It was a pretty typical Tuesday afternoon for me. We had flown into Belize in “Little Chief” which is a small silver single engine Cherokee airplane that The Boss had specially outfitted for missions of this nature. When we were not in the southwest corner of the world, the Boss kept “Little Chief” stored away on a rich and powerful friend’s secret hanger on a private island just off the mainland. Well, rich and powerful, The Boss’s friend apparently could not afford to waste any spare aluminum polish on the Chief and the formerly sleek little plane was in dire need of some tender loving care by yours truly.
What had once been shiny aluminum was now faded and gray like something left to waste a away in a desert junkyard somewhere. We need a better polish cloth to clean it I could not wait to get out my special aircraft polishing cloth and return it to something worthy of The Boss’s company logo (which appropriately a fist and a stick of dynamite). Taking care of it, however, would have to wait since the business in Belize was pressing and we had to leave the early the next morning following the requisite welcoming party that the island overlord insisted we attend.
We landed on a small airstrip that had been cut into a clearing of the Jungle and The Boss went to straight to a Jeep, taking Bruno and a couple of local tough guys with him to take care of a problem he was having. I was left with the aircraft with the orders to stand by with the Cherokee in take off position. I was tempted to barter with the other local pilots to see if any of them had some spare aluminum polish and polishing cloth so I could get the plane nice and ship shape, but from the tone of The Boss’s voice, I knew that we would not be here long enough for me to even get started.
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