“A and B Air Transport,” he said.
“Yes, I need to ship some cargo.”
“All right. Where to?”
“Bainbridge,” the customer said.
“Bainbridge,” Adams repeated, tracking the map on the wall. “Let’s see, Bainbridge is way up in the northeast corner of the state.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s mountainous country up there with pretty bad weather this time of year.”
“Can you do it or not?” The voice was not without impatience.
“Sure, we can do it.”
“What’s your price?”
“To Bainbridge, eight hundred dollars,” Adams ventured. Maybe he could avoid telling Baker about this job.
“All right,” the customer said, so easily that Adams wished he had overcharged even more. “But the cargo has to be picked up tomorrow and delivered tomorrow to Bainbridge.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Adams said, seizing the opportunity. “I’ll have to pay my pilot overtime. That’ll run another two hundred.”
There was a pause during which Adams feared he had gone too far. Then the voice said in a sighing tone of resignation, “Oh, all right.”
“Fine,” Adams said, pleased with himself. “Give me the details.”
Baker soon returned to the small storefront office. He was laden with new camping gear and appeared to have not a care in the world.
“Trip go all right?” he asked Adams.
“Fine,” Adams said. “If only we’d made some money on it.”
“We made a fee on it.”
“Slave wages.”
“It was all they could afford,” Baker said. “It was that or keep the plane on the ground for the day. We didn’t have any other orders.”
Adams bit back a sarcastic retort about Baker’s absence from the office. He also remained silent about the Bainbridge order.
“Well,” Baker said, surveying his new gear, “I’m going to take a couple of days off and go camping. I’m going hiking in the mountains. I love it up there this time of year.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. Is the plane ready for flight?”
“You’re going to fly?” Adams failed to disguise either surprise or annoyance.
“If my license hasn’t expired,” Baker said.
Adams saw that he could no longer conceal the Bainbridge trip, so he told Baker he’d be flying over the mountains tomorrow.
“Great,” Baker said. “You can just drop me off.”
“I’ll be glad to,” Adams said.
He thought about it that night until he fell asleep.
Early Saturday morning Adams drove the A & B van out to the Lennox Funeral Home. He was met there by the junior Lennox who was in his mid-forties. “Pull your van right around here,” he told Adams, pointing to double doors at the side.
Adams backed the van up to the doors, got out, and went inside to Lennox’s office.
“You’ll be met at the Bainbridge Airport,” Lennox said in a practised low tone. “These are the people who’ll be meeting you.” He handed Adams a note. “And here’s your fee.” He handed Adams a check for $1000.
“Thank you,” Adams said, carefully folding the check. “Happy to be of service.” Adams stood to go, then paused. “Not that it matters,” he said, “but I’m just curious about the person who’ll be riding along with me.”
“A Mrs. Horton,” Lennox said without inflection. “She went into the hospital for some routine surgery and died on the operating table. We had her funeral service here, but her family’s from Bainbridge. They wanted her buried there, so we made the arrangements. The Bainbridge Funeral Home people will pick up the casket from you, take it straight to the cemetery, and bury it.”
“Okay,” Adams said. He turned to go, but Lennox was not quite finished.
“If I were the woman’s husband, I’d be suing,” Lennox said with sudden anger in his voice. “I may be in the funeral business, but I don’t want them until they’re due. I’ve been dealing with dead people long enough to know this woman shouldn’t have died. It’s none of my business, but I’d be suing.”
Adams saw that Lennox was finally through, so he turned to the door and left.
Baker met Adams at the plane. Though Baker was rather small and slight, the two of them had little trouble loading the somewhat large casket into the plane. Baker remarked about the odd cargo, then began putting his camping equipment on board as Adams checked out the plane. Inside, Adams tested all the instruments, then felt beneath his seat for his pistol. He’d had it since his Air Force days and out of habit had kept it there for security.
He clicked it to be sure it was still loaded. Holding the pistol beneath the seat, he looked around at the casket in the back and at Baker wrestling with his gear. Blood rushed to Adams’ head so fast he thought for a moment he might faint.
“A few miles this side of Bainbridge there’s an airstrip,” Baker said when they were airborne. “A paper company once used it and it’s still in good shape according to my source up there. It’s used now mostly by campers. You can let me off there and I’ll enter the woods at that spot.”
“All right,” Adams said without looking away from the instrument panel. He wiped a palm on his shirt and hoped Baker didn’t notice how profusely he was perspiring.
They flew in silence most of the way. Baker made an occasional remark about how much he was looking forward to his weekend of camping.
The airstrip came into view, and Baker said, “There it is.”
“I’ll survey it first,” Adams said, putting the plane into descent. He flew low over the strip and then up again.
“It looks fine to me,” Baker said.
“Yeah. Did you see anybody else around?”
“No, it looks deserted.”
Adams circled and headed back toward the strip. He suddenly had that feeling of terror mixed with ecstasy that he used to get when zeroing in on a bombing target. He set the plane down on the abandoned runway as Baker gathered his belongings. The plane slowed and stopped. Adams gripped the controls to keep his hands from shaking.
Adams’ hand shot beneath the seat and fingered the pistol. He knew it was now or never. The rush to his head came again. At last he spoke, finding his voice surprisingly strong and calm. “Baker,” he said, “I’m sorry to have to do this. It has nothing to do with you personally, but I’ve lived in need of money too long. And I’ll probably never get another perfect chance.”
Baker’s face showed an expression of confusion as Adams pulled up the pistol and shot him twice in the heart.
Adams set feverishly to work as though he had but a few minutes to complete the task or be discovered. He opened the casket and removed the corpse of Mrs. Horton. Then he took out the cushions from the bottom of the casket and placed Baker’s body inside. He cleaned up all the blood, working with the efficiency of a fine machine, and squeezed the bloody garments next to Baker’s body.
After replacing the cushions, he put back Mrs. Horton’s body. She now fitted too high, so he removed the body again and frantically tore away the inside of the cushioning. This time she fitted better. With the cushion cover in place, a casual glance would not raise any suspicion. Adams shut the casket lid and returned to the pilot’s seat.
He sped down the runway and took off. Moments later he made radio contact with the Bainbridge Airport.
Everything went as planned. The funeral-home people were there waiting. As they loaded the casket into their hearse, they made some comments about wanting to hurry and get the body buried so they could get home in time for the football kickoff on television.