Chapter 2 Conferencing
(Editorial assistance provided by Phil Anderer)
Layla departs the suite starting her day working conference related business. She's dressed in business casual and floats out the door like she doesn't have a care in the world. A few minutes later Jack steps onto the elevator. The plan for his day is a bit more exciting than what Layla has in store.
Jack starts the day with a massage in the resort spa. Brianna is her usual good natured and sexy self. 'That woman has a pair of hands,' he muses. 'She knows how to use them in ways he didn't think possible.' Loose as a goose and feeling fantastic, he finds Loretta parked out front of the resort. Jack lights her fire and rolls west toward Daytona International Airport. The massive truck crawls through the gate on the general aviation side and stops in Jack's hanger. Lana is on the ramp, fueled and ready to fly.
Jack pre-flights his bird, straps in, and gets clearance to launch out of the Daytona area and points her west, climbing to Angels 24 cruising at 400 knots. Four hours later he slips Lana into Biggs Army Airfield near El Paso, TX.
Three Fed boys load a pallet in the hold and Jack continues the mission to Chihuahua INTL in Mexico. The mission tasks him to deliver a pallet of documents to the Federales waiting in a secluded part of the airfield. Jack is glad the flight terminates here at the airport and not out in the middle of the desert on some rough unimproved strip. He is so comfortable with it he doesn't even unlock the cabinet behind his seat which holds his carbine. Something he has done several times on previous contracts.
Jack greases her in at Chihuahua INTL Airport and taxies to the far side of the field. He opens the cargo bay and turns the shipment over to the uniformed soldiers/police. Jack doesn't care who gets the cargo, he just wants it off his plane after he gets a signature for it. Who signs doesn't matter as three airframe mounted cameras are recording the activity from different angles, one of Jack's CYA demands in his contract. Ten minutes later he turns and burns on the reverse course back to Daytona.
Jack makes these runs simply because they pay so well. He is beyond worrying about whether it was right, wrong, moral or immoral. He enjoys flying and someone is going to, so he figured...why not him. His hard stops are weapons and drugs.
He is not politically motivated as it doesn't matter to him due to both sides being corrupt as hell, the uniparty. He isn't much for being politically correct either. He just doesn't give a fuck what anybody thinks, except those he cares about. All outside influence can just shut the fuck up about whatever their current global or personal issues are. Jack lives his life on his terms.
Lana eases into Daytona, smooth as silk. Jack taxies her to the hangar. He steps onto the tarmac and waves to the ground crew, leaving Lana in their capable hands. He jumps in Loretta and together they plow through the 5pm traffic back over the bridge to Daytona Beach and into The Riders Rest. Jack parks her out front and cruises across the lobby and into the bar, a cool $80K flush after expenses.
Sitting in his reserved seat at the end of the bar, Jack nurses a tumbler of bourbon over ice...with a beer in the bottle chaser. Looking around, slowly, examining his familiar escape, he catches a glimpse of his appearance in the bar mirror. Staring down the reflected persona, a sly grin manages to cross his face. He studies the rugged imposter intently, sitting slovenly in such a swank environment while swilling liquor and outwardly spitting in the face of conventional norms. He swaddles himself in contentment. Asking himself silently, 'How many times have I sized up the villain in that reflection,' not particularly searching for anything. Rhetorical, of course, but he answers himself silently, 'Too many to count and not enough to care... you're such an asshole Jack.'
The commotion of people flowing in and out of the bar causes him to take a deep breath and exhale slowly, reveling in the fact that he simply chooses not to participate in the drama that is everyone else's world. Particularly, he no longer understands not so much why, but how Layla does it.
Again, observing the smug bastard in the mirror, dressed in his most comfortable attire, he raises his glass, nodding in a tip of the cap sort of way, before downing the liquid fire that scorches his tongue and throat, settling in a warm glow that radiates through his frame and nervous system.
No one in the bar, patron, employee, or passerby takes note of the Biker sitting in his reserved seat as is his daily norm. They don't notice but most are aware he's present.
The only person that offers an acknowledgement to him is the resort manager Manny, who taps his right hand to his forehead, as if giving a sloppy salute. Manny was "Captain" Jack's crew chief on his medevac bird in Vietnam. They have been together ever since. Jack trusted Manny to keep his Huey flying for 2 tours through a shit awful war, and he now trusts him with management of the Rider's Rest Resort. Aside from their monthly meeting to go over the books, Jack stays out of Manny's sandbox, allowing him to oversee the operation of the resort. Jack nods a subtle 'sup' in his direction. He likes it that way. His mantra, 'You see me...but of course you really don't!'
Jack doesn't often reflect on all the experiences that have come to pass in his life. The fact remains, regardless of the genre he currently represents, he is one of the most successful titans of the business world...and yet only a select few know this little tidbit.
Leaning back on his bar stool, taking a long pull on his bottle of suds, he notices a demure woman out of the corner of his eye, sauntering up to the bar. As she takes in the unkept rabble taking up space at the end of the bar...she thinks to herself, 'Good God, they allow anyone in this place' and promptly moves a few bar stools down before asking the bartender for a glass of wine.
She continuously side-eyes the Biker, wary and ready to react decisively if he should move to grab her and ravage her on top of the bar in front of her family and friends, as bikers are known to do of course! She fingered her little bottle of pepper spray she keeps tucked in her purse.
Jack has seen it all before and without letting on, chuckles to himself, wanting desperately to lean towards her and say, 'BOO!' but he does nothing of the sort. Instead, he simply taps his right index finger twice on his coaster, and the barkeep gives the woman her glass of wine and says to her, 'Compliments of the house madam,' with a knowing smile.
Baffled, it took a second for her to speak. "What did you say, sir?" The bartender repeats his words, to which she replies, "But who...why?" The barkeep just says 3 words, "The Captain, miss," and returns to cleaning his liquor bottles.
Jack, completely straight faced, shrugs at the woman when she looks in his direction while turning to go tell her family how she scored a free wine for no reason whatsoever.
'Well enough of these antics,' he thinks to himself, and gets up from the bar, tossing a fifty to the bartender. Turning, he stops dead in his tracks. A shiver runs up his spine, not believing the vision before him.
