Let's Do a Dope Deal - Sex Stories

Let's Do a Dope Deal

... looked at the gas gages and both were showing empty. I reached down and turned the cross feed on and then feathered the right engine. I pulled the nose up and climbed until I reached blue line. Thank God we were empty or we'd be in the trees for sure. I got to about two hundred feet before the left engine started to sputter so I turned the boost pumps back on and prayed for the best. Off to my right I saw a clearing and started a shallow bank toward it. I milked some flap down and as I came over the trees, slapped the gear down. The left prop was turning at about four hundred rpm. The gear came down slowly and I don't think they were both down when we met mother earth. The right one came right off, followed by the left one and then the nose hit the earth. I remember hitting my head and that's that. When my situation awareness returned, all I could hear was the sound an engine makes after you shut it off. You know, that kind of tinkling sound. I looked over at Tom. He was leaning against the door on his side of the cockpit. I shook his shoulder and he slumped forward. There was bl**d all over his side of the plane. Further examination revealed that he had taken a round through the neck and into his head. He was dead. I sat back and wound my watch. Time to split, Willy. I picked up his briefcase, put it in my B4 bag, took my handkerchief out and wiped every knob and button I touched then hopped over the side. I was in the trees in seconds and started to pace myself for a long ...

... walk. ***** EPILOGUE ***** Wayne Montana, special agent-in-charge for the d**g Enf***ement Agency, was looking through the cockpit of the light twin that had miraculously landed almost intact in a field almost two miles from the d**g bust. He had counted over fifty rounds in the skin of the plane and it was still able to get airborne and fly for a couple of miles. He figured that it would still be flying if it hadn't run out of gas. The FAA liaison was on the ground by the cockpit door telling him that the reason there wasn't a fire was that the plane was out of gas. No shit, Sherlock ! Wayne could figure that out and he didn't know the square root of fuck about airplanes. It had taken them three hours to find the plane. The pilot was long gone. He could be anywhere, even in the trees watching them now. Wayne had the locals canvassing the area though because you never knew. The pilots were rarely the brains behind these type of smuggling operations - just the hired help. He figured that this guy was no different - a hell of a pilot though. And balls !? This guy had big ones. Wayne figured he had to be ex-military to be so cool under fire or maybe he was so out of it that he didn't know they were shooting at him. Some of his people figured the guy had made them when he was walking toward the trees at the drop site but Wayne made the wrong call and told them to wait. Oh ! Well, win a few, lose a few. The dogs wouldn't be here for an hour or so. They'd catch him. He was confident ...