Sid nodded. He shoved one hand in his jacket pocket and took longer strides.
"I think one of them has a gun."
"No matter what they've heard, they can't be sure. They won't shoot unless they're sure."
He swung up into the plane and I slid in under the controls. I switched on the engine and it kicked over.
I heard the men yelling something.
They hesitated a moment; then they ran toward us. "Get out of here," Sid said.
I gunned it. The radio phones sputtered. The tower was repeating a request for us to identify ourselves. I didn't even bother answering.
I took one quick gander at the wind sock and moved out on the chute. The two men were standing on the runway. They yelled and waved at us. One of them had a gun all right. He shook it in his fist but he didn't use it.
"It's all over, Buz."
"The hell it is."
"No, Buz. Why kid ourselves? They got a description of the Cessna. We can't even go home now."
"We got to go home. That's for sure. Hell, have we got guns? Have we got money? What about your friend in Verona City?"
"He wasn't home. Hasn't been home all day."
I felt Sid get the shakes. He looked as if he were going to be sick. I yelled at him, warning him to hang onto himself.
I was in bad shape, but one of us had to think. At first the news about his friend sounded pretty bad. It put us on a spot. But then, when you flipped the coin, and looked at the other side, it was better. "Wasn't home?" I said. "Fine. Then he can't say we didn't get here this morning. We were late, sure, but we ran into engine trouble. We went up again and put in some flying time. We came back. It's going to work."
"Stop being an ass, Johnson. It ain't going to work. They got our descriptions. The Aeronca. The Cessna. Me. You. We can't even put down at any airport. We're up here in the air and we're stuck here until they catch us and force us down."
"It's got to work," I yelled at him. "I didn't go into this thing to have it flop. They haven't got us yet. And for God's sake, don't buy the idea that Clark owns the only silver Cessna in the state. Nobody has anything on us. Keep your head and we'll be all right."
"No. It's no use, Buz. We could run-for Cuba. That's all."
"That would get us an Air Force pursuit plane on our tails and that's all it would buy."
"Then we got to ditch this crate somewhere, separate and hide out. That's all we can do. We hide out until it quiets down, try to get the money and run."
"Why don't you just take an ad in newspapers telling them just how guilty you are?"
"You got a better idea?"
"Yeah. Act like you got some guts. Suppose we have to face a few questions. We got answers."
"No. It's no use, Buz. I won't have them hounding at me. That's the story of my life. I won't go through it."
"You've got to."
"No. I couldn't make it. Hell, it was all I could do to walk across the ramp back there knowing those two men were going to stop us."
"But we made it."
"Yeah. We made it that time. Now we're up here where the whole damn country can spot us."
"Nothing is easy," I told him. "What's the matter? Nothing but a gun in your hand makes you a big man?"
"It helps."
"You can make it worse on us by going chicken, Sid."
"I'm not chicken, Buz. It's just that I can't face jail. Buz, that's what my whole life has been. A jail."
"Now what are you talking about?"
"I'm finished. I'm through with the whole caper."
"Now I know you're nuts."
"No, Buz. I want out!"
"Are you flipped? We got almost a hundred grand back there on that island."
He was silent a moment, rubbing the palm of one hand across the back of the other. He stared out of the plane, head averted from me.
"Take it, Buz. You take it. You can have it all."
My insides chilled. "What are you planning?"
"Nothing, Buz. I want you to put the plane down on a lonely road somewhere. In a field. I don't care." He was searching the sky, turning his head like a radar screen. "You let me out, Buz. You can have all the dough."
"Oh, boy. And you were a big shot in that bank with a handful of gun."
"I can't help it, Buz. I'm all right. As long as I can fight. As long as there's a chance to save my neck. It was like that in the bank. I could pull it off because-"
"Because you had a gun."
"All right, Buz. Say what you want. But it happened back there when you made me throw that gun in the Gulf. I knew then we were finished."
"You'd have been finished if you kept it on you."
"No. That's where you're wrong. That's where we're different. I got to have something that makes me stronger than other guys. I haven't got it now. They can kick me around and I'd have to take it. And I can't face anybody like that, Buz. Not any more. I can't be arrested. I'm telling you. You let me out. You swear I wasn't with you today. I got airsick-I am airsick-you had to put me down somewhere. Tell 'em anything. I wasn't even with you, today. I'll go to a motel somewhere. I'll hide out. That's the way it's got to be, Buz. I can't face anybody."
I glanced at him, slouched there with his head hanging down over his chest. His neck was long and scrawny. He looked old, a hundred years old, and finished. And slowly I got as ill as he looked, because I began to see that here was the boy I had trusted and he could blab us both into the chain gang, and the first time any pressure was applied to him, he would do it.
I grabbed his arm, shook him. "Snap out of it, Sid. If you keep your head, we can collect-"
"I don't want it, Buz. I told you. You can have it. All of it. Just swear I wasn't with you today. I won't say anything. I swear. I'll never say anything."
My voice got as cold as I felt. "Until you get drunk sometime? My God, you think I can ever trust you after this? Why didn't you tell me what you were, before we got into this thing?"
He sat there a long time, slumped inward, hands jammed into his sports jacket pockets, taking it, thinking it over. He did not attempt to defend himself. All he wanted was to get out of this plane, anywhere, alone. He was silent so long I thought he wasn't going to speak at all. When he did speak his voice was a husky whisper. "I didn't know, Buz. I didn't know it myself."
He turned and faced me, eyes agonized, mouth twisted.
"Buz."
"Yeah?"
"Don't let's have any trouble, Buz. Not you and me." Something flared, hot and angry, in my head.
"You threatening me?"
"It doesn't have to be that way, Buz. I don't want any trouble with you. Put me down, anywhere at all. You got all the loot. I swear it."
I felt myself tightening up, all through my body. Coates had spoken in a whine, but I sensed an implied threat behind every word. I tried to see into his face and couldn'tdo it.
"You afraid I'll talk, Buz? I won't."
I was as cold as something chopped out of marble. "What's the gimmick, Sid?"
"Buz. Put me down. I don't care where we are. You hear me? I just want a chance to run, to hide. Before a plane gets us spotted. You put me down-we have no trouble-it's quits. I know nothing."
My hands tightened on the Cessna controls, sweating. I no longer believed anything he said. If they caught him, he would talk all right. He would never stop talking. If I let him out, he would hide until he got thirsty, and then would hit the taverns. If I went back without him, I'd have to frame a hundred new lies, and the more lies you tell, the easier they break you down.
I measured him carefully. I could stop his babbling by killing him. But I felt something quiver at the nape of my neck. I had the feeling this was what he was waiting for, a chance to strike at me. I shook my head. I had never thought the idea of killing would occur to me this side of a war. Killing in a war was bad enough; I never could square that killing with my conscience no matter how many medals they pinned on me. Finally, in the night, I'd tell myself it was a matter of k
illing or being killed myself, and then I could sleep for a while.
Sid watched me, hands thrust in his jacket, waiting.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Please, Buz. Touch down in that cow pasture. Half a minute, I'm out of here. You got it made."
I didn't answer him. I was thinking how it had to be. If Sid got away from me, he would drink, and when he drank, he would babble and never stop babbling until we were in the pen.
The sky was darkening. This bugged me. Oh, fine, I thought, clamping my teeth together. Now it's going to rain. Now we'll get that rough weather.
"You're sticking with me, Sid."
"I can't, Buz. I would. I can't."
"You are. Whether you want to or not. We're going back. I'll talk. You keep your mouth shut." I glanced toward a wrench beside my foot.
"It's what I'd like to do, Buz. But I'm thinking about both of us. I couldn't face anybody. I couldn't fake it off. You let me out and I'll scrounge in somewhere and hide out for a while."
"No," I said. "And, Sid. There's something on your mind."
"What you talking about?"
"You got some hot idea. But I warn you. I got a wrench beside me. You make a move-I'll use it on you."
"My God, Buz. My God. We're buddies. What kind of talk is that?"
"Just so you know. We're going to stay buddies. I don't want you to start anything that might spoil it."
It got silent in the cabin, a surly silence with a chill in it that had nothing to do with the rough winds we were flying into, or the rain beating against us.
Suddenly Sid yelled, "Buz!"
"What's the matter?" I was having my troubles. We hit an airpocket and the plane bounced like a yo-yo.
"Behind us, Buz. Two planes. They're headed for us as though they had us spotted."
I lifted the nose of the Cessna, climbing. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the planes. They were coming in at five o'clock, fast.
I climbed frantically toward the banks of thunderheads, forgetting
Sid, and the wrench. Whatever he had on his mind, I didn't believe he'd try anything as long as we were running scared.
"They really got us," Sid yelled. "You get the picture yet, Buz? They've spotted us. They're going to keep us flying until the gas runs out-and then they got us. Damn you. You begin to get clued in yet?"
I swore at him. "The hell with that. They haven't stopped me, and when they do, I know nothing, and you keep your mouth shut."
"Hell, Buz, what's wrong with you? They're reading us on a radar screen right now. Don't you know that? They're in contact with those pursuit planes and God only knows how many others."
I wasn't listening. The rain splatted against the windshield. Above us the thunderheads were miles deep and lightning flashes were ripping them open every few minutes. A real turbulence up there, and I was flying into it.
"Give up, Buz. For God's sake. Give it up." Sid took a drink from the whisky bottle and then stared at it, eyes distended because suddenly the whisky was no good and he could not escape in it.
"Shut up, Sid. I can lose 'em in those clouds."
"Buz, put it down or I'm taking over."
"Talk like that any more and I'll kill you." I lifted the wrench, hefting it.
"Don't talk like that Buz. Not even kidding."
"I'm not kidding."
He looked around helplessly. The only reason he didn't jump was that he didn't have guts enough for that, either.
"My God," he whispered to himself. "My God. My God."
His nose began to run. He sniffled and wiped at it with the back of his hand.
I pressed the Cessna to its limit and held it at top speed. We raced into the thunderheads and the lightning bolts were suddenly all around us, hot charges screaming past, cracking and spitting in our eyes.
I kept moving and finally Sid spoke in a low voice. The other planes must have turned back.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost four P.M. Just three hours ago we'd robbed that bank in Fort Dale. Three hours. A lot had happened. They had our descriptions, descriptions of the planes, fields alerted to keep us from landing, pursuit ships in the air and the dissolution of our fine partnership. The only thing that kept that partnership from total extinction was the wrench beside my fist.
It had been a long three hours.
I figured we were less than ten minutes south of Sunpark. "I'm heading home," I told Sid.
He didn't answer. He seemed to have forgotten me.
"Keep your mouth shut, Sid. I'll talk."
"Sure, Buz. Anything."
"We got to stick together now. Probably Sunpark International is the only place they'll let us land."
"Anything."
We flew out of the center of the storm and the rain subsided.
"We'll be all right as long as we tell the same story. We flew to Verona City. Your friend was gone. You put in some flying time. We had engine trouble. We flew back to Verona City. He was still gone. We haven't even heard about the robbery."
"Yeah? Why didn't we stop when those guys yelled at Verona City?"
"Hell, how did we know what they wanted?"
"And why didn't we answer the control tower?"
"Who needs a jerk in a control tower? So we were drinking. That's going to cover plenty. Everybody knows we drink."
"It ain't going to work, Buz."
"The hell it's not. I'm on my way to a job in South America with a nice stake in my pocket. I don't mind telling a few lies to make that work. You just keep your face shut, and I'll get you out of it, too."
"You better, Buz. You better."
I glanced at him. "You're still threatening me, Sid. What gives?"
He shrugged. His face twisted and he didn't answer. That plane cabin seethed with hatred. I knew the one thing on his mind. How he could kill me and get away with it. And I-what had happened to me? First, I had let myself get involved in a robbery, and now I was measuring Sid, choosing a place to strike with that wrench when he jumped me.
What is it they say? It takes just one drop of poison.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I pushed the Cessna hard, running away from the thoughts that had infected me. If I ever got out of this, I never wanted to see Sid Coates again because it would always remind me of how I wanted to murder him. I shivered a little, wondering if the money was ever going to be any good to me.
I laughed. It was an odd sound in the plane. It sounded more like Sid Coates than me. I was going to get that money. I could forget what I went through to have it.
It was something I would have to learn to live with.
"Like a broken arm," I told myself aloud. "Like a broken arm that's suddenly all turned to solid gold."
Sid glanced at me, but did not speak.
I thought ahead to getting this plane back to Jimmy Clark and Hangar 2. Because of Judy I wanted to keep the Cessna out of the robbery. Still, they might have a reception waiting for me. But this was the last act, and I was going to make it. All I had to do was keep Sid quiet and put on a convincing exhibition. Then I could pick up the marbles and go home.
I flew into Sunpark International, contacted the control tower and requested permission to land. The airfield looked huge and busy, but I detected no signs of extraordinary activity. All the action appeared routine. But then the radio man hesitated and I felt my heart sink. When he spoke, his voice had an odd inflection. He was being too casual. I warned myself to hang on. They couldn't prove anything as long as Sid and I told straight stories. As scared as Sid was, he would keep his mouth shut.
They okayed a runway, gave me wind direction and velocity. I shoved in the stabilizer, moved the controls, putting the Cessna down, unconsciously searching the area around Hangar 2 for police cars. I couldn't see any.
I taxied to the hangar and there was Jimmy Clark's smiling face on that sign. It won't be long, I told smiling Jimmy Clark's smiling smile. I'll clear out of here, a rich man.
I killed the engine, motioned Sid to get out. H
e sat there for what seemed a long time as if paralyzed, unable to move.
I saw Jimmy Clark and a stout man in a cheap brown suit come out of his office and walk toward us. I glanced at Sid and we moved across the cement to meet them.
"Good God." This was the first thing Clark said.
"What's the matter with you?" I hoped my voice was level.
"Where you been? All day? You flew out of here before six A.M. Where you been?"
"You know where I been." I made it belligerent. I glanced at the stout man, wondering if Jimmy were trying to impress him.
"Now wait a moment," Jimmy said. "I don't know where you been. I don't know anything of the kind."
"The hell you don't. You know Sid Coates hired this plane for the day, for a flight down to Verona City."
"Oh?" There was an odd quality in the smile on Jimmy's face. "That where you been all day? Verona City?"
"That's right. Except for some engine trouble."
"Engine trouble? What kind?"
"Oh, just the gas line. But it gave us fits for a while."
The smile widened on Jimmy Clark's face. This grin was genuine anyhow, a grimace of inner secret pleasure.
He glanced at Sid. "That where you been, Coates?" Sid just looked at him.
"That's where we been." I admired my own voice. I said this as if it were the most natural and honest statement in the world.
"Quite a day," Clark said. "This is going to cost you plenty, Coates." Coates just stared at him. I said, "He's good for it. You know that."
"I don't know that."
I shrugged. "Well, that's between you and Coates."
"I don't know about that either," Clark said, pressing it hard, and glancing at the man in the brown suit. "You arranged to take the plane."
"I told you Coates wanted to hire it."
"Yes. That's what you said."
"What is this?"
Clark stopped smiling. He suddenly looked as righteously indignant as a man retailing the hottest gossip. "I'll tell you what it is. There is a kind of mess, Johnson, and the way I see it, it's all your making."
"Why don't you break down and tell me what's the matter?"
The stout man smiled in almost a sheepish manner.
The Devil Wears Wings Page 13