Primal Spillane Page 19

  Right then Ted wished he was a thousand miles from there, right back in New York instead of the middle of Kansas.

  Everyone took a straw. Ted’s hand shook a little as he plucked one, and he hesitated to look at it. Bill Semple next to him saw it first and patted him on the back.

  “Gee,” he said, “short straw … you go up tomorrow. What tough luck!”

  Happier words had never been spoken. Teddy popped open his eyes and waved the straw. He felt like shouting a rousing cheer. A one-day reprieve … but it was something, anyway. The way the rest of the gang looked at those who picked the short straws was like a man pitying a starving dog.

  So came the final test. One by one, they climbed into the Piper, took off and went into a climbing turn. The plane circled the field twice in figure eights then settled slowly to earth. The embryo fliers stood about and went through every motion just as though they were in the plane, and when it came down, those on the ground were as breathless as the person who actually did the flying!

  Everything was going smoothly, until Perkins came in for a landing … A sudden gust of wind caught the plane and it skidded to one side. Quickly, he blasted the motor on full and hauled back on the stick. The plane shot up again,, but it was a nerve-wracking experience nevertheless, and the way he over-controlled the ship showed nervousness.

  Ted had his fingers crossed. He knew that if he saw a crash now, he’d never have the nerve to crawl into a plane again! But the fates took good care of that. Perkins lined up for another approach and slid in. He fishtailed lightly, was coming down reasonably well when it happened. The wheels hit, bumped, and the little ship bounced. It came down weaving. Perkins tried desperately to get it straightened out, but it was no use. The ship nosed over into the dirt, throwing up a cloud of dust!

  Ted almost passed out. He shook his head, and almost before he realized it, was tearing for the closed-up plane. He got there ahead of the rest, and in time to see Perkins climb out. The fellow looked at the plane anxiously. “Heck, that would have to happen!”

  Mike ran up then. “Don’t worry about it. Prop’s cracked, but we have a spare. Want to try again?”

  “DO I! sure thing! When can I have another go at it?”

  “Tomorrow. The ship can be patched up tonight. O.K., I guess that’s all for now. Go on home and get some sleep!” Teddy was amazed. Here was a guy that almost broke his fool neck coming down, and now he wanted to try it again … and he wasn’t even shaking! He walked back to his car and climbed in. The near crack-up had him so shaky, his hands trembled on the wheel. Tomorrow would come much too soon for him.

  The day dawned fairly clear, with occasional patches of woolly clouds gathering in the west. A good flying day. Teddy went through his classes like a sleepwalker. The events of the day before were still vivid in his mind. He could see himself coming in, over-controlling, then the terrific impact of the crash. He could hear the splintering of framework and the tearing of the fabric as if it were actually happening.

  At noontime he couldn’t eat a thing. Afternoon classes whipped through, and at three o’clock he found himself climbing into his white jumpers before going out to the field. Ted’s hands shook like a leaf in a high wind. He wondered why he didn’t fall apart from the vibration. If it wasn’t for a sense of pride and the vague prospect of the shiny wings, he’d never go out to the field at all!

  ONCE again Mike had the gang lined up. Perkins was to have the first crack at soloing today. The kid hopped in, full of confidence, gave her the gun, and off he went. And to top it off, he came down without a hitch. Everyone swarmed around the guy congratulating him. Ted groaned. The next fellow got in and the same thing happened. At this rate, the field was narrowing down fast. Luckily everybody wanted to be first, so Ted had no difficulty remaining in the background.

  By this time a wind was starting to blow. These Kansas winds were peculiar that way. Come up in a minute and before you know it tear up half the state. On the horizon a big brown cloud of dust twisted along. No one noticed it yet except Ted. He was trying to keep his mind off his solo when he realized that the tumbleweed was racing along the ground. Not an unusual thing, this, but enough to throw off one’s calculations when landing. Even now the trainer lurched slightly.

  One more person to go … then it was his turn. By now, Ted was feeling just a little sick. The wind was stronger now. Mike looked a bit anxiously at the dust blowing around, but evidently thought that it wasn’t strong enough yet to be bothered about. The student made his turns and landed gracefully in the teeth of quite a wind. How the plane got in was a mystery to Ted.

  Then … WOOSH! The wind turned into a small-sized hurricane! Dust tore at everyone’s faces. When the blow came, he heaved a sigh of relief … at least he’d have another day’s reprieve! Students ran for the protection of the hangar, while the ship teetered dangerously. For some reason, Ted stayed on with Mike.

  They grabbed the wings to steady the ship, and Mike yelled against the roar of the wind, “Hop in and start the motor. Keep ’er in the wind. I’ll get ropes and we’ll tie ’er down!”

  Ted nodded. He jumped into the closed cockpit and pushed the starter button. The motor roared into life. Ted let it idle while Mike dashed to the hangar for rope. The wind blew more fiercely, and Ted touched the controls. At once the plane responded as if it were in the air. Then … a huge gust of wind hit the plane head on … and the ship zoomed up and the wheels left the ground!

  QUICKLY, Ted gave it the gun. His face was white, but fortunately, he had some presence of mind. What happened was beyond him. Just a gust of wind and the light plane took off. Now, whether he wanted to or not, he was on his own ‘upstairs’! Pulling on the stick, Ted sent the plane up. At three thousand he leveled off. There, below him, was the rolling cloud of dust, but up here the air was clear and cool. Ted actually started to enjoy himself!

  But then he noticed the gas gauge. It registered empty! He flipped on the emergency tank, but that was only good for twenty minutes flying. What should he do? His brain reeled! Suddenly the dust beneath parted and he caught a glimpse of the field. Quickly, he turned so as to be over it. He had to come down now or later, and if he waited, the wind was liable to grow even stronger! His heart beat furiously, his breath came in uneven gasps.

  With his eyes glued to the altimeter, Ted faced the wind, judging his speed and distance to bring him over the spot where he last saw the field. When he looked at his air speed indicator it was only five miles an hour … the wind was making the plane almost stand still! Jockeying the plane, Ted nosed her down. It was the most delicate operation he ever attempted. He was so concerned with it that he forgot that he was supposed to be scared!

  THE dust grew thicker, so Ted knew he was about two scant feet off the ground. The brown curtain parted again for an instant … he was directly behind the hangar! Quickly, he hauled on the stick. The wind shot him up … and he went over the obstacle. He saw the wind sock pass beneath his under carriage, and he let out his breath. That was too close for comfort!

  Again he brought her in. Slowly … slowly, he made his approach, gauging every inch of his distance. The wind was an enemy that must be beaten! Dust swirled about the plexiglass windshield in front of him, his vision was zero! Then, for one brief second, the cloud of dirt thinned. The approach was perfect! Teddy lowered her a foot at a time … and suddenly felt solid earth under the wheels!

  Out came the gang. They rushed the plane and grabbed the wings, Ted cut the power and got out, and together they worked the ship into the hangar. Everyone cheered his daring exploit, and slapped him on the back. Now that it was all over, he knew that he’d never be afraid again.

  Mike let out a laugh. “I still can’t see how you did it!” he said.

  TEDDY grinned back. “Oh, it wasn’t me. The wind did it all — it took me up, then set me down as nice as you please, but … if anybody happened to hear a loud knocking noise up there …it wasn’t the motor, it was my knees!

  *** />
  Spy Paper

  “OSWALD, you have no more grey matter in that apple head of yours than that little mouse you feed cheese to when you think I’m not looking! As the city editor on this newspaper, I demand some news instead of the stuff you’ve been dishing out!”

  “Noits to you, chief,” said Oswald, shaking his finger under his fat boss’ nose, “you wouldn’t know a piece of news if it crawled under your wig. Which, by the way, is very cockeyed at the present speaking!”

  Hiram Klink. the C.E., shook his head to readjust the phony hair, took a deep breath like a frog, then screamed. Finally he quieted down to a roar, looking like he wanted to wring the juice out of Oswald.

  “Spies I want. That’s news. Get me some spies!”

  “Aw, don’t be stupid. Where am I gonna get some spies. Maybe I should spread out spy fly paper and they will walk on it, huh?”

  “Don’t get funny! I give you twelve hours to get me some spies to write about, or you are demoted to chief galley washer in this shebang. Now go spatch some cies. I mean catch some spies, you worm brain!”

  Ossie sat down to figure that one out. When the chief got mad. he wanted what he wanted or it was too bad. But where the dickens could you pick up some spies at this hour. Offhand, he didn’t know any. He knew a lot of people, but recently he didn’t meet any spies. And it was eleven P. M. — any decent spies would be home in bed. Oh, woe, what to do?

  IT CAN be said that when Ossie set himself to do a thing, he did it in a hurry. Sometimes the results were kind of messy and lawsuits flew around the place like bats in a church tower, but there was news to be had, even if he made it himself. So, Oswald Chippenblock stretched his long, lanky framework and eased out of his swivel chair.

  “Grrrr.” he growled, “twelve hours to catch a spy. When I get him I will make old bald head eat him feet first … with his shoes on! Now I wonder what kind I’ll catch, German, Jap or Eyetalian?”

  So Oswald ambled down to the morgue where all that’s dead is the roaches on the wall. That’s the place where the newspaper files all the old clippings which they’re too sentimental to throw away. He looked up spies under “S,” but the ones that were listed had all been caught at one time or another. That was luck for you. Why couldn’t the cops and the F.B.I. play fair and leave a few for somebody else lo catch?

  Just a little disgusted, Ossie went to leave, but as he passed the file boy’s table, he spotted a rival newspaper that carried a comic strip he sort of liked and picked it up. Idle curiosity made him turn the page, and there, beaming up at him with a big, toothy grin was the fat face of someone who seemed awfully familiar. The guy was holding a little war refugee in his arms like a cat holds a mouse before clipping off its head.

  Something was wrong here, but what? Then Ossie got it. He went back to the “S” file and dug and dug. Papers flew like confetti. The file clerk would puncture him full of holes should he see this. Nevertheless, Ossie dug some more, then, yelping like a coyote what has sat on some cactus needles, dashed back to the paper … Sure enuf … this was the same guy! One said, “Acquitted of spy activity,” dated 1929, and the other, “Outstanding citizen founds home for baby war refugees.”

  Hmmmmm! There must be a dead herring in this woodpile, it smelt so bad. Ossie poked at his ear with a pencil. “Daggone!” he said to the morgue room. “Here is my spy, now all I have to do is find him, get some evidence on him, get him arrested … all in, let’s see,” he consulted his watch, “ten hours and seven minutes! Plenty of time, plenty of time! Think I’ll have a soda first.”

  About an hour later, Ossie pulled up in front of a good-sized mansion with a clatter and banging of his old jaloppy that shook all the leaves off the trees even though it wasn’t fall yet. Squirrels yipped and ran for the air raid shelters. A big guy in a monkey suit … he was a butler … opened the door and peered out, Ossie grinned. Probably thought dive bombers were overhead. The lizzie did that to people.

  “I am Mr. Chippenblock from the Daily Chronicle.” He flashed his press card like reporters do in the movies. “I would like to see Mr. Hauser.”

  The butler scowled. “Mr. Hauser has retired.”

  “Well, untire him! Anyway, there’s a priority on tires. Tell him the Chronicle awaits and will not wait long, and unless he wants his pan spread all over the funny page section, he had better come down and be interviewed!”

  The speech got the butler. Big boy finally figured that maybe Ossie knew what he was talking about and went upstairs after the “Mawster” … fancy talk for the head of the domicile.

  In about twenty minutes a big bundle of fat flowed down the stairs and greeted Ossie with a mouthful of phoney teeth. “How are you. sir? Sit down. Have a cigar. Always happy to accommodate the press, y’know. Now, what is it that you wish?” Ossie recoiled before the fast chatter, but bounced back with a spiel of his own.

  “ABOUT those kids. Good human interest story, y’know. Like to hear all about them. How they escaped from the dirty Nazis …”

  Hauser’s eyes narrowed a little tiny bit at that, and Ossie caught it.

  “Where they came from and all that sort of stuff.”

  “Pouff pouff, very simple, my good man. Poor little tykes. They we’re shipped over here from France, so that English bombs wouldn’t snuff out their lives.”

  Inside, Ossie was smiling, although it didn’t show on his face.

  The fat boy just couldn’t help getting back at him with that crack about the English. “There’s nothing spectacular about it all.” Hauser went on, “I just keep them here until someone adopts them.”

  Oswald was doing some heavy thinking. His brain jumped about in his skull like a frog on a hot rock. Ideas went skittering around his noodle like ants in a hill. Finally, after a minute’s concentration, Ossie got a grand idea. If this guy was a spy, here’s where the dirt comes out!

  Hauser must have seen the intense look on his face, because he asked, “Something the matter?”

  “Nope! I just thought that the Nazis could ship a lot of valuable information to their agents over here by letting those kids carry it. No one would expect a baby to carry the stuff, and nothing would happen to them if they did!”

  WHAM! Something big, heavy and hard clonked off Ossie’s bean like a Yankee fireball into a catcher’s mitt! The reporter jerked like a fish, threw up his arms and relaxed into a coma punctuated by occasional snores.

  The butler eyed the bent poker and peered at Ossie. “Maybe he’s dead. I hope?”

  “You nitwit,” screamed Hauser. “Now what are we gonna do with the corpse!”

  The butler heard a snore and smiled evilly.

  “He’s not corpused yet, just asleep. Let me finish him.”

  “NOTHING doing. This is a new rug. Drag him upstairs and tie him up. In the morning we will dispose of him in the usual manner.”

  The butler hooked a beefy hand in Ossie’s collar and up he went. From the general looks of things, Ossie’s immediate future wasn’t!

  Groaning lightly, Ossie returned to this world. He tried to look around, but the dark got in his eyes so he couldn’t see anything. In a minute, he found he was tied up, but that was no trouble for him. He reached into his back pants pocket and dug out his nail clippers, and in two shakes he was a free man. Ossie struck a match.

  Why, the dirty so-and-sos stuck him in the nursery! All over the place were cribs full of kids! He walked over to the nearest one. It was chilly in here and the kid was half uncovered.

  But as Ossie went to throw the cover over the kid, he stopped. Something was the matter with its back. He touched it … and saw what it was. A piece of microfilm was pasted to the back with flesh-colored collodion. He never would have seen it if it wasn’t for the fact that the skin didn’t wrinkle under it! Pretty smart, these Jerries, but not smart enough.

  Ossie tore the leg off a chair and stalked out to the hall. From the other end came jerky tones that might have come from a hog farm. Ossie took the hogs first. He sneaked to
the door, opened it, and tip-toed to the bed. He shook Hauser lightly, and the rat sat up, the rolls of fat wobbling about his chins.

  Ossie waved the chair leg like a bat, then swung for all he was worth. It was a homer in any game! Hauser went, “Ug!” and flopped back. Now for the butler. Dragging the limp hulk of the Nazi behind him, he opened big boy’s door, and in ten seconds flat hit another homer with the lug’s head. After that it was simple. The phone brought the cops, the cops brought the newspapers and that brought Hiram Klink, the C. E.

  There were enough uniforms in the house to fight the war, and in no time Hauser and the butler were cooked geese. In came Klink. So far he didn’t see Ossie.

  “Spies I want and I get them, but do I see that no good reporter of mine? No! He is fired to pieces. Never again will he report for me, not even the weather!”

  Mike Gutler, boss of a rival news sheet, grinned. “Well, he can work for me, then, O.K.?”

  “Take him, he’s all yours!”

  Just then Ossie came from behind a curtain where he was hiding. Klink turned to a cop and asked “Who caught these bandits?”

  “Some guy named Chippenblock, lucky stiff!”

  “WHAT!”

  Ossie walked out then and nodded at his ex-boss.

  “See you sometime, Chief. I’m over the limit. Took me twelve hours and six minutes to catch them. I guess from now on I work on Gutter’s rag.”

  Klink turned green, then orange with purple borders … tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Aw, Ossie. don’t be hasty … I was only fooling … Ossie, listen to me. OSSIE! … O-S S-I-E! Don’t leave me! A raise you get. Twenty, thirty!” When the ante reached forty… Ossie joined the Chronicle again.

  ***