MADRIGAL

Chapter 9

Jane parked near a hangar at a private airport to find Deanna leaning against her car, cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. Deanna acknowledged her with a nod in the plane's direction. "Equipment's on board; just waiting on you. Got to warn you, though. The pilot's kinda nuts."

Considering the speaker, Jane wondered if that meant that he was completely insane or absolutely rational. She boarded, peeking into the cockpit to find Monty performing pre-flight checks, a set of headphones with a microphone dangling around his neck. "So, you can fly?"

He looked up from his clipboard and smiled at her. "I learned before entering the Army. My uncle was an airline pilot. He owned a small plane, taught me the basics, and he left it to me after he passed. Still have it; still love it. It's peaceful up there. I'm teaching Shesh. If you ever want to learn..."

"No. Thanks, though."

"Offer's always open. Anyways, we're getting underway in a bit. Buckle up, and don't waste your breath telling her to. She never does."

Soon, they were airborne. Jane closed her eyes, relaxing with the incline. Once they leveled out, Jane found Deanna pulling totes out of a small closet in the back. "Where are we going?" Jane asked.

"Michigan. We use the plane for longer trips. We store a little of everything here; gotta organize." Deanna burrowed through the containers, pulling out various wigs, weapons, driver's licenses, and other things, scattering all on the floor. "We have our own cities; you get Ypsilanti, I'm in Romulus, and Monty gets Detroit proper, with some crossovers when time allows. Tomorrow morning, I have a mass shooting. I like mass shooters. I get to collect so many cards with so little effort." She stared at a card and scowled. "Donald Syg-nah-something. Whatever.

"You," Deanna said, offering Jane a small group of cards. "All in better neighborhoods. Lots of natural causes and car crashes, one electrocution, a hit-and-run, and three rapes, one involving a nasty assault on an eighty-nine-year-old granny in her home. Actually," and she removed a card out of the stack, "that's better for Monty. He'll be closer, and he should have the time," and she added the card to a different pile. "He has that, plus, there's a massive gang war kicking off later tonight. Four different shootings, eight dead. Next night, retaliation and counter-retaliation has eight shooters and fifteen dead."

"And he's expected to stop them all by himself?"

"He usually does. He's an artist at dissuasion. Besides, he doesn't need to stop them all. He'll stop one or two until he gets to who's given the orders. Then, he'll zero in on where all the aggression and violence is stemming from and he'll cut the head off the snake."

"But no killing, right?"

"No," Deanna cooed. "That would be mean. Mean, mean, mean," she sang with a giggle as she tried on a variety of brass knuckles, concerned with which would best compliment her white outfit. Jane watched until the amazement wore off before proceeding up front.

She knocked on the cockpit door before entering, not wishing to startle the pilot. Jane found Monty engaged in conversation, his tone lacking the rigid propriety she expected with the control tower; rather, it was a softer, familial inflection used with a beloved friend. Monty noted her entrance and removed his headphones.

She pointed at the microphone. "If I'm interrupting..."

"No, come on in. Shut the door."

Jane complied, taking the co-pilot chair. After interpreting Monty's gestures, she put on and adjusted the other headphones and mike. Monty thumbed to the back. "How is she? Any problems?"