Life Support by Robert Whitlow Page B

and set him free.
    Ralph Leggitt was right when he said that Alexia had a lot of experience handling difficult matters for distraught women. The situation facing Rena Richardson was different from a divorce, but the dynamics would be the same. As Alexia drove to the airport, she planned her basic strategy. She would patiently listen to the young woman pour out streams of relevant and irrelevant information, identify the important data, and summarize options without painting a picture that was too rosy or too bleak. Only when she’d won the client’s trust would she offer strong advice. By that point, most of her clients were ready to heed it.
    Alexia used her cell phone to set up an appointment for Marilyn Simpson with another attorney, then she called the office and asked Gwen to relay the information to Marilyn. She clicked the phone off as she pulled into the parking lot for the airport.
    The Santee airport had no commercial airline service. It catered to businesspeople, golfers, and individuals who wanted to learn how to fly. Alexia went into the small metal building that served as the fixed base operation center. This was new territory. She had never flown in anything except commercial jets.
    An older man with thinning black hair and wearing a stained white T-shirt leaned against a counter, reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette. The scruffy figure looked out of place at an airport. A radio tuned to the local flight frequency crackled in the background.
    â€œI’m a lawyer from Leggitt & Freeman,” Alexia said. “Someone from my office called to set up a flight to Greenville.”
    The man put out his cigarette. “Preflight’s all done. I’m ready when you are.”
    Alexia followed the pilot through a door to the aircraft ramp behind the building. On his way out, he grabbed a shirt with “Jack Link Air Service” embroidered on it and slipped it on over his stained T-shirt.
    â€œAre you Mr. Link?” Alexia asked as they walked across the asphalt.
    â€œNo, I found the shirt abandoned in the pilots’ lounge in Des Moines. My name is Mo Reynolds.”
    The plane was a single engine Piper Warrior with seating for four. As they approached it, Alexia glanced down and could tell that one of the two tires on the landing gear was low on air. Before she could say anything, Mo pulled an air gauge from his shirt pocket and checked the pressure.
    â€œWe need a shot of air in that tire. I’ll get the compressor and be right back. Can I trust you not to jump in the plane and take off without me?”
    He left without waiting for an answer. Alexia stayed beside the plane, wondering what else was wrong with it. The pilot rolled out an air compressor and put some air in the sagging tire.
    â€œWe’re set,” he said. “You can sit in back, but there is more room up front.”
    â€œWhere do you recommend?” Alexia asked.
    Mo smiled. “The best seats in the house are always in the front row.”
    Mo stepped up onto the wing and opened the door on the passenger side of the aircraft. It was set up as a trainer with full controls on both sides. Alexia reluctantly followed and plopped down in the front passenger seat. To her relief, Mo went through a preflight checklist before starting the engine.
    â€œYou know, lawyers put Piper out of business,” he said. “They filed so many lawsuits every time an idiot would crash a plane into a mountain and get killed that the company went under. It’s getting harder and harder for me to find spare parts.”
    â€œI’ve never sued Piper,” Alexia reassured him.
    Mo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, most of the lawsuits were in the ’60s and ’70s. I doubt you were born then.”
    The pilot started the engine, which roared to life and shook the little cabin. He backed off the throttle and taxied away from the building.
    â€œHold your breath and exhale when I