The wheels of the small commuter plane touched down on the runway of the Hancock International Airport with a puff of white smoke. Steve crouched to exit through the hatch and down the rickety stairs. A misty rain greeted him. He looked to the right and then the left and again he questioned his sanity.
A small man in dungarees two inches too short rushed up and shook his hand. “Hey. You must be Parker. Bill Janson, at your service. Welcome to paradise.”
Janson lifted the rear hatch of the Toyota FJ Cruiser open and he tossed Steve’s suitcase into the cargo area. When he reached for Steve’s second bag Steve cautioned, “Careful with that one. Got my laptop in there.”
“No problemo,” assured Janson as he tossed it in the back. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
The two climbed into the Toyota and were on their way. Quickly. Janson easily exceeded the posted speed limit by ten miles an hour. They sped past the long term parking and some warehouses on their way to the New York State Thruway. Janson grabbed the toll ticked from the booth attendant and gassed in again.
“Hurry?” asked Steve as he grabbed the “oh shit handle.”
“Yep. What time you got?”
Steve checked his Blackberry even though the digital clock in the Toyota’s dash told him in glaring l.e.d. that it was “9:35.”
Janson smiled. “Good. We have time to knock off one order before we head home. There’s a folder in the map pocket over there. Can you grab it?”
Steve hunched over and reached for the folder. When he straightened back up he was surprised to find that Janson had maneuvered the nose of the Toyota millimeters from the tail pipe of a Lexus suv. “Open ‘er up,” Barked Janson.
Steve opened the dossier (good dog).
“You see six digits?”
Steve glanced at the folder, “Yeah.”
“Do they match the ones on that license plate?”
Steve’s eyes shot to the Lexus’ license plate. “Yes.”
In an instant Janson jerked the steering wheel and darted out into the left lane. He hammered the gas pedal and shot by the Lexus and then a Peterbilt trucking hauling a Wal-Mart trailer. Just as erratically, he jerked back into the right lane and cut off the tractor trailer.
The driver of the long nosed Pete slammed on his brakes. The wheels locked up and the cab of the truck started to turn right. Jackknife. The Lexus was crushed under the trailer.
Steve Parker spun around in his seat watching the carnage out the small rear window. His mouth dried up but he managed to caugh, “Ugg. Uh. What the?”
Bill Janson continued east heading for the Utica office.
A few minutes later, somewhere around Chittenango, Steve regained his powers of speech. “What the hell was that? You just caused a major traffic accident. Aren’t you going to go back?”
Janson chuckled. “Go Back? Are you serious? I’m heading in as fast as I can to grab another file.”
“What?” asked Steve, confused.
“It’s what we do.” Janson explained, “It’s what we do.”
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