dozen miles away from the Reirdon home…Jake and the girls…Josh and the boys were all waiting for the lost anchorman to walk through the front door.
It was Christmas night. Light sprinkles of snow had begun to fall. Samantha had just turned the music channel on, and the song “Joy to the World” echoed throughout the house…Jake threw another log on the fire…and they all waited…
The phone rang, and Joan picked up on the third ring. “Joan! It’s Bill again. We now have a situation. Royce’s plane just flew over. The pilot can’t get the nose gear down.”
Joan cuffed the phone. Looked directly at Jake and Josh. “Your dad’s plane…they can’t get the gear down!”
Chapter 34
I sat quietly. So did Brad. We listened as Ace talked to the tower operator: “Okay, copy. I will circle one more time and have you take a closer look at the nose gear, but I’m running low on fuel…if I wait too much longer, I may not be able to make it to Little Rock.”
Bill Trotter was quickly back on the radio. “Little Rock is getting some snow showers. We should get you down here. We have just a trace of snow, and the visibility is far better than in Little Rock.”
“Great!” Ace said.
How many passengers do you have on board?”
“There’s just the three of us. Royce Reirdon, Brad Jolly, the head of the CBC Network…and me, Ace McGwire.”
“Thanks, copy. I’m in contact with the Reirdon family. They know the situation. They’re waiting patiently to have Mr. Reirdon home.”
“Copy! That’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m making my final pass. I’m coming in low…take a good look.”
Ace started his descent, flew by the Conway tower, and quickly regained altitude.
Trotter picked up the microphone and radioed Ace. “The gear is turned on its side but still attached.”
“I’m coming in,” Ace said, “get your emergency vehicles ready.”
“Copy!”
The Reirdon family filled up both SUVs and made their way to the airport. The weather was clearing. The visibility is improving. A promising sign, Joan figured. “Jake, the roads aren’t icy yet. It looks like the storm has veered south toward Little Rock.”
Bonnie looked out her passenger window. “Josh, he’s going to be all right. That poor man has been through enough.”
“It’s up to the pilot now,” Josh said as he pulled into the airport parking lot, just behind Jake and Joan’s vehicle.
The Reirdon family rushed to the gate. “I can hear the plane,” Samantha yelled as she held on to the right arm of her father. Randy, the tallest of the Reardon brothers, saw the plane first. “There it is at the north end of the runway, just below the tree line.”
“Yes, I see it,” yelled Tammy Reirdon.
Josh put his arm around Bonnie and held her close. Jake and Joan did the same. Samantha had run inside and rushed through the lobby to the big glass window. The boys followed her.
Ace held back on the throttle, the rear tires making contact; slowly, he set Molly down. Tammy pointed to the nose gear. “It looks like a firecracker going off, Randy.”
“They’re down,” yelled Rance. They’re down!”
Ace guided the Phenom 100 to the very south end of the runway. “We’re down, boys. We’re down!”
The three of us met at the doorway of the aircraft. The steps were already fully extended. I hugged and shook hands with my friends. I tried my best to make light of the situation. “I fully expect to see George Kennedy at the bottom of these stairs!”
We all laughed and walked off the plane into the Arkansas night.
I could see my family at the gate. Samantha squeezed through an opening. Her little frame is just small enough to wiggle through.
She rushed into my arms. “Grandpa, you are home!”
The rest of the family surrounded me. “You bet I am!”
We all looked up at the night sky. It was 11:59.
Samantha looked up at me and tugged on my hand. “Merry Christmas, Grandpa.”
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