Aces (23 page)

Gold twisted around to face Hull. “Thank God you’re here, but how did you know I was going to need help—?”

Before Hull could reply, one of the goverment agents appeared on the runway. He leveled his pistol at the Jenny and fired
off a round. Lester Stiles buzzed the shooter, but didn’t throw a gasoline bomb.

“The guy’s too close to us for Les to risk throwing a fire bomb,” Hull shouted, opening up the throttle to pick up speed as
they rolled along the fiery runway. “We’ve got no choice but to take off, now! Keep your head down!”

“Out of the frying pan—” Gold muttered.

The G-man was still squeezing off shots at them. Gold remembered the revolver in his pocket. He drew it, and as the Jenny
pulled abreast of the agent, Gold aimed and quickly fired off all six shots. The agent disappeared into the shadows.

“And into the fire—” Gold finished. The Jenny was splashing like a waddling duck through the puddles of flame. Gold prayed
that the Jenny’s fabric skin and wooden landing gear did not ignite.

Then they were out of the flames. Hull had the Jenny wide open. For a moment Gold thought she was going to run out of airstrip,
but at the last possible moment Hull managed to lift off. The Jenny’s wheels scuffed the canvas tops of the parked trucks,
but they made it. They were airborne.

Gold noticed that he was still clutching the revolver. He thought about the government lawman he’d shot at and wondered if
he’d just killed a man… Hopefully the agent had merely ducked out of sight, but Gold would never know. Disgusted, he held
the gun over the side and let the wind snatch it away into the darkness. Lester’s Jenny settled in beside them as Hull flew
for home.

They landed at the North Island facility, where Hull had already slipped the night watchman a couple of bucks to look the
other way while he and Les “borrowed” the airplanes. It was too late for the ferry to be running, but they managed to grab
a ride back to the mainland on one of the military boats patrolling the bay.

Now they were in an all-night eatery near their hotel. At this hour they were the only customers in the place.

“But how did you know I was going to need help tonight?” Gold demanded while they waited for their bacon and eggs.

“Les and I were in a speak earlier tonight,” Hull said as the counterman came around with their food. “We overheard a guy
at the next table bragging about how Ramos’s operation was going to get squashed tonight. Of course, we were interested. The
guy was already three sheets to the wind, but we kept buying him drinks, and he kept talking. It turned out the guy was a
government stoolie. He was the guy the government men had paid to discover the location of the airstrips.”

“But how could United States G-men operate in Mexico?” Gold asked.

“They couldn’t! Not legally!” Lester exclaimed around a mouthful of toast. “Those men were crooked! Worse crooks than Ramos!
Remember you told Hull that Ramos had said his previous pilot had been killed by a rival gang? Well, these men were that gang.
They wanted to shake down Ramos—”

“You mean, get Ramos to pay them to allow him to bootleg?” Gold asked.

“Right.” Hull nodded. “But Ramos wouldn’t go along, so they kidnapped his pilot and killed the guy as a warning. When they
found out Ramos’s airlift was back in business, they decided to get tougher, but they had to be careful. They couldn’t disrupt
the U.S. side of the operation. It would have meant alerting the local cops, and it would have meant either arresting or killing
Ramos himself, and that would have been the same as killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.”

“So they decided to hit his operation in Mexico,” Lester added. “They killed Ramos’s men—those poor bastards—because they
couldn’t afford to leave any witnesses. They intended to hijack the truckloads of booze, which they could sell for themselves.”

“And they intended to kill Ramos’s new pilot,” Hull added meaningfully. “To make it clear to Ramos that he couldn’t operate
without cutting them in for a piece of the profits.”

“Do you think we have to worry about them in the future?”

“Nope,” Hull said firmly. “Not about them, and not about Ramos. That informer in the bar said that the men don’t know the
identity of Ramos’s pilot. They didn’t get a good look at you tonight, did they?”

Gold shook his head. “With all the military fliers based in San Diego, I guess I’m safe.”

“Anyway, those guys can’t afford to follow up on what happened tonight,” Lester said. He signaled the yawning counterman for
more coffee. “How could they explain what they were doing in Mexico in the first place?”

“But what about Ramos?” Gold asked.

Hull grinned. “Les and I flew past the Chula Vista airstrip on our way out to the desert, just to see what was going on. It
was deserted. My guess is that Ramos heard about the move against him and decided that San Diego was no longer a healthy place
for him to do business.”

Gold looked at both men. “I owe you guys my life…”

Hull shrugged. “The way we see it, it’s now all even. Don’t forget, you saved
our
lives… back during the war. You could have killed us when you shot us down, but you didn’t. You went out of your way to spare
us. Let’s just say that tonight we paid you back.”

“Well.” Gold smiled as the counterman came around with the coffeepot. “Let’s have a drink on it.” He pulled the slender green
bottle from the pocket of his duster and put it on the table. “If it’s all right with the proprietor, who is welcome to join
us in a drink, of course…”

The counterman stared wide-eyed at the label. “It’s real scotch… from Scotland! By all means open it up! I’ll get us some
clean glasses!” He hurried away.

“Where the fuck did you manage to lay your hands on that?” Hull asked, amazed.

“I found a case of it on one of the trucks during my first flight tonight,” Gold explained. “Ramos sells this stuff to his
rich customers for fifty bucks a bottle. I figured he wouldn’t miss a fifth, and if he did, fuck him, we were going to be
on our way to Los Angeles tomorrow.”

The counterman came over with a tray of glasses. Gold poured everyone shots. “To good friends,” he toasted, raising his glass.

The counterman drained his glass and sighed. “Thanks for the drink. I haven’t tasted anything that smooth for a long time.”

“Help yourself to another if you’d like,” Gold said. The grateful counterman did, and took it with him into his kitchen.

A newsboy came into the cafe to ask if anybody wanted the night owl edition of the paper. Gold bought one, figuring he would
enjoy having something to read back in his hotel room while he was trying to unwind from the night’s excitement. He scanned
the front page.

“Herman, you can also pay for the meal,” Hull said. “How much did you make off of Ramos, all told?”

“Huh?” Herman looked up from the newspaper. “Let’s see… Counting tonight, five thousand, one hundred dollars.”

Lester whistled. “That’s a nice piece of change.”

“And just enough.” Gold stared at his newspaper. “And just in time, too,” he added excitedly. “I
knew
my opportunity would come around, and now it has!”

“What are you talking about?” Hull demanded, pouring himself another drink.

Gold held out the newspaper, tapping the boldface headlines in the lower lefthand section of the front page:

POST OFFICE AIR-MAIL ROUTES ANNOUNCED
—

FEDS GIVE FRISCO THE NOD TO BE SOLE

WEST COAST TERMINUS
—

Hull scowled. “Forget it, Herm. You can make more money flying for Captain Bob than you can flying for the post office.”

“Not flying
for
the post office…” Gold began. Hull and Lester were staring at him, obviously bewildered. “Look, I’ll explain everything to
you later. Right now I need to know something. I’ve been so busy these past few days that I haven’t talked much with the Captain.
Is he still planning to throw that party in Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hull replied. “He thinks he might be able to swing a movie deal. Some kind of aviation picture, with all of
us in the troupe flying the stunts.”

“He’s pulling out all the stops, too,” Lester said. “Spending a lot of money and inviting bankers, movie people, oil tycoons;
everybody who’s anybody. As the captain says, it takes money to make money.”

“All the bigwigs, huh?” Gold nodded thoughtfully. “Look, guys, if things work out the way I hope they will, I may not be working
for Captain Bob much longer. I’ll be working for myself, and I’ll need some pilots.” He smiled. “Men I can trust. Would you
consider coming to work for me? You’d earn less in the beginning, but your pay would grow with the business.”

Hull and Les looked at each other. Les nodded.

“This is the best scotch we’ve ever had,” Hull said. “Any man pours us drinks from a fifty-dollar bottle, we’ll follow him
anywhere.”

The Hotel Darby, its yellow domes and red-tiled, bulbous turrets rising majestically over the swaying palms, reminded Gold
of an oriental potentate’s castle out of some exotic fairy tale. It was early evening, a few hours after the troupe’s first
show at Mines Field. It had been an invitation-only performance, intended to charm the city’s elite, as was this buffet reception
being held in a first-floor lounge of the hotel. It was a large room, done in the Spanish adobe style, with stuccoed walls
and a red-tiled floor with a splashing fountain in its center. A wall of glass revealed a lantern-lit garden. In one corner,
almost hidden by luxurious floral arrangements, a string quartet played soft classical pieces. On the far side of the room
a buffet was being served. The only thing missing was liquor, which was, of course, illegal.

The captain’s engraved invitations, hand-delivered to a select list by messenger boys costumed as pilots, had made the right,
flamboyant impression. The party was well attended. The men were in business suits, their ladies dressed in silky, sleeveless,
slim-fitting dresses. Soon Erica would be wearing such clothes, Gold thought to himself, and she would put these women to
shame. He noticed that most of the ladies had bobbed hair, and began to worry that Erica would want to cut her beautiful,
long tresses…

The Captain, dressed in black tie, interrupted Gold’s musings. “Herman, what the fuck do you think you’re doing here dressed
like that?” he growled softly.

“Gee, I’m sorry, Cap. I must have forgot.” Gold lied through his teeth.

“None of the others forgot!” The captain’s arm swept the room, taking in all the other pilots, including Hull and Les Stiles,
standing around in their leather jackets and tight-fitting helmets, looking totally out of place amidst all this elegance.
The Captain had ordered his pilots to wear their gear to the party in order to establish what he considered to be the right
atmosphere: he was trying to pitch an aviation adventure film.

Gold was wearing a charcoal-gray linen suit, a light-blue silk shirt with socks to match, and a white and blue polka dot tie.
His low-cut, slip-on shoes were of supple, nappy, oyster suede. He’d spent a lot on this outfit, and even more to have the
alterations done in time for today’s party, but he felt the investment was essential.

“I want you to go and change,” the Captain said.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” Gold apologized. He wished the captain well, but he was here for his own purposes, which
he couldn’t achieve looking like a walking publicity stunt.

The captain was staring at him. “What’s going on, son? What have you got planned?”

“That’s my business.”

“But
this
is
my
business!” the captain said through clenched teeth. “I’m paying for all this, and I have a right to call the tune.”

“Don’t worry, Cap. I won’t upset your plans.”

“You do what I tell you—”

“No,” Gold said calmly.

“Then you’re fired!” Captain Bob glared at him. “Get out of here, or I’ll have you thrown out—”

“Your voice is rising,” Gold warned quietly. “People are starting to stare…”

The captain immediately shut up, nervously looking around. “What are you trying to do to me?” he hissed through a hideously
artificial smile.

“Nothing, Cap,” Gold said. “Just something for myself. As long as I’m fired I might as well let you know that I was intending
to quit. Now, you can have me thrown out if you want, but I won’t go quietly, and that would disrupt your party a lot more
than just letting me be.”

“First thing tomorrow you come by the show site to collect your back pay,” Captain Bob said, backing down. “After that, I
don’t want to see you around.”

“I’ll inform the hotel where we’re staying that I’m responsible for my own bill,” Gold said.

“Fine.” Captain Bob started to turn away.

“Cap?” Gold held out his hand. “You taught me a lot. I’m grateful. I’d like there to be no hard feelings.”

Captain Bob scowled suspiciously. “This con you got in mind, does it involve fishing my part of the pond?”

“A different pond entirely, sir,” Gold vowed. “I know better than to compete with the master at his own game…”

The Captain sighed. “What the hell, then,” he grumbled. “No hard feelings, son.” He shook hands with Gold. “Hook yourself
a big, fat one, if you can.” He walked away.

Gold was relieved his relationship with the captain had ended harmoniously. He really was very fond of the old rogue.

But it had ended
, Gold realized. He was out of the Captain’s nest. It was time to spread his wings and take flight on his own.

He saw Jimmy Cooper, the advance man, and went over to talk to him. “What was going on between you and Cap?” Jimmy asked.

“Nothing.” Gold shrugged. “He was just bawling me out because I forgot to wear my flying gear. Jimmy, you put together the
invitation list for this party, right?”

Cooper looked proud. “I sure did, and we’ve got almost one hundred percent attendance. Do you have any idea how much money
there is in this room?”