Stand BY-Y-Y to Start Engines

by Daniel V Gallery

  As they got out of the car at headquarters in Santa Rosa, Curly sneered, "You guys will get kicked off the force for this."

  "We'll all get promoted, Buster," replied Napoleon. "Come on now. We're going to see the Captain."

  The captain was a level-headed officer with long police experience. But his four irate cops were good men whom' he had known for a long time. When they got through telling him about the prisoner's belligerent, uncooperative attitude, he was a bit prejudiced against the wild-eyed pajama-clad Curly.

  "Okay," said the captain, when the cops had finished. "What's your story, mister?"

  "Sir," said Curly, "my name is Lieutenant Commander J. C. Cue, U. S. Navy. I'm from the USS Guadalcanal which is now about 200 miles offshore. I took off from her on a night fighter mission at three a.m. this morning and had a flame out near the coast. While I was trying to get a restart, a hydraulic line busted and soaked my flying suit in fluid. Finally, I had to bail out and, after I got down, I took off my G suit and crash helmet and left them at the foot of the tree where my chute hung up. Now, please call Western Sea Frontier Headquarters immediately and tell them to notify the ship I'm safe."

  "You see?" gloated Napoleon. "Just as crazy as a snowed-up hophead." The other three cops said, "Yeah."

  "You guys let me handle this," said the captain. "I think you got the right guy all right. But we gotta be careful about not making a false arrest." Then to Curly he said, "How about them pajamas?"

  So Curly explained the pajamas. But even he could see it wasn't very convincing.

  "See?" demanded all four cops when he finished.

  "Keep out of this, you guys," said the captain. Then he said to Curly, "If your story is true, we should of had a report of an airplane crash around here about an hour ago. We've had fifty prowl cars on the road all night checking in by radio every half hour and there's been no crash reported anywhere."

  This news shook even Curly. "Maybe it hit up in the mountains where your men couldn't see it," he said weakly.

  "A jet plane full of gas would torch when it hit," said the captain, "You'd see it for miles."

  Curly had to concede the logic of this statement.

  Just then low-flying jets became audible overhead. Curly looked out the window and spotted two planes from his squadron. "Look," he yelled triumphantly. "There are some of the Guadalcanal's planes looking for me now."

  "Nuts," said Dr. Einstein. "There's a big Navy-Air Force maneuver today. I read all about it in the papers." The captain had read the papers, too, and was unimpressed by the passing jets.

  Curly noted a late model side band radiophone set in a corner of the captain's office. In desperation he asked, "Captain, can you come up on 7540 kcs with that set, sir? The Guadalcanal guards that frequency and we could settle this thing in short order and save you from a lot of trouble later."

  "Seven-five-four-o kcs? Sure," said the captain. "Give it a try, Corporal."

  This was a proposition that would cost the Captain nothing. He didn't believe a word of Curly's story but, in the unlikely event it was true, this call would save him from making a bad pinch.

  Soon, in the Guadalcanal's Combat Information Center, a squawk box blared, "USS Guadalcanal, USS Guadalcanal, this is State Police Headquarters at Santa Rosa, California, calling. Answer, please?"

  A tense hush fell over the CIC room. The odds were about 6 to 5 and take your choice that the next message would report the finding of Curly's body. The operator squeezed his transmitter button and said, "This is the Guadalcanal, Santa Rosa. Hear you loud and clear. Go ahead with your message."

  Santa Rosa replied, "We have a prisoner in our custody who claims he bailed out of one of your jet fighters this morning, that his name is Lieutenant Commander Cue... and that..." Cheers from all present drowned out the rest of the message. Among those present and cheering was Rear Admiral Windy Day.

  When the cheers subsided, the operator said, "Santa Rosa, you were blocked out, repeat all after and that."

  "Santa Rosa repeating; and that he is a squadron commander from your ship. Please advise if this is true. Prisoner is in pajamas and fits description of dangerous maniac who escaped from asylum here last night wearing pajamas. Over."

  One of Curly's squadron mates piped up, "He was called late this morning and put on his G suit over his. pajamas. That's him all right."

  The operator was about to pass this info to Santa Rosa when Admiral Day strode over and said, "Give me that microphone, son."

  Then, with all ears in CIC cocked on him, the Admiral said, "Santa Rosa, this is Rear Admiral Day on the Guadalcanal. Is your prisoner injured?"

  The answer came back, "No, sir. Not a scratch on him."

  There were pleased smiles all over CIC.

  "What did you say this man's name was?" asked Day.

  "He claims it is Lieutenant Commander Cue, U.S. Navy."

  "We have no one on board by that name," said the Admiral. "Anything else?"

  "No, thank you. That is all. Out."

  A flake of dandruff hitting the deck in CIC would have made an audible thud.

  Day turned to the stunned Air Group Commander and said, "He's unhurt. We know where he is. We have no one on board, at this time, by that name. Recall your search." Turning to the ship's exec, he said, "Tell the Captain to bend on thirty knots, head for the beach, and when we're close enough, send your whirlybird to Santa Rosa and get him. We'll have him back by mid-afternoon."

  "Aye, aye, sir," said the Commander.

  "And," added the Admiral, "you had better send your legal officer and a doctor in too."

  "They said he was uninjured, sir."

  "I know," said the admiral. "But, send a doctor anyway - a psychiatrist. He may have to vouch for Cue's sanity or maybe try to restore it. This may even give Cue a new slant on practical jokes."

  Admiral Day walked out of the CIC with a jaunty bounce in his gait, while admiring grins broke out on all faces (the upside-down episode being known to one and all).

  Chapter Three

  MANIAC AT LARGE

  Back in Santa Rosa, as the outrageous denial of his identity came over the air, Curly's eyes bugged out like a surprised hoot owl's. His reason tottered and his usually nimble brain flamed out cold. He thought either he or alt the rest of the world really had gone crazy.

  "What do you say now, Commodore?" asked the captain politely.

  Curly's jaws flapped up and down but the only words that came forth were "awk" and "eek."

  "That squeaky noise you hear," observed Admiral John Paul Jones, "is a feeble mind trying to come unstuck and dream up another story."

  "Are you ready to talk now, mister?" asked the captain.

  "This is ridiculous," blurted Curly. "It's impossible. They must have all gone crazy out there."

  "Yeah," said the captain, "but we're all of us a little bit crazy. Some more so than others, though," he added significantly. "Take him back to the bughouse, boys."

  "Wait a minute," yelled Curly. "This is all a mistake. Call the ship again and let me talk to them."

  "No-o-o," said the captain. "I don't hardly think I oughtta do that. You just heard them say they never heard of you. Now you want me to call them back and let an escaped nut ask them, 'Are you sure?' What kind of a sap do you think I am? Take him away, boys."

  As the cop on each arm urged him toward the door, Curly lost his temper and lashed out at his escorts, to the extent at least that a prisoner in handcuffs and leg irons can lash out. An enthusiastic barrage of jolting jabs to the ribs and stinging slaps in the face soon brought Curly's temper back on the beam and they led him off to the squad car.

  The first ten minutes of the ride to Napa marked the low point in Curly's life up to that time. Only two hours ago, when his chute cracked open, this had been a wonderful world and Curly rejoiced that he would get to spend some more time in it. Now he almost wished the chute hadn't opened.

  But despair doesn't thrive on a nature like Curly's. After about ten gri
m minutes, his wits began to unscramble and come back to battery.

  It just isn't so, he thought bitterly. The Guadalcanal is the best carrier in the Pacific Fleet. Their air department and CIC crew are all sharp. They know exactly what the score is at all times. I'm two hours overdue. Within five minutes of the time I became overdue, CIC would start drastic action to find out if I was still in the air. Within ten minutes, at the most, they would cancel the exercise and lay on a search. Matter of fact, those low-flying planes passing over the police station prove that's exactly what has happened. But, why did the Admiral answer as he did??... ADMIRAL DAY!!!... HAH!

  The true state of affairs suddenly snapped into clear focus. This was just the Admiral's idea of good, clean fun, paying him back for that harmless upside-down episode! There was nothing to worry about and a whirlybird was probably on its way in now to pick him up.

  "Well, I'll be damned," breathed Curly softly, in grudging admiration for the Admiral's crafty ploy.

  "How about it, mister," demanded Dr. Einstein, "you ready to talk yet?"

  Curly saw his chance to get some fun out of this himself now. He hit the restart button and his brains lit off again. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay, boys. I'll level with you now. You got the right guy all right. But you gotta admit I made a nice try."

  "Hah!" snorted all four cops.

  "We knew you wuz the guy all the time," said Napoleon. "Are ya ready to sing now?"

  "Yeah," said Curly, and he launched into a lurid "account" of his adventures the previous night. He told of long months of careful planning. He described how he had outwitted the attendants, slipped past the inner guards unnoticed, and finally had popped over the wall right under the noses of the outer guards, and made a clean getaway. "Dopiest bunch of cops I've ever seen," observed Curly as he wound up this chapter of his saga. "And that includes," he added, "even you guys."

  "Don't call them mugs at the nut factory cops," said Napoleon Bonaparte indignantly. "Those bughouse keepers are all half-nuts themselves. They belong in the bughouse, all right, but on the other side of the bars."

  "You were only loose for about eight hours," observed Dr. Einstein. "How did you get all the way from Napa up near Clear Lake where we picked you up?"

  "Hitchhiking," said Curly. "At least, it started as hitchhiking. An old lady in a station wagon picked me up. Looked like she was about eighty. But she was a nosy old battle-ax and kept asking me personal questions. When I asked her to take the back roads, she didn't want to do it. I had to put the slug on her with a wrench and do the driving myself."

  Napoleon Bonaparte whipped out a notebook and started scribbling furiously.

  "I dumped her out in a ditch about a mile back in the woods," continued Curly.

  "Where?" demanded all four police officers.

  "How should I know?" asked Curly. "I didn't have no road maps. It was just a mile or two back in the woods from some main road."

  "Was she dead?" the officers asked breathlessly.

  "No-o-o," said Curly judiciously. "At least, I don't think so. She was probably just knocked cold for a while. I didn't slug her very hard," he added deprecatingly.

  "Where did you leave the car?"

  "Way back in the woods. Ran out of gas."

  Napoleon took time out from the grilling to call headquarters by radio and give them a flash on the facts so far established in the case of the little old lady so they could start a search for her body.

  "After I left the car, I struck out through the woods," said Curly, resuming his saga. "After a while I came to a log cabin where a young fella and his wife lived. They looked like nice people but I didn't get along very well with them."

  "Whaddeya mean?" asked the alert Dr. Einstein.

  "They didn't seem to like me. They didn't want to let me come in the cabin and wouldn't open the door for me."

  "What did you do then?"

  "There was an ax on the porch, so I busted the door down with it and went in."

  Bonaparte was scribbling away in his notebook again. "Oh, yeah?" he said. "And what happened then?"

  "I don't know if I oughta tell you fellas this," said Curly, "but I'm going to be locked up again anyway, so I guess I might just as well."

  "Yeah. Go ahead, pal," said all four.

  "I kilt 'em both with the ax," said Curly, leering evilly at the law-enforcement officers. "Had to. What else could I do?"

  Napoleon broke the point on his pencil. "Just where was this place?" he demanded.

  Curly gave them a detailed description of the location of the tree where he had stowed his government property. "It wouldn't of been fitten to leave them laying there in the cabin," he added, "so I took 'em out and buried them in front of the cabin right alongside the path."

  The excited corporal flashed this latest information back to headquarters, which sent another earful of cops flying over the road with siren screaming to find the scene of the crime and dig up the bodies.

  "You officers will probably get a big reward for solving that case so fast," observed Curly. "How about taking these handcuffs off to show your gratitude?"

  "Hah!" snorted all four cops. The bracelets stayed on.

  But Curly's last remark started the officers thinking and pretty soon one said, "We oughta get something outa this. We make a clean pinch an hour after we're sent out on a job and we also discover and solve two unreported crimes. That's good police work. Even our captain oughta get something out of it, too."

  By the time they got to the State Hospital at Napa, they had decided that the captain would be promoted to state headquarters, the corporal would make sergeant, and the other three would get corporals' stripes. They disembarked in a happy frame of mind, formed a square around Curly, and marched into the bughouse as smug as four cats full of canaries au gratin.

  Arriving at the main office, the corporal announced to the head keeper, "Here's your man, Mac. The motto of the State Police is 'prompt and efficient service.' Call us any time we can help you. Sign this here receipt and we will be on our way." He placed the receipt on the desk and held out a pencil to the keeper.

  The keeper looked Curly up and down and then said glumly, "It ain't him."

  Now it was the cops' turn to be stunned. Eight eyes boggled and four jaws dropped.

  "Wh-wh-what did you say?" the corporal finally managed to gasp.

  "It ain't him," reiterated the keeper.

  "Whaddeya mean, it ain't him?" demanded the corporal. "Age 35, 160 pounds, 5 foot 10 inches, and in pajamas. It's got to be him."

  "But it ain't," said the keeper firmly.

  "Why, he even admits he's the guy," stormed Dr. Einstein. "Cut out the comedy and sign the receipt."

  "It ain't him and I ain't signing no receipt," said the keeper.

  "How about it, Buster?" demanded Napoleon of Curly, "Are you the guy who escaped from here?"

  "Of course I am," said Curly.

  "There! Ya see?" chorused all four cops.

  "I don't know what his angle is, but he ain't the right guy. I'll prove it with pictures and fingerprints." The keeper buzzed for an orderly.

  The orderly soon produced pictures and fingerprints of the escaped maniac and an ink pad and cards to fingerprint Curly. While Curly was being printed, the cops examined the photos and had no trouble convincing themselves that they bore a striking resemblance to Curly.

  "But it ain't him," said the keeper. "You know how these file mugs turn out. Everybody looks the same in them."

  One look at the fingerprints convinced even the cops that they didn't check.

  "Well, what the hell?" said the corporal, "everything else checks. Age, height, weight, pictures, he's crazy, and he's wearing pajamas. You probably got his prints mixed up in the files."

  "I've seen the guy every day for the past five years," said the keeper stiffly. "I know him and this ain't him. You guys just made a bum pinch."

  Half a dozen other keepers verified his opinion and finally even the four angry cops had to
admit that the best they could claim was a near miss. Then the sergeant said, "We're going to leave him here with you anyway. Sign my receipt so we can get out of here."

  "You are not going to leave him here," said the keeper indignantly.

  "Why not? He's crazy, ain't he? Crazier than all the rest of the nuts you got here put together. Crazy guys belong in the bughouse, so you gotta take him."

  "You know just as well as I do," said the keeper, "you can't commit nobody without papers. Signed by a court. He's your problem now, not mine. Get him out of here."