Runner-Up 2

Charlie Bonner eased his midnight blue 1972 GTO convertible into the parking lot at the Santa Monica Airport.

Eddie MacManus, Charlie’s pilot/body guard/spiritual advisor, opened Genie’s door first, then came around to shake hands with Charlie.

“Beautiful day, Mr. Bonner, Mrs. Bonner. Beautiful day,” Eddie said. He’d known Charlie since second grade but had gotten the habit of calling him Mr. Bonner back when they were just a couple of UCLA grads with liberal arts degrees pretending to be businessmen.

A half-Samoan bear of a man, Eddie tossed their luggage into the cargo compartment and helped Genie into the plane. Once onboard, he handed them each a hot, perfect espresso he seemed to conjure from thin air.

After a simulator-perfect takeoff, Eddie asked, “Falco call you earlier?”

“Yeah, on my home number, the SOB,” Charlie said.

“He was pretty agitated last night. Didn’t think he was dim enough to call you at home, though,” Eddie answered.

“Ernesto’s on the way to meet him,” Charlie said.

“Good. Good.” Eddie appreciated a swift response to problems.

Genie pulled a mirror from her enormous handbag and scrutinized her flawless peaches ‘n’ soy milk complexion. “Charlie honey, do I need Botox? See these little lines?”

Charlie replied, “You don’t have any lines, sweetie. Don’t you dare inject anything into that lovely face.” Knowing she was completely immune to the effects of caffeine, he suggested, “Take a little nap. We’re going dancing at Emil’s on the beach after we land.”

Genie stretched like an alley cat, balanced her huge sunglasses on her tiny nose and drifted off into the dead sleep of the inexplicably lucky.

Charlie stared at the horizon. He saw the pole dancer walking into a congressional hearing wearing nothing but that ridiculous headdress and a necktie that said “Property of Charlie Bonner.”

Eddie woke him gently. “Boss, look out the window. Behind us, about 30 degrees left.”

Charlie was instantly awake: “Another jet? On this route?”

“I checked. No one took off from S.M. for at least an hour after us.”

“Maybe Long Beach.”

“Maybe. I radioed the tower. No answer yet. They’ve matched our course and speed precisely for the last half-hour.”

Charlie said, “They’re trying to stay in the glare of the sun so we can’t see them.”

“Hang on.” Eddie pulled quick to the left and started a steep climb.

“Still there,” Charlie said.

“Damn it.” Eddie dove, but the other plane continued to gain on them.

“Eddie!” Charlie cried. “He’s got a gun pointed at us.”

“That’s no gun, that’s an RPG! You strap that parachute on and then get Mrs. B into hers. I’ll keep trying to shake them off.”

Charlie pulled his parachute on. He shook Genie. “Wake up! There’s a plane following us, they have a weapon, we may have to bail out.”

“Bail out?” Genie asked. Then, proving why she was such a great reality show contestant (or perhaps some previous paramilitary training), she quickly, calmly pulled on her parachute, changed into a more practical pair of shoes, tied her hair back, strapped a small bag of essentials to her waist. “I’m ready, sweetheart.”

Eddie said, “I’m not going to be able to hold them much longer. When I give the signal, yank that door open and jump.”

Eddie continued, “I’m going to vent fuel to make it messier for them, and I’ll be right behind you. When you hit the water, swim toward the setting sun. There should be a small island about half a mile out.”

Eddie held the plane steady and pushed Charlie and Genie out the door.

Kris Kolker is a Los Angeles playwright, director and theater and concert producer.