Stone and Dino drove down to Santa Monica Airport, a small general aviation field with a single 5,000-foot runway, near the beach and just next door to Los Angeles International.
“What are we doing here?” Dino asked as they pulled into a parking lot behind a large hangar.
Stone found the sign he was looking for: AIRCRAFT FOR RENT. “We’re going to do some aerial sightseeing,” Stone said. “I want to show you the layout of where we’re going, and it’s the fastest way.”
“What’s the hurry?” Dino asked.
“This weekend that yacht will be full of people. I want to get to her first. Wait here.”
Stone went into the office, passing a large sign offering various airplanes for rent, and inquired about rates from a young man at the desk. He produced his pilot’s license, his medical certificate, and his logbook on request.
“What sort of airplane do you want?” the man asked.
“Something slow for sightseeing.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Just out to Catalina and back. A couple of hours.”
“I’ve got a Cessna 172, a nice one—good radios, GPS. It’s IFR certified, and it’s a hundred and fifty bucks an hour, wet.”
“I won’t be doing any instrument flying, but it sounds fine.” Stone gave him a credit card to imprint, then followed him out to the hangar.
“Let’s see you preflight her,” the man said.
Stone walked slowly around the airplane, doing the checks he’d done a hundred and fifty times, including the fuel.
“That’s pretty good without a checklist,” the man said.
“I did my initial and a lot of my instrument training in a 172,” Stone explained. “It’s all in my logbook.” He helped push the airplane out onto the tarmac, then the man handed him the keys.
“Go safely,” he said. “I’ll look for you back before the fuel runs out.”
“Thanks,” Stone said. He went back to the car and got Dino. “This way,” he said, and led the way back to the airplane.
Dino looked at the little Cessna with concern. “It’s kind of little, isn’t it?”
“A very sturdy aircraft,” Stone said. “More of them produced than any other; think of it as a kind of Volkswagen Beetle of the air.”
“I always hated those little cars,” Dino said.
“Hop in the passenger seat.”
Dino climbed in, and Stone got the seatbelt on him and fitted him with a headset, then walked around the airplane and got into the left seat.
“Where’s the pilot?” Dino asked.
“You’re looking at him.”
“Now, wait a minute, Stone,” he said. “I know you screwed around out at Teterboro for a year, but that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere with you in the pilot’s seat.” His protests were drowned out when the engine roared to life.
“Don’t worry about it, Dino; I’ll get you home safely.” He ran through the pre-taxi checklist, then called the ground frequency for a taxi clearance. He was told to taxi to Runway 21.
“You’re sure you can do this, Stone? I mean really confident?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ve got something like two hundred hours in this airplane.”
“This same one?”