outside who are waiting to talk to you, but the doctor wouldn't let them in. And I'm supposed to call Mary Jean as soon as you're coherent. I'd advise against that-becoming coherent, I mean. And then there's a whole bunch of reporters. The nurses are keeping them all out."
"How'd you get in?"
"I'm your only living relative."
"My mother will be pleased to hear that."
"Brother, your mother doesn't even want to claim you. You totally fucked the dog on this one."
"I'm fired, then?"
"Count on it. In fact, I'd say you'd be lucky to get a license to operate a riding lawnmower."
"I don't know how to do anything but fly. One bad landing?"
"No, Tuck, a bad landing is when the overheads pop open and dump people's gym bags. You crashed. If it makes you feel any better, with the Gulfstream gone I'm not going to have any work for at least six months. They may not even get another jet."
"Is the FAA filing charges?"
Jake Skye looked at his paper to avoid Tuck's eyes. "Look, man, do you want me to lie to you? I came up here because I thought you'd rather hear it from me. You were drinking. You wrecked a million dollars' worth of SeaTac's equipment in addition to the plane. You're lucky you're not dead."
"Jake, look at me."
Jake dropped the paper to his lap and sighed. "What?"
"Am I going to jail?"
"I've got to go, man." Jake stood. "You heal up." He turned to leave the room.
"Jake!"
Jake Skye stopped and looked over his shoulder. Tucker could see the disappointment in his friend's eyes.
"What were you thinking?" Jake said.
"She talked me into it. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but she was persistent."
Jake came to the side of the bed and leaned in close. "Tucker, what's it take for you to get it? Listen close now, buddy, because this is your last lesson, okay? I'm out of a job because of you. You've got to make your own decisions. You can't let someone else always tell you what to do. You have to take some responsibility."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you. You're the one who got me into this business."
"Exactly. You're thirty years old, man. You have to start thinking for yourself. And with your head, not your dick."
Tucker looked at the bandages in his lap. "I'm sorry. It all got out of hand. It was like flying on autopilot. I didn't mean to…"
"Time to take the controls, buddy."
"Jake, something weird happened during the crash. I'm not sure if it was a hallucination or what. There was someone else in the cockpit."
"You mean besides the whore?"
"Yeah, just for a second, there was a guy in the copilot seat. He talked to me. Then he disappeared."
Jake sighed. "There's no insanity plea for crashing a plane, Tuck. You lost a lot of blood."
"This was before I got hurt. While the plane was still skidding.
"Here." Jake tucked a silver flask under Tuck's pillow and punched him in the shoulder. "I'll call you, man." He turned and walked away.
Tuck called after him, "What if it was an angel or something?"
"Then you're in the Enquirer next week too," Jake said from the door. "Get some sleep."
4 – Pinnacle of the Pink Pyramid
A low buzz of anticipation ran through the halls of the hospital. Reporters checked the batteries in their microrecorders and cell phones. Orderlies and nurses lingered in the hallways in hope of getting a glimpse of the celebrity. The FAA men straightened their ties and shot their cuffs. One receptionist in administration, who was only two distributorships away from earning her own pink Oldsmobile ducked into an examining room and sucked lungfuls of oxygen to chase the dizziness that comes from meeting one's Messiah. Mary Jean was coming.
Mary Jean Dobbins did not travel with an entourage, bodyguards, or any other of the decorative leeches commonly attached to the power-wielding rich.
"God is my bodyguard," Mary Jean would say.
She carried a.38-caliber gold-plated Lady Smith automatic in her bag: the Clara Barton Commemorative Model, presented to her by the Daughters of the
"How'd you get in?"
"I'm your only living relative."
"My mother will be pleased to hear that."
"Brother, your mother doesn't even want to claim you. You totally fucked the dog on this one."
"I'm fired, then?"
"Count on it. In fact, I'd say you'd be lucky to get a license to operate a riding lawnmower."
"I don't know how to do anything but fly. One bad landing?"
"No, Tuck, a bad landing is when the overheads pop open and dump people's gym bags. You crashed. If it makes you feel any better, with the Gulfstream gone I'm not going to have any work for at least six months. They may not even get another jet."
"Is the FAA filing charges?"
Jake Skye looked at his paper to avoid Tuck's eyes. "Look, man, do you want me to lie to you? I came up here because I thought you'd rather hear it from me. You were drinking. You wrecked a million dollars' worth of SeaTac's equipment in addition to the plane. You're lucky you're not dead."
"Jake, look at me."
Jake dropped the paper to his lap and sighed. "What?"
"Am I going to jail?"
"I've got to go, man." Jake stood. "You heal up." He turned to leave the room.
"Jake!"
Jake Skye stopped and looked over his shoulder. Tucker could see the disappointment in his friend's eyes.
"What were you thinking?" Jake said.
"She talked me into it. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but she was persistent."
Jake came to the side of the bed and leaned in close. "Tucker, what's it take for you to get it? Listen close now, buddy, because this is your last lesson, okay? I'm out of a job because of you. You've got to make your own decisions. You can't let someone else always tell you what to do. You have to take some responsibility."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you. You're the one who got me into this business."
"Exactly. You're thirty years old, man. You have to start thinking for yourself. And with your head, not your dick."
Tucker looked at the bandages in his lap. "I'm sorry. It all got out of hand. It was like flying on autopilot. I didn't mean to…"
"Time to take the controls, buddy."
"Jake, something weird happened during the crash. I'm not sure if it was a hallucination or what. There was someone else in the cockpit."
"You mean besides the whore?"
"Yeah, just for a second, there was a guy in the copilot seat. He talked to me. Then he disappeared."
Jake sighed. "There's no insanity plea for crashing a plane, Tuck. You lost a lot of blood."
"This was before I got hurt. While the plane was still skidding.
"Here." Jake tucked a silver flask under Tuck's pillow and punched him in the shoulder. "I'll call you, man." He turned and walked away.
Tuck called after him, "What if it was an angel or something?"
"Then you're in the Enquirer next week too," Jake said from the door. "Get some sleep."
4 – Pinnacle of the Pink Pyramid
A low buzz of anticipation ran through the halls of the hospital. Reporters checked the batteries in their microrecorders and cell phones. Orderlies and nurses lingered in the hallways in hope of getting a glimpse of the celebrity. The FAA men straightened their ties and shot their cuffs. One receptionist in administration, who was only two distributorships away from earning her own pink Oldsmobile ducked into an examining room and sucked lungfuls of oxygen to chase the dizziness that comes from meeting one's Messiah. Mary Jean was coming.
Mary Jean Dobbins did not travel with an entourage, bodyguards, or any other of the decorative leeches commonly attached to the power-wielding rich.
"God is my bodyguard," Mary Jean would say.
She carried a.38-caliber gold-plated Lady Smith automatic in her bag: the Clara Barton Commemorative Model, presented to her by the Daughters of the
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