The three propellers were switched on simultaneously on the GA-43, General Aviation cargo ready airplane. There was a sense of synchronicity about the first aircraft to leave the airstrip in South Philly. Another company Adonis had a silent holding in dealt in vehicles and this newly acquired flying metal carrier was in around about way owned by General Motors, a company that dealt heavily in people movers that didn't leave the ground.

The General Aviation GA-43 had a ten seat passenger cabin before Midas Air got to it. The main interior had been stripped out and alloy shelving installed throughout, continuing the all metal construction theme. Although the back was stacked to capacity with packages, mostly consisting of plain brown boxes, there was still room in the cockpit atop the fuselage for Adonis and the pilot.

Henry Winter had flown many an aircraft. He was the typical war hero come unemployed story of PTSD before he took to underhanded work for various syndicates across the country. He'd flown here, there and everywhere in-between before Joe roped him into working for him. Today was the day they'd see if the run from Philly to Chicago was doable. 

Cleveland Hopkins International Airport was the midway point for a quick refuel before heading on through and landing at Chicago Municipal Airport. A simple itinerary that allowed for one stop. Nothing more. And depending on how it all worked out, they could even just use the Ohio airstrip alone and run the rest of the cargo via rail. But ideally it would be all through the airways.

The engines roared to life as Joe Adonis said his goodbyes in the office area of the hangar the craft was a little ways outside of. It was aimed towards the ramp that ran into the main airport runway. Joe had a steady flow of liveliness of his own running through him as he stood just inside the open doorway. He had his hands around Ilaria's waist and was gazing into her hazel eyes, as she had hers around his neck.

No words were said. They weren't needed. The energy bouncing back and forth between them spoke volumes. Their lips locked, and with it a firm squeeze on the behind from Joe. It popped her eyes wide open as she broke the kiss. A shake of the head was met with a nod of his own and a cheeky grin. It was going to be a long flight. Hopefully the first of many to leave Philadelphia Municipal Airport by way of Midas Air.

The mostly behind closed doors goodbye was interrupted by a ground worker.

"Sir, we have to leave."

"Alright, I'll be right there."

One last lingering look was had by both before Joe stepped lively out through the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. It was a warm day. Warm for the city and the season they were in. Not by any means warm compared the the likes of the West coast, but more than doable for the Beast coast residents. He shuffled down the stairs leading from the upstairs office and into the large hangar, all the while sliding on his jacket.

As Joe moved closer towards the back of the cargo plane, the ensuring winds picked up due to the engines that would soon be propelling their flight. His jacket was blowing about behind him, the bespoken look not giving it too much room to flap about but enough to have it look like a parachute, as if Joe were on the down side of an 'eject before it's too late' situation.

The pilot met him at the bottom of the air stairs. Joe had a quick look at the side of their cargo carrier. The ten or so windows that once gave the passengers a nice view reminded him of the changes they'd recently made. And in many areas, not just the aircrafts themselves. Their departments were coming along. Soon enough workers could journey through a career with Midas Air, and possibly even those outside the immediate family, given the role and responsibilities.

And besides the windows, Joe noticed the logo on the tail as he flung his head back to avoid a blowing gust of dust that kicked up off the ramp. The word Midas under a crown, hugged by a pair of wings. It symbolized much. But he couldn't dwell on the thought too long as the pilot was beckoning him to enter the plane, which he promptly did with a hand over his eyes.

Once inside, it was business as usual for Henry. He and Joe hadn't had a chance to truly sit down and talk since his hiring. The voyage was going to be a breakthrough on many fronts. And as the plane began to roll down the ramp towards the connecting runway, Joe buckled himself into the other chair in the cockpit with a smile on his face. It was a milestone. And one that they'd never forget. He did feel a little hungry though...

The GA-43 was not an aircraft that Henry had flown before, but it wasn't unlike most equipment he'd piloted. The location of the aircraft controls were fairly standard in most birds, so it was muscle memory that got them down the runway and into the air. He'd checked the wind patterns and the weather before they left.  Some turbulence was to be expected, but that was for any flight- especially one headed toward the Midwest.  It would be just a bit over an hour from Philadelphia to Cleveland, so Henry settled back in his seat, with one hand on the stick.

Henry liked to talk about planes- everything from how they flew to what kinds he flew back in the war. He regaled Joe with tales of flying combat missions, and answered questions the new CEO had about the mechanics of aircraft.

About 45 minutes into the flight, the headwinds picked up significantly.  Henry sat up straight in his seat and took the controls with both hands.  He appeared calm, so Joe didn't think much of it.  The plane jostled a bit, but Henry kept it steady, watching his gauges steadfastly.

"I don't like these headwinds. Looks like the system I was tracking from the southwest is trying to come our direction rather than undercut us like I'd hoped.  May slow down our progress a bit, but I'm gonna take us down to 15 thousand feet to get below the wind."

With one eye on the altitude indicator, Henry eased back on the throttle and guided the aircraft to a gentle slope.  The clouds were thick, but bright white- no indication of a storm.  Within a few minutes, they broke below the cloud line.  Henry reset the position of the control wheel and relaxed a bit.

Joe glanced out the window, noticing a group of geese  flying in a V pattern.  He watched them for a moment, then turned back to Henry to continue their conversation.  Before he could start, there was a loud clank, and the plane wavered hard.  Henry jerked his head around, looking toward the back.

"What the fuck?"

Indicator lights on the control panel started blinking.  Henry looked them over and continued cursing. The plane banked hard to the left, nearly spilling Joe out of his seat had it not been for the buckle.  Henry shouted.

"Engine 2 is down!  Something fucked up the prop motor!"

The pilot pushed up on the throttle and guided the plane back to the right, trying to compensate for the lost engine with speed.  He fought with the plane for a solid five minutes.

"Fuck.  This isn't good, boss.  I'm going to try to guide us down, but it's not gonna be soft..."

That was an understatement, but his training kept him from being too much of an alarmist.  He gripped the control wheel and the throttle, biting his lip hard.

I knew he tried his best. I could see it when he grit his teeth and used his chair as leverage to pull back on the stick. His head was also jerked back, eyes closed, and if it weren't for the prayer he was saying under his breath he'd have convinced me he was trying to pull the stick out of the cockpit. I could see he was more than just trying, he seemed to be putting his soul into it.

The engine burst into flames, my peripheral catching it but not letting me know about it. I was still too caught up on the sight of the ground coming at us through the front cockpit window. I didn't think it would end like this. Not this way. After all the scrapes and shit I'd pulled myself out of, this was it? In a fake bird with some guy I didn't know playing with his stick?

The second blast caught my attention. I covered my head, thinking something was going to fly in through the window at me. So much fire. The air seemed to spill it over the wing as we barreled further out of the sky, like the plane itself was beginning to plan for the worst, saying 'fuck it, if we're going out we may as well go out in a blaze'. I was still strapped in. And throughout it all, everything seemed like it was going in slow motion.

Henry's eyes were now open, and he was looking back at me. He was saying something or other. The bad hunch stabbing at my stomach and the fear blazing in my chest deafened it all out. Now there was just a ringing sound in my ears. And I could sense it. Like it was there with me. Death had its hand in this. The bird. The engine. And soon enough, it would have us too.

He was fighting even harder. And for a moment, things looked promising. He looked like it looked promising. His anxious face seemed to shed itself into one of hope, as our cargo plane picked up a little altitude. A ray of sunshine bounced off a pendant on the end of a chain that was hanging inside the cockpit. I saw it. I swear I did. A pair of wings flash just outside the window, in front of the pendant. It was Henry's lucky charm. Like my Winchester 97, which we spoke about. But his, a necklace with a picture of Saint Christopher hugged by the metal frame.

I swear they were there. And as Henry braced for impact, I felt a sense of calm take away the impending doom. I knew what was to come. It had to pass. Karma said so. She was like an ex-girlfriend that was returning shit you didn't take when you split because of all that negativity. Unavoidable, though. She knew just where to find you. And for me, it was always the same place. A breadth away from some Major Guaio.

Ilaria was in her office, arranging desk accessories and humming softly to herself when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

She placed a crystal vase of bright orange, yellow, and red flowers on the edge of her desk- a surprise from Joe to brighten her office.  When she turned, she found one of the mechanics standing in her office, a pale, ghostly look on his face.  Ilaria could sense something heavy in his energy.  She cautiously stepped toward him.

"Carl- what is it? What happened?"

The truth was that she knew it before the man even put it into words.  It was the unspoken nightmare that she'd had ever since they got the first plane onto the ramp.  Her stomach seemed to sink like a lead balloon.

"There...was an accident.  We don't know everything yet, but we got a call from the Ohio Civil Air Patrol.  The plane Mr. Adonis was in...it's down.  There's a fire-"

Ilaria was out the door and halfway down the hallway leading to the hangar before the man could finish.  Her heart was beating hard and fast, and her feet were flying.  She nearly tore the door between the office and the hangar off its hinges, shouting to anyone with in range.

"GET THE MAT-U IN THE AIR RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

Four guys nearly jumped right out of their skins as she called our the order.  On the outside, she was Major Santoro- laser focused and hard as a brick wall; but inside, Ilaria was panicking.  No word if anyone was alive- but a crash? 

She flung open the door of a locker along the wall of the hanger, pulling on her new flight suit- the same blue as the Midas Air logo.  Her name was embroidered on the breast "Maj. Santoro", and there were red medical crosses on each upper arm.  Leaving her skirt suit in a pile, she ran to the plane and darted up the stair just as the ground crew began to push it out.

A pilot and FO were already in their seats.  Ilaria buckled into the jump seat behind them.

"How long before we get there?"

"Thirty minutes tops, Major.  We've already cleared with ATC for priority takeoff and airspace."

"Then get this bird off the ground."

She closed her eyes and said a prayer- one more earnest and heart-felt than she'd uttered in decades.  She couldn't see anything but Joe's face.  The night they first shared a meal together; the night they stood watching a body melt in a barrel of chemicals; him on one knee in front of her with a puppy in his hands; the look on his face after the train explosion as he found her among the wreckage.  Her face was that of a soldier, but her eyes were misty.

Throughout the flight that seemed to take six forevers, the Captain and First Officer were squawking back and forth with radio towers, getting updates from Ohio.  The Civil Air Patrol had just landed near the scene and were working to put out the engine fire so they could get to the passengers.  As they approached, there was still no word as to the souls on board.

The Captain brought the MAT-U down a few hundred yards behind the crashed GA-43.  Ilaria leaped off the plane before the stairs were down and took off toward the wreckage.  Thick, black smoke was still rising from the plane, though the majority of the flames were contained.  The aircraft itself was nearly split in two along the center seam of the fuselage.  Cargo crates were scattered, and Ilaria knew they had to be taken care of immediately.  She yelled for the pilot and officer to start loading them into the MAT-U.  A man in a Ohio CAP uniform ran toward her.

"Major Santoro?  Come on, I'll get you onto the plane- we had to cut the cargo door open, but it's accessible."

Ilaria nodded and was on his heels as they ran toward the back end of the plane.  The smell of smoke was enough to choke everyone within a mile, but Ilaria barely noticed.  She had her medic bag strapped to her back, and was already shrugging it off her shoulders as they entered the plane.  She could see the two seats in the cockpit, and she flew to the tiny open space between them. Looking to the left, she could tell that the pilot was dead.  His lips were blue, skin was pale, and his eyes were fixed and open.  Ilaria swallowed hard and looked to her right.  Joe was still strapped into the seat, unconscious.  There were gashes and deep cuts from where the plane's windshield and windows had exploded upon impact. His color was pale, and as she placed her hand on his cheek, she could feel it cold and clammy.

"Joe?! Baby...come on...I'm here.  Can you hear me?"

There was no response. She put her ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat.  It was hard to hear over the chaos around them, but there was a very faint beat.  Grabbing his wrist, she found a weak pulse- but he wasn't breathing.

"Fuck...hold on, Joe...please."

Her voice was shaking.  The pilot and the first officer of the MAT-U appeared behind her.  Whatever internal injuries there were would have to wait- she needed him on the ground.

"Get him out of here...just like we practiced."

From her back pack, she grabbed a neck brace and secured it around him, then moved aside for the other two men to help her get him off the plane.  Ilaria felt like she hadn't taken a breath since she left the office.  Her eyes watched him as they moved, looking for any signs of response.  

When they were clear of the plane and a safe distance away, the men put Joe down and Ilaria hit her knees beside him.  She put her ear to his chest again- still no breath.  She tilted his chin slightly, opening his mouth.  The FO positioned himself at Joe's chest and began compression as Ilaria counted. She visibly cringed hearing his sternum crack.  After five, she pinched his nose shut and placed her lips over his, forcing her breath into him.  She could feel his chest rise as she repeated this two more times, then waited a split second.  Still no breath.  

"Again!" she ordered the FO.

Five more compressions- two more breaths- then a hollow gasp as Joe's body finally attempted a breath on its own. Ilaria pulled away and cradled his face in her hands.

"Baby?  Listen to me!  You keep breathing...I'm right here, and you're going to be fine.  You hang on, you hear me?"

She watched as he took two more shallow breaths.  Satisfied for now, she began to examine him for other injuries, sending the two crew members of the MAT-U for the backboard.  Her hands shook and her heart was pounding in her throat as she ran her hands over his body, tearing away at his shirt.

It was an eerie kind of feeling. Like the moment before a moment to come, but one that just never came. Like a lingering space. Yet you were the space. Are the space. Throbbing in the canopy of whatever this was, looking down at absolutely nothing at all. The ground, swelling with meek lies. Some thoughts to catch your fall, that have you all the while forever tumbling without an end in sight.

This must be what they called it. That zone between. That place you go before you find out if you're ready or not. Purgatory, the underworld, the in between state. Whatever name, it didn't matter. Because here there was nothing to attach labels to. Just a weird sensation of being. And not being. And depending on where you were, as the place itself truly didn't exist, but where you'd found yourself within, that was what you'd find here.

A reflective mirror, some called it. As you were, you became. The light within, the shine without. Your ability to see the light, was based on how well you knew it. Like a friendly face at a dinner party, how could you converse with them if you knew not who they were? It was all a riddle. A space in time looped and folded back upon itself. And this is where he found he was, momentarily...

The Joe of old knew not his own face. The Adonis he'd spent many an hour in front of the glass sensation, throwing vanity bolts back. It was nowhere to be found. His ego, a whisper. It was there, in the background, hunting for an entrance. But it hadn't seen its way through since after meeting her. After that chance moment. It tried. Oh, it tried. It clawed at his back. Always. But something else took residence.

A shimmer was forming. A pale pink and white translucent commotion of stardust. If Joe could put it into words, he'd use those. Quite poetic when the hood was lifted. No longer the harsh cold. That deep dark bang, that just rang and rang and rang. It was soft. Like a cotton candy musical note seeped in honey floating on a stream of warm cows milk.

The staying felt not so bad, now. The going was the problem. Home was where the heart is, they said. Well this certainly felt that way. Like you knew, just knew this was where you belonged. And this is where Joe felt it. For the first time, clear as an infinite sided diamond, that his place was here. Everywhere. But mostly, where he now was. No need to do this or do that. No need for needs. Until it all came rushing back again...

Everything she'd learned in nursing school and in her surgical apprenticeship was screaming through her mind as Ilaria looked over his body. His breathing was still shallow and labored. Something blocking his airway? She'd had difficulty performing CPR- is there an obstruction? Gently, she lay her hand on his neck and felt around. There was a definite swelling around the trachea. 

Next she grabbed the pen light from her sleeve pocket and opened his eyelids. Right eye dilated, left did not. Concussion, possible spinal injury. There were no signs of internal bleeding anywhere else, so she grabbed her bag and tore it open. She spoke quickly to the First Officer. 

"Take off the cervical collar and hold his head as absolutely still as possible. I've got to get a tube in before we move him."

The officer nodded and did as told. She then looked up at the pilot. 

"Radio to Philadelphia and have them contact William Bowden. I need him to meet us at the clinic, and send men to help you offload the cargo to a safehouse."

"Yes, ma'am, Major."

Ilaria turned her attention back to Joe. For a brief moment, she looked down at him, nearly in a tearful panic at her love lying near lifeless on the ground; but then shook her head and cleared her throat. She pulled a few things out of the bag. 

Somehow, her hands steadied as she used a scalpel to make an incision just below his Adam's apple, into his trachea. She then quickly inserted a short, plastic tube into the incision. Taking a deep breath, she leaned down and breathed down into the tube twice. Almost immediately, Joe gasped and his eyes flew open. Ilaria nearly screamed with relief.

"Get him on the board! Let's get out of here!" 

William was deep into work on a set of plans he'd been hoping to finish weeks ago. It wasn't business this time but something personal. Something important enough that he'd snapped at Kinzie for interrupting him for a phone call. The look on her face had left him immediately regretful and her words hammered it home.

"Billy, Adonis is in trouble. He was in a plane accident."

He rushed to the phone and felt his chest seize up as he heard that one of his closest friends was on the brink. Plans forgotten entirely, he turned from the phone to shout for Connor before realizing the man had been dutifully right behind him.

"Gather a group and get to Midas. They need help moving product off a plane in a hurry, I've got to go. I trust you."

The wheels had been set into motion and then Will ran, deaf to the protestations of his lead bodyguard, as fast as his legs would carry him to the Bugatti parked just outside the building.

-----

He'd stopped counting the number of traffic violations he'd committed after he got to an even dozen. The exercise wasn't helping to calm his nerves anyway and he'd needed to focus. He'd be no good to Adonis or Ilaria planted into the side of a truck. A shockingly short time later his car came to a stop in front of Famiglia Medico Cura and he trudged to the front door, his eyes peeled for the vehicle bringing in the man he'd proudly seen lifted to stand alongside him in this thing. The man he'd grown so close to both under Jack Mezzo and as his own Right Hand. One he hoped he wouldn't be coming here to watch die.

Ilaria was crouched over Joe as he was strapped onto the backboard. She stroked his hair and looked into his open, panicked eyes. She knew he could hear her, but there was no telling if he could process it - but she had to try to keep him calm. She forced a smile and leaned in close to him. 

"Hey...try to relax. Breathe...we're getting you home."

She lifted his hand to her lips, softly kissing his fingers, just praying he could understand her. A moment later, she followed as the Captain and First Officer carried Joe to the MAT-U. 

----------

As the ambulance approached the clinic, Ilaria could see William's car parked at the mouth of the alley. She hopped out of the front and ran to open the door. 

"Into the operating room. I'm right behind you."

As she held the door, she saw William round the corner toward her, a grave look on his face. Ilaria looked at him, blood splattered on her flight suit, then reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. She couldn't find words. Instead of talking, the two hurried inside the clinic.

----------

Minutes ticked by painfully quickly as Ilaria worked alone in the operating room. Every movement she made was precise, not wasting a second. She worked non-stop for three and a half hours, until finally she had done all she could. He was breathing on his own, and only time could heal the rest. He slept now, kept under by light sedation and a morphine drip. 

As she took a deep breath, it hit her how exhausted she was. The mixture of fear, adrenaline, determination, and hidden panic finally set in. She took his hand, her own shaking, lay her head softly on his chest and released everything- freely sobbing and squeezing his hand and whispering over and over, "Please don't leave me. I need you. I love you."

If the voice on the phone had been worrisome then the look on Ilaria's face, her suit spattered with precious time stolen from the man she loved, was a bone-chilling terror. Her wordless rush was a chill grasp on his heart pulling him into the clinic and he was powerless to resist. William entered the clinic close on her heels, horrified by the prospect of seeing the last moments of one of the most vital men he'd ever met, one who'd grown as important to him and all that they represented as any he'd known. When he was stopped by one of Ilaria's employees just outside the operating room it ripped his attention back from the fear and into the moment. Guilt pushed hard on him for not staying at Joe's side in a moment of need but if he was being honest with himself, he was relieved as well.

All of his worry would accomplish nothing for his friend. It wouldn't mend the horrible injuries that even his untrained eye had spotted, and it would only distract Ilaria who was even now working through a pain and struggle that William could barely fathom. He walked back to the waiting room in defeat and took a seat.

For the second time in his life William Bowden was waiting, helpless, as a man he considered a brother fought for his life a room away. It was no easier than before, even if this time there was nothing he could have done differently. There should have been something...ANYTHING...he could have done for Joe besides wait. William Bowden was a fucking Don with all the power and influence that implied. In spite of all the weight it carried both for himself and for Adonis, though, death still sent little reminders that it looked at all of them as nothing special. Especially those who held themselves in high regard.

But what would happen to Midas if the worst came to pass?

What would he say to Godfather Mezzo about all this?

How could William hold the business together if he was falling apart?

He still needed Joe here as did all of them on Race Street. Even if each passing minute felt like another drop of hope seeping away through the drip of an IV, William wouldn't let himself believe that he might be losing his friend. The hours had begun to pass and before long William found himself desperately doing something he hadn't done in half his life. Something he told himself he'd never do again. He bowed his head and began to speak.

"God, hear me on behalf of thy wounded servant..."

Joe could hear Ilaria. Sense her. But he wasn't exactly there. His heart broke open, regardless, as if feeling the same emotions as her, exactly how she was feeling it. The thoughts she'd had. The experience she'd been through. It seemed like all the way back to the hangar, he was with her. If not physically, at least in spirit.

With her draped over him, he knew it. He was a mess. He couldn't fathom it as you typically could. Not in words, or in a feeling within the body. But he knew. He was mangled and maybe she'd never see him the same way ever again. Would they ever be able to share their passion for one another again, in intimate moments that practically shook their beings to the core?

Would he be able to hold her like he wanted to, every time he saw her? To let her know he wasn't just a brute of a man, but with her, he was more than he'd ever be alone? She seemed in need of affection. His hands couldn't move to provide it. His body, now a meat suit awaiting a slow 'growing old but all the more cynical by the day' self-slaughter.

Was this all he'd ever be, now? What about Midas? What about his promises to them? And to Jack, to always stay dangerous? His deepest fear was to not grow old. To die young instead. To go out in a blaze of glory, while the world's headlines chiseled his name into history like the Gods had his jawline. Remember the name, a fitting title above a snapshot of him drilling a crowd with a Chicago typewriter. That's how it was, before Philly.

Everything had changed. And as Ilaria sobbed herself into a tired and exhausted beautiful mess, Joe couldn't help but worry if all he'd ever done, was actually enough. Did he thank the people who made him who he was, enough? Did he actually, genuinely, give a fuck to even say thank you? Was he maybe too vain? Too aggressive in his approach? Too flashy in his need to be seen and admired? Did he respect others, as much as he wished they'd respected him?

All of these things flashed through him. He lived them. Memories faded into one another. His childhood came and went. His father's face, how could he forget the kindness in the man's eyes. How could he not see it before, as vivid as he could now. And his mother. As beautiful as ever, looking like a rose without thorns. His time in Jail. How he'd killed, and nearly got the same fate all in the same work yard squabble.

And then his experiences within Philadelphia rushed through him. William's fucked up car, a chance encounter that changed his life forever. Brothers in arms, till the end, no matter what. Jack's words at the Massage Parlor. His picture on the wall of East Cat, finally feeling like he belonged. Like the struggles of New York, like lady poverty no longer had a grip on him.

But he couldn't see his newest venture. Midas, was blank. It was a haze. A distorted vision of nothing. Like static on the radio, it didn't compute. And that's when it struck him the most. His fears took over. The ever growing sense of concern turned into dread. It cut through him like a hot knife, poking at his deepest wounds like the devil's pitchfork. What if his dream... was finally... over.

...

"Mr. Adonis. Please wake up."

A hand pushed at his shoulder. He vaguely heard the words before in a sudden shock he jolted forward and gasped for air. His heart was quickened, racing like the image of William in his Bugatti which flashed in his minds eye once more. His concern deeply embedded on his face, as Henry rested his hand on Joe's shoulder.

"Boss, we've arrived. You all good? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Seen one. Been one. The dream state quickly faded with each second, and with it his sense of fright slowly diminished. He rubbed at his eyes before looking up at Henry, but the familiarity of his voice was recognizable already.

With a deep breath in, Joe rolled his neck across his shoulders. He was tense. A three hour journey could do that. And as he reached to unbuckle his straps, a flask jumped out of his lap and onto the cabin floor.

Henry smiled. He'd not known Joe longer than a day and he already saw a likeness in him. If he weren't flying, Henry would probably have been exactly where his boss was, an empty flask in and some nightmarish dream to tug at his demons. And truth be told, Henry's were a lot worse. So he knew the signs. The startled awakening from a shitty experience of a place you couldn't escape from, just to slowly realize it wasn't real.

"Here." The pilot said after picking up the flask and passed it back to Joe, but not before noticing the words on the sentimental yet practical addition to Adonis' everyday attire.

'You're a pal, Henry. Where are we?"

The flask was tucked away into his inner jacket pocket before Joe pushed himself out of the co-pilot's chair. He leaned against it and slid his arm across the back, feeling the wool seat cover that personalized the otherwise factory standard aircraft. Henry had one on each chair, to help make the flights more comfortable. Joe could attest to that. The two of them looked out through the windscreen of the GA-43 cargo plane cockpit and at the airfield in front of them.

"We've here. Now." Henry said as he glanced back at Joe with a knowing smirk.

"Say..." He continued as his facial expression changed to show his curiosity. "...What's that mean on the flask? Adon-toro?"

"Well..." Joe began then paused a moment to take in the view of the airfield they'd arrived at.

He noticed some people walking around the front of the plane, in an organized fashion. Like a small procession line, taking packages from the newly constructed cargo hold and into the hangar behind them. The plane had already been turned around and was facing back towards the ramp that lead onto the main runway of the Chicago Municipal Airport.

"Let's just say..." Joe said as he turned his head towards Henry.

"Try to have dessert first, 'cause you just never know what surprises dinner may bring."

Henry nodded a few times, looking like he was deep in thought as his eyes broke away and looked down at the space between the two piloting chairs. Joe's blue eyes had a glimmer of a shine back in them, his smile wide which caught Henry's gaze as it lifted, making the pilot smile in return.

"Come on. Let's get a drink before we have to head back."