He strode over to her and beckoned her to follow. “C’mere.”
Once he had her off a ways, where she didn’t have to see the dead guy and the others couldn’t hear her, he ducked his head down to her level. “The guy I fought with, that was Zlo, wasn’t it?”
Her mouth was tight. “How you describe him is sounding like Zlo.”
“You were right about him being dangerous. He tried to shoot me.”
Her eyes got big. “Shoot you? Gospodi pomiluy. That is very, very bad. Only the Brigada Nabludenia have shooters. Zlo is Forager, not… Enforcer.”
This morning, she’d said the Foragers spoke English. That explained Zlo’s handle on the language.
“Well, it wasn’t a regular gun. It was that same flare gun he was using on you the other night. He’s after that pendant of yours, you know that, right?”
Her hand darted up to touch the bulge of the pendant beneath her blouse. She looked toward the east, and the breeze floated tendrils of hair around her face. “Then they are coming.”
“I don’t suppose you could just give him the pendant? Save yourself the trouble? He said he wouldn’t hurt you if you gave it to him.”
“No. I cannot be doing that. The danger is too much.”
“Why? What’s it for?”
She shook her head. “It is control for all of Schturming, because of dawsedometer.”
“Because of what?”
“It is not mattering.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s not Groundsmen’s business.”
She shrugged. “Taking it back to home is what I must be doing before Zlo can go there before I am.”
“Home to the sky. Right.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Well, I don’t see how he’s going to manage that, so I think you’re safe on that score for now.
Across the field, Campbell straightened up from his preliminary investigation of the corpse. Several more cars arrived in the road, and deputies got out. Campbell gestured them all forward. He caught Hitch’s gaze just once, and that almost-smile pulled at his mouth.
Hitch breathed out, slowly. The way things were going, keeping Zlo out of the sky might be the only thing they were safe on.
Twelve
HITCH WAS DEARLY hoping to wake up to some sunshine. Aside from the fact that clouds were turning out to be bad luck around here, he could just plain do with a little cheer after last night’s goings-on.
But, nope. Even before he stuck his head out from under his canvas bedroll, the light was all wrong. So he kept his head right where it was for another forty minutes or so—until Earl’s clattering about with the engine finally destroyed his ability to even pretend he was sleeping.
He reared up on one elbow and squinted out from under the edge of the Jenny’s lower wing.
Heavy gray filled the sky. Yesterday, there hadn’t been a cloud in sight—except for that big thunderhead in the middle of the night. Now it was almost starting to look like rain, and lots of it—which was surprising. To hear folks around here tell it, they hadn’t been in a drought this bad for ten years.
The air didn’t smell like rain though, and the wind wasn’t ruffling so much as a leaf on the cornstalks.
He flung back the bedroll and reached for his boots.
The whole field was pretty quiet. Barnstormers only rose with the sun when they had rides to hop or places to go. Earl was the exception. He’d always been an infuriatingly early riser. Right now, he was banging on something overhead.
Rick and Lilla weren’t to be seen. Hitch looked around. Jael either, for that matter.
He knotted his boot laces midway up his shins and rolled out from under the wing to gain his feet.
Earl was standing on the Jenny’s rear seat, checking a wing strut. If the racket Hitch had been hearing meant anything, Earl had to be almost finished with the repairs.
Earl acknowledged Hitch with a glance from under his cap brim.
“Well?” Hitch asked. “Good as new?”
“Good as next to new, I reckon.” Earl swiped his hands across the front of his white coveralls, then gave Hitch a longer inspection. “You look about as fresh and happy as a funeral bouquet. Not so good with the sheriff last night?”
“Could be worse.”
“What’d he want?”
Hitch ducked under the wing to take a look at the engine repairs. “Nothing much. Just five hundred dollars.”
“What for?”
Hitch grunted. “Doesn’t matter. Not right now anyway. This thing ready to fly?”
Earl swung out of the cockpit and onto the ground. He faced Hitch, eyes narrowed. “Don’t change the subject. What about you and this country copper? You know him from back when?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
“And you owe him five hundred smackers?”
“Not exactly, but that’s what it’s going to cost me to get out of town. But never mind. We’ll worry about that later.”
Right now, Hitch’s main concern was more immediate problems: like making sure the plane could still handle the altitude they’d need for Rick’s special drop. Qualifying rounds were tomorrow, and he desperately needed to get Rick into the air for a little practice.
If they bailed on the first day, they could say goodbye to the prize money and goodbye to Hitch’s Jenny. Of course, losing the Jenny might not matter so much by then, since Campbell would heave Hitch into jail and toss the key into the North Platte River. That probably wouldn’t go very far in helping Griff and Nan forgive him for past wrongs—such as they were.
“Just tell me about the plane,” he said. “Is she ready to go?”
“Yeah, she’s ready. But maybe not in this weather. If that wind kicks up like it looks like it wants to, we’re going to have to tie everything down.”
Hitch squinted at the sky. It didn’t look so bad. The clouds seemed socked in, and the wind wasn’t going more than maybe ten miles an hour. “I only want to take her up for a quick one, make sure she’s purring, so you can tweak any last problems.” He turned back. “Where’s Rick?”
“Said something about going to town for supplies.”
Hitch raised an eyebrow. “Where’s he getting dough for that?”
Earl shrugged. “Looking for credit, I suppose.”
“Hah. Like every pilot here isn’t trying that. These storekeepers aren’t going to give us credit for just the week. And Rick knows it. More likely he’s after gin. Didn’t he say something yesterday about finding a speakeasy?” Hitch pulled on his flying jacket and swiveled to look around the field. “For the love of Pete, he knows I can’t take him up if he gets gassed.”
Earl peered at him. “Why am I getting the sense that if we lose this one, we’re in deeper trouble than usual?”
“’Cause that’s exactly the sense of it.” He dug his leather helmet out of the front cockpit. There was an apple in there too. Leftover from Earl’s breakfast probably. “But don’t tell Rick and Lilla just yet.”
“If the weather goes bad on you and you crack up this ship again, I won’t have to tell them.”
“I’ll have her back in one piece in less than twenty minutes.” He took a bite out of the apple and looked around again. “Where’s Jael?”
“Dunno. Saw her headed out across the field. She looked like she knew where she wanted to go.”
Maybe Hitch should have gotten up earlier and checked on her. But she’d seemed all right last night when they’d returned to camp. Honestly, for all that she was obviously—and rightly—scared of this Zlo guy, she didn’t seem like the type to rattle easily.