Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Aerial Productionw
ISBN-10: 1453744533
Type: Fiction
Pages: 387
Copyright: November 22, 2010
ISBN-13: 9781453744536
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Tony Boccaccio is after a bag of cash that he believes is his. Max Burke thinks otherwise and has hired two couriers to take the money to California.
Mickey Soto is a commercial pilot hauling freight and instructing students from a small, Florida airport. Tony hires Mickey and his airplane to go after the couriers. Mickey thought his days of flying illegal cargo were behind him, but the lure of easy money and his policy of 'don't ask/don't tell' cause him to add to his history of poor decisions.
Tony's cousin, Gina, jumps in to help, and the three of the end up in a desperate cross-crountry race that leads to a West Coast pier and a fateful decision by Tony that impacts their lives in ways that none of them could have foreseen.
Mickey Soto is a commercial pilot hauling freight and instructing students from a small, Florida airport. Tony hires Mickey and his airplane to go after the couriers. Mickey thought his days of flying illegal cargo were behind him, but the lure of easy money and his policy of 'don't ask/don't tell' cause him to add to his history of poor decisions.
Tony's cousin, Gina, jumps in to help, and the three of the end up in a desperate cross-crountry race that leads to a West Coast pier and a fateful decision by Tony that impacts their lives in ways that none of them could have foreseen.
Excerpt
A cloud of dust followed the Cadillac as it sped along a country road west of Miami. The driver winced at every rough patch that threatened to shake the car apart. A gold chain bounced against his chest under a Hawaiian‐print shirt. In spite of the air‐conditioning going full‐blast, his olive forehead glistened with perspiration and he ran his hand over it and through dark, slicked back pre‐maturely balding hair.
Suddenly he grabbed the wheel with both hands and slammed on the brakes, his sunglasses slipping down his nose as the car skidded to a stop.
“Goddamnit.”
He threw the barely stopped vehicle into reverse, throwing a cloud of dust in the opposite direction. Slamming on the brakes again, he jammed the Caddy back into drive and swung it onto a barely visible two‐track.
He eased the car a quarter‐mile down the primitive driveway, stopping in front of a gate in a ten‐foot high chain‐link fence. A sign proclaimed, RODRIQUEZ BROS. AUTO SALVAGE. He stepped out of the Caddy into the blazing Florida sun, walked to the intercom mounted on the gate and pressed a button.
A barely recognizable, “Yeah?” filtered through the static.
“It’s Tony,” he said just as two snarling Dobermans reached the gate from the inside, barking frantically and pressing at the fence to get at the sweating man. “Give me a sec to get back in my car before you ...”
The gate began to slide open, the dogs nosing at the quickly widening opening.
2 Headwind
“Sonofabitch,” Tony yelled as he scrambled back to the car and dove through the open door.
He slammed the door shut as the lead dog reached the car and leaped on the window. “Christ,” he said, breathing hard and trying to compose himself as the dogs bounced off the car, snarling and snapping. “Damn mangy hounds.”
He slipped the car into drive and pulled through the gate, flipping off the dogs as they followed, continuing their vicious attack on the car. Once inside he sped up and watched them in his mirror as they disappeared in the dust.
Bouncing another quarter mile past rusting hulks of cars and piles of parts, he pulled up to a small building, its corrugated tin roof brown and dented and weather‐beaten cement‐block walls flaking green paint. Stepping out of the car he shook his head in disbelief at the oppressive heat, but on hearing the dogs gaining ground up the driveway he stepped quickly to the front door.
He stepped inside to blessedly conditioned air. “Thank God,” he said, then walked down a dimly lit hallway to a grease‐stained door marked LUNCH ROOM and pushed it open.
The air in the small room was surprisingly fresh, but the sunlight that filtered through dirty windows barely competed with the two bare bulbs that hung from the low ceiling. Sheldon Isaacs and Vince Jackson sat across from each other at a picnic‐style table. Vince munched a sandwich while Sheldon idly flipped through the channels of a television mounted on a wall on the other side of the room.
“Tony!” Vince said, a toothy smile splitting his handsome dark face. Thirty‐years old, his six‐foot‐two pudgy frame hid the well‐muscled body of a former college wide receiver. Sheldon glanced at Tony briefly then back to the TV.
Christopher Hudson 3
“Will you keep those goddamn dogs chained up?” asked Tony.
“Hey, Caesar and Anthony are friendly pups. They wouldn’t hurt a flea,” replied Vince.
“Those two land sharks nearly got me this time.”
“Nobody else seems to have a problem with them. Must be you. They probably smell fear.” Vince laughed and slapped the table.
“I’m going to shoot those sonsabitches next time.” “Johnny and Fred wouldn’t like that,” said Vince. “What the hell would they care? They’re never here.” “So do you have the trucks and drivers lined up or
what?” Sheldon asked as he continued to idly flip through the channels.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Sheldon clicked off the TV and swung his heavy body around, his dark brown eyes quickly focusing on Tony. “Now what?”
Tony returned Sheldon’s glare. “Look, I had no problem with the drivers ... plenty of guys out there looking to moonlight. But the trucks are a little trickier.”
“How so?” asked Sheldon.
“They all have their own rigs, but I have to provide the car haulers.”
“Why is this our problem?” said Vince. “You have the contract for the transportation.”
Tony shifted his gaze over to Vince. “Yeah, I know, but I had to have the trailers moved down from New Jersey. It’s going to take me two more days.”
“Two days! We’ve got a barn full of hot metal that is getting hotter by the second,” said Sheldon. “We’ve got to get it out of here by tomorrow.”
Tony held is ground. “Sorry boys. No can do. Wednesday night is the earliest we can do it.”
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