Heavy Air
by
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The helicopter came at them out of the thin moonlight, it reminded Jack of an assault ship hitting a hot landing zone in Nam with a load of jazzed up, scared-sh--less grunts. Only this time, he was the one who was scared sh--less. He stuffed a flare in the chamber of the gun, snapped the breach shut and stood up. His cramped legs, noodled for a second, then he regained his balance. The helicopter roared toward him with its passenger shooting wildly. Wooosh! Jack fired the hot red ball through the thin metal skin of the helicopter. The machine bucked, wobbled and then exploded as the superheated flare ignited a cell of avgas. Like a dying insect, it back slipped and plummeted, stabbing itself on a sharp rock outcropping where it lay dead and burning. A wave of searing air smacked across Velda and Jack. Jerking his head up from his protection, he realized the downed aircraft was between them and Forbes and Buno. "Come on," he yelled as he pulled Velda out of their hiding place. Picking his way through the huge rocks, he glanced back. Both Forbes and Buno were up but the burning aircraft slowed them down as they cautiously circled the inferno. Dirty smoke from the burning pyre lofted skyward. Pushing Velda, Jack yelled, "Climb to the top." Then he rolled over some rocks and lurched to where he fired a flare at the two men who moved cautiously up the rocks. He had one flare left. The mouth of the storm drain was less than a dozen yards away. Velda's face was red and she was breathing hard and fast. They scrambled to the mouth of the storm drain and stumbled over chunks of broken concrete and other rubble. The pipe diameter was nearly eight feet. Clumps of cement hung from where sections of the pipe were connected every ten feet or so. Jack blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the drain tunnel. At the far end was a milky light, barely discernable. Forced to slide his hands along its sides, Jack could feel the vibrations of vehicles passing overhead. An animal brushed against their ankles. Jack uttered "Jesus," and Velda whimpered and gripped the back of his shirt tighter. He moved as fast as he could through the pipe, splashing the seeping water that had collected on the tile's floor. Perspiring freely, he wiped the blood, sweat and feathers from his eyes and pushed on as fast as he could in a slightly bent over position. The shadowy light filtering in at the end was his target. He looked back at the entrance. Forbes and Buno still hadn't made it up the rock pile yet. But once they did, he and Velda would be easy targets. One spray from the an automatic weapon and they would be dead. There was no other place to hide. Then Jack saw a whirl of movement at the rear and heard one of their pursuers yell, "Hurry, goddamn it!"
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About the Book
Why are all these people trying to kill Whisperin’ Jack Dalton? Wounded in the Gulf War, hardened as a first class helicopter pilot in Asia and South America, all he wants to do is fly part-time and work on another book. He finds his new flying job with the Border City Police Department turning out to be more dangerous than any of the wars he retired from. Jack just wants to settle in his beach house in Baja California. His solitude is interrupted by killers from both sides of the border, homegrown Mafiosos, and betrayal by his trusted friends. His flight for life takes him from the Baja to the Cayman Islands where he finds himself in the hands of a beautiful woman and in the sights of a professional shooter. Heavy Air takes the reader on a tour of Baja California and San Diego, the Chambers of Commerce won’t want you to see: corrupt cops, deadly dogs, sex, drugs and Latin Rap. As killers stalk Jack Dalton you will explore the beauty and mystery of the peninsula and the violence that lies just beneath the surface of its shifting sands.
About the Author
Bill Kirchhoff’s novel is based on his experiences and observations as a decorated veteran of the Vietnam War and career law enforcement executive. He is retired from the public service wars and lives with his wife in Baja California; he doesn’t have a parrot.