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Which Pierre knew was an unfair assessment.
Tango and Gutz weren’t bastards. They were jet jockeys. Classic, macho, half-a-century-after-their-time, pig-headed jet jockeys. No way either of them would have stepped up when they found out Rosa was carrying their kid.
“Cheap. Two-bit. Arrogant…” He could feel his teeth grinding.
“Why were they bastards?” The NTSB investigator asked without quite looking at him.
He certainly wasn’t going to try explaining how they’d both leave Rosa in the lurch. But the rest of it?
Screw it, his ass was toast now anyway.
“They were hijacking the goddamn plane.”
“It appears that they weren’t successful,” the woman said it absolutely deadpan.
Pierre could only look at her in surprise. In his experience, most smaller women did something to compensate
