‘You talked about fifteen thousand a year. What it really comes down to is you will pay me $3750 for three months’ work and then it depends on how pleased Essex will be whether I get on the permanent staff — right?’
Olson stared at the tip of his cigarette.
‘That’s about it.’ He looked at me, then away. ‘After all Jack, as you have nothing to do right now it isn’t so bad is it?’
‘No, it isn’t bad.’
We sat in silence for a long moment, then he said. ‘Let’s go over to the airfield. You take a look and tell me what you think. I have to take him to New York in three hours so I haven’t a lot of time.’
‘I’d like some money paid into my bank before I start work, Bernie,’ I said. ‘I’m short.’
‘No problem, I’ll fix that.’ He got to his feet. ‘Let’s look at it.’
There’s something wrong about this setup, I told myself as he drove back onto the highway. But what can I lose? $3750 for a three months stint wasn’t bad money. If it didn’t finally jell, I still had Lockheed to fall back on. All the same my mind was uneasy. This man at my side wasn’t the great Colonel Olson I used to know. That man I would have trusted with my last cent. I would have given my life for him, but not this man.
There was an odd change in him that bothered me. I couldn’t put my finger on what the change was, but I felt wary of him and that’s a bad thing.
The Lane Essex airport was located about ten miles behind the City. Above the big-wired entrance gates was a sign that read:
The two guards in bottle green uniforms with revolvers on their hips, saluted Olson as he drove in.
The usual airport buildings looked bright, new and modem. I could see people moving around in the control tower. They also wore this bottle green uniform.
Olson drove onto the runway, sending the jag surging forward. About half a mile down the runway, I saw a big cloud of dust and Olson slowed.
‘Here we are,’ he said and pulled up. ‘Look, Jack, let me put you further in the photo. I’ve organised everything as I told you. Your job is to see that it is kept organised. I’m scared of labour trouble. We have a gang of around sixteen hundred men: most of them coloured. They sleep in tents and they are supposed to work from 07.00 to 18.00 with a two-hour break for lunch. Make no mistake about this: It’s goddamn hot in the afternoon. The man in charge is Tim O’Brien. You’ll be his boss. I’ve told him you’re coming. He’s okay, but I don’t trust the Irish over much. Your job is to supervise him while he supervises the gang. Keep clear of them. I don’t want trouble. They like O’Brien. Do you get all this?’
I stared at him.
‘So what the hell do I do?’
‘Like I said. Watch O’Brien. Move around the site. If you spot anyone lying down on the job, tell O’Brien. Make certain no one knocks of until 18.00.’
He got out of the car and walked fast towards the cloud of dust. Bewildered, I followed him. When we had got beyond the cloud of dust, I saw the work going on and it shook me. There seemed to be around twenty bulldozers levelling the ground. An army of men sweated with shovels, heaving rocks, cutting up fallen trees with electric saws. There was a road-making machine and the stink of tar was strong.
From somewhere a short, fat man wearing baggy, dirty khaki trousers and a sweat-stained shirt appeared before us.
‘Hi! Colonel,’ he said.
‘How’s it going, Tim?’ Olson asked.
The man grinned.
‘Like a dream. The boys have cut down thirty firs this morning. We’re just clearing them.’
Olson turned to me.
‘Jack... meet Tim O’Brien. You two are going to work together. Tim... this is Jack Crane.’
While he was speaking, I was looking at O’Brien. He was a solid hunk of bone, fat and muscle, around forty-five years of age, balding, with a blunt featured face, steady blue eyes and a firm mouth. This was a man no one could dislike: a worker, a man you could trust and I thrust out my hand which he gripped, shook and then released.
‘Tim... wise Crane up, I’ve got to get moving.’ Olson looked uneasily at his strap watch. ‘Get him a cabin and a jeep.’
A violent, too close explosion went off with a bang that made me jump.
O’Brien grinned.
‘We’re blasting,’ he said. ‘Got a lot of rock down there.’
Olson tapped my arm.
‘I’ve got to move Jack. I’ll be seeing you in three days’ time. Tim will look after you.’
He turned and started back to where he had left the jag.
O’Brien looked at his watch
‘Give me ten minutes, Mr. Crane and we’ll go back to the airport. I just want to see the boys get their lunch,’ and he walked of leaving me standing there like a goddamn dummy.
I watched. The operation of clearing the land was going like clockwork. Already the road-building machine had completed two hundred yards of runway. There was another bang as more explosives tore into the rocks ahead and ten bulldozers roared into action. What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself. This couldn’t be better organised. At the rate these men were working the runway would be completed in two months let alone three.
I stood waiting in the hot sunshine until someone blew a whistle. The machines cut and the noise died down. Men dropped their shovels and there was a general movement towards three big trucks where Negroes started to hand out drinks and food containers.
O’Brien drove up to me in an open jeep.
‘Hop in, Mr. Crane.’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to your cabin. You could do with a shower. I know I could!’ He grinned. ‘Then suppose you and me have a snack together in my cabin. It’s right next door.’
‘Fine.’ I got in beside him. ‘Look, Tim, suppose you call me Jack?’
He glanced at me, then nodded.
‘Why not?’
He drove fast down the runway, sheered of and headed towards a long row of cabins that stood near the control tower. He pulled up outside the row, got out and walked over to cabin 5.
‘This is yours. Make yourself at home. Suppose you come to cabin 6 in half an hour? Okay?’
‘Fine with me.’
Carrying my bag, I opened the cabin door and walked into a blessed air-conditioned atmosphere. I shut the door and looked around. Everything in the big living room was luxe. Four lounging chairs, a fully stocked refrigerated cocktail cabinet, a colour T.V., a bookshelf stuffed with books, a fitted carpet that felt like I was walking on grass and a stereo and radio set against the far wall. Beyond the living room was a small bedroom with a double bed, closets, night table with a lamp and beyond that a bathroom with all the equipment you could wish for.
I stripped of, took a shower, shaved, put on a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of linen slacks, then returned to the living room. I was tempted to have a drink, but decided against it. Checking my watch, I had five minutes to wait, so I lit a cigarette and waited. At 12.30 I went to cabin 6 and tapped.
O’Brien looking a lot less sweaty but still in the same clothes opened the door and waved me in. I entered a facsimile of the cabin I had just left. There was a smell of onions frying that made my mouth water.
‘Lunch is just about ready,’ he said. ‘What’ll you drink?’
‘Nothing, thanks.’ I sat down in one of the lounging chairs.
A girl wearing a bottle green blouse and tight bottle green pants came in with a tray. Quickly she set the table, put down two plates, then left.
‘Let’s eat,’ O’Brien said and sat at the table.
I joined him.