"Honey," he boomed, "bring me over one of those Tanqueray and tonics. Make it a double." The waitress reflexively avoided a pat on the rump and swivel-hipped off through the tables.
He turned to the Russians. "Vaseline you old commie, how’s it hanging?"
"Okay, sky pirate. Burned any babies lately?"
"Naw, I got out of that end of tie business. How about you, Ivan? Still doing them dirty deeds?"
"I get by," Kuznetsov said with a slight smile. Jerry got the impression he wasn’t nearly as charmed by Conroy’s antics as his partner. Gilligan was obviously un-charmed, but he was keeping his mouth shut.
"Hell of a crowd, ain’t it?" Cowboy boomed to Jerry and Bal-Simba. "Between the tourists and the computer geeks, whole damn town is packed. I ain’t seen anything like it since the fall of Saigon."
The waitress returned with Charlie’s drink and Jerry paid for it. Charlie emptied the gin and tonic in one gulp and held up the glass. Fill’er again will you, darlin’?" Obviously he had never heard of the "twenty-four hours from bottle to throttle" rule either.
"Now," he said, setting the glass on the tiny table, "I understand you boys want to make a little excursion."
"Yeah," Jerry said, glancing around the table. "Four of us and, ah, some cargo. About five hundred pounds of it. We need to make one trip to a place about a hundred and fifty miles from here."
"No problem," Charlie said. "But there are some conditions." He leaned forward and put his meaty forearms on the tiny table. Gilligan grabbed his drink just as it was shoved off the edge.
Their guest was oblivious. "Now understand, I don’t smuggle dope. Leastways not for strangers. And I won’t stand for murder on my airplane. Beyond that-" he shrugged. "I don’t see nothing and I don’t hear nothing."
That, Jerry reflected, was probably going to be the most important
characteristic of all.
"Where are we gonna make pickup and will it be a day or night flight?"
"You can pick us up at the airport," Jerry said. "Day is probably better than night. It’s the destination that’s a little tricky."
"Where you going?"
"Uh, Groom Lake, Area Fifty-One."
"Just outside inner fence toward the end of runway," Kuznetsov added, leaning over from his table.
Charlie looked at the Russian narrowly. "This cargo don’t explode does it? ’Cause as a patriotic American and a veteran of four wars I don’t hold with blowing up US air bases."
"It doesn’t explode," Jerry assured him. Then he thought of the Las Vegas police car. "Well, not unless you get her angry."
"Her?"
"The cargo’s kind of livestock."
"I may charge you boys extra for mucking out the airplane. Can this thing be trusted to use a sick sack?"
"Well, she’s a flying creature anyway," Jerry said, "so I don’t think she’s subject to airsickness."
"What the hell is this critter?" Charlie roared, just as the music ended and there was a lull in the casino racket "A five-hundred-pound canary?" Suddenly half the people in the bar were looking at them.
Jerry turned beet red under the attention. "Uh, something like that," he whispered.
Charlie grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Boys," he boomed, "I think I’m gonna enjoy this little trip."
Looking at their pilot, Jerry wasn’t so sure he would be able to say the same.
FIFTEEN
BIPLANE BYE-BYE
The morning was bright, cold and crystal clear. The mountains on the other side of the airport looked like they were only a mile away.
When the truck pulled up to the gate on the general aviation side of the field, Jerry and Taj were in the front seat as the least conspicuous of the group. Moira, the Russians, Taj and Bal-Simba were in the back.
The guard came out of the shack huddled in his flight jacket, his breath leaving little puffs in the frosty air. He kept his hands in his pockets until he needed one to hand the clipboard under his arm up to the cab.
There was a sign by the gate informing them that all vehicles were subject to search when entering and leaving. For an instant Jerry was afraid the guard was going to ask to look in the back of the truck, but he only nodded as he retrieved his clipboard.
They’d be more likely to check them on the way out, Jerry decided. But that didn’t matter.
Jerry pulled the truck into a parking space in back of a row of tan metal hangars. Although there were a number of cars in the parking lot, the place looked deserted. Then he remembered that pilots liked to take off at dawn. Those cars probably belonged to people who were already airborne.
Quickly Jerry and Taj rolled up the truck’s tailgate. ’Okay- We’re here."
"About time," Kuznetsov said as he hopped down. "The dragon is getting carsick." Moira followed him out, gulping deep lungfuls of air and looking decidedly green around the gills, even for a dragon. "I am sorry, My Lord. I am not used to riding in closed conveyances and this body is unwell."
"No harm done," Gilligan assured her.
"But five minutes more:"
"Never mind that," Jerry cut the Russian off. "Let’s go find our ride." Just at that moment Charlie came around the corner of the hangar wiping his hands on a rag. In the light of day his orange jumpsuit looked even gaudier than it had in the cocktail lounge. He saw Moira, did a double take and got his composure back.
"You folks ready to go?" he asked, staying well clear of the dragon.
"All set," Jerry assured him.
Charlie eyed Moira. "Don’t you need a leash for that thing?"
I am quite under control, thank you." Moira said with a sniff.
"Holy shit! She talks! Uh, no offense ma’am."
The dragon nodded. "None taken."
"Well, come on then. I got her gassed, oiled and pre-flighted. She’s right around here."
Charlie led them around the hangar and pointed proudly. Although the ramp was occupied by the usual gaggle of Pipers, Cessnas and Mooneys it was obvious to all of them what he was pointing at.
It was a biplane. A very big biplane with an enclosed cabin, a radial engine and a dull-green paint job. Next to the civilian registration numbers on the body was a large red star. "AN-2 Colt," Charlie announced proudly.