FORTY-FOUR
K.C. Hodges sat in an aisle seat of the American Airlines wide-body jet and watched a short, in-flight news program on the screen in the seatback. Beside him, Frank Oliver slumped in his chair, head resting against the window, and slept. K.C. couldn’t understand how Frank could sleep, but apparently guilty consciences weren’t what they used to be. Although seated next to each other, the two men were worlds apart in terms of background, education, training, social standing, and political ideology. They were nevertheless linked, albeit by six inches of steel chain connecting the handcuff on K.C.’s right wrist to the cuff on the sleeping Oliver’s left.
As it turned out, Tampa authorities were more than happy to turn Frank over to the Dallas police. Alicia Oliver, recovering in th
