Page 44 of Shenanigans

Arf.

“I guess you could say that.”

Jana tapped my arm and handed me a headset.

I put it on and listened as an air traffic controller at Sky Harbor International Airport said, “November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey you are to land immediately on runway 22L and surrender your passengers to the police.”

Buck answered, “No can do. I’m inbound on a tactical rescue at the Superstition Mountains.”

The air traffic controller asked, “Are you advising this is a medical emergency?”

“I am,” Buck replied.

“Copy November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey. Phoenix Police Department will be advised.”

The Huey bucked and banged.

Jana hung on for dear life. “Holy shit! Are we going to crash?”

“No, we just hit a little air turbulence.”

“Oh. Ok.” Jana gave me a weak smile. “I’m not ready to walk into the light either.”

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and read the text message from Dutch.Call me. Now!

Jana laughed. “He is persistent. Do you think Dutch will show up at the search site?”

I shrugged. “Depends on how long it takes him to testify and it’s a good ninety-minute drive.”

“If he used his lights and sirens he could make it in forty minutes.”

Jana had a point.

“Coming up on the command center,” Buck advised over the headsets.

“Copy.”

The helicopter landed in the south parking lot of the Lost Dutchman trailhead.

As soon as Jana and I climbed out, the Huey lifted off, heading for the second rescue site.

The Superstition Mountains are a 3,000-foot-high bastion of ghosts and legends. The tales of the Lost Dutchman’s mine and Peralta’s gold have lured many into the deep canyons and rocky spires. To this day hikers still find skeletal remains of the unlucky treasure hunters who got lost and ran out of water.

A white tent with Superstition Mountains Search and Rescue emblazoned on the side was surrounded by jeeps, trucks and three wheeled all-terrain vehicles.

Larry and Adam, my dad’s two medics, were packing up their gear. Adam was short, squat and covered in tattoos. Larry reminded me of a surfer dude, but in real life he was a history professor.

Dad stepped out of the tent holding a small black cocker spaniel. “Your police detective called again. He said he has a warrant for your arrest.”

Jana scowled. “For what?”

“For assaulting a police officer,” Dad replied.

I rolled my eyes. “Detective Callaghan is lying. There’s no warrant because he has no evidence.”

“You sure about that?” Anger laced my Dad’s voice.

The last thing I needed was for my dad to have a “talk” with Dutch. “Positive.”

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