Page 1 of Spring Break with a Pilot

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Rhys “Silk” Oliver

“You know you’re a pain in the ass, Silk. We came out tonight because you wanted to party, then you sat in the corner all night nursing your beer. What the hell is up with you?”

“And you’ve been so much better? What have you done?”

“My job. I’m your wingman. I’m here to scare the ones you aren’t interested in away until you find the appetizer for the night, and I get lost.”

“Yeah, well I’m not hungry tonight.”

“You haven’t been in quite a while,” Silo jabs. “What’s going on?”

Hell if I know. Nothing, no one, has lit my fire in a while. The waiter at the restaurant where we ate recommended the Mezcal Mariner for the ‘scenery’ and a really good time.

The bartender is snapping at our waitress and a couple others trying to get them to push the drinks. Not a laid-back sort of place where you savor the hors d’oeuvres before the main course.

There are a lot of beautiful women ready and willing to party and not a one intrigues me. Their attention feels forced, almost driven. The place just seems a little off to me. “Take out gets old. I want a home cooked meal.”

“Yeah, I been thinking that Pax and Dax got it made. Seems they got their shit together, like there needs to be more to life…” He waves his bottle. “…than this. Things have been quiet lately at work. Not a lot going on. Easy jobs. I’m a little antsy. I still have days where adjusting to civilian duty is hard.”

I can relate to that.

Silo drains his beer. “Heading out. Watching your pouty face all night has made me tired. Gonna catch a few.”

He stands. “You’re taking me to Vegas for that assignment in the morning. You good with hitting it a little earlier?”

“Yeah.” I hold up my bottle. “I’ll finish this. Be ready at oh-four hundred hours.”

He nods, taps the table with his knuckles, and leaves.

Finishing my beer, I slip a generous tip under my bottle. None of the team are big drinkers, but the waitress put in her time and was sweet and attentive. I’d rather pay for less booze and give the girl who really needs the money the cash.

“Sir, you forgot your change.”

I glance at her name tag, then lean closer. “Share what’s on the table, Trish. The money under the bottle is just for you. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Shooting one last glance at the bartender before sliding my palms in my front pockets I walk out. Strolling along the boardwalk to the end and the overlook railing, I watch the gentle waves rolling and let my mind wander.

Maybe Silo is right. Maybe it’s just been too quiet. I need an adrenaline fix. I’ve always needed to move, be on the go, test my limits. The only time I can sit still is when I’m piloting something going fast. A plane at mach 3, speed boat, INDYCAR, motocross.

I’ve been called a danger junky. I disagree. I don’t have a death wish. It’s the challenge, the test of my mental and physical ability and coordination, and yeah, sometimes the speed. I need that little something that makes my heart race and my blood pump faster.

My watch vibrates a reminder of the hour. Lost in my own thoughts I didn’t notice the sky turned dark, storm clouds are rolling in and the wind is picking up. There’re only a couple other stragglers briskly leaving ahead of me.

Cutting through the alleys behind some of the shops and bars, I head toward my truck.

A couple shops ahead of me a woman darts out from a side alley. She gets about four feet and some guy comes up behind her and grabs her by her ponytail and yanks her against his chest and back to where they came from.

Oh hell no. Reaching the entrance, I see her struggling against the big guy.

“Stop fighting, bitch. He wants you. You’re coming with me. Don’t make this hard on both of us.” Grabbing her arm, she tries to swing her metal water bottle at him, but he blocks it and it drops to the ground. She ducks and twists, kicking and stomping anything she can connect with. Something falls from her pocket and gets kicked out of the way.

“Stop fighting or I’ll make you sorry.”

She lifts her knee. He shifts at the last minute to protect his groin. Girl’s got spunk.

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