Flight from a Firing Wall by Baynard Kendrick

Flight from a Firing Wall by Baynard Kendrick

Author:Baynard Kendrick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2020-08-15T00:00:00+00:00


18

The character Joe had called Old Grandad was asleep on his back in the starboard bunk of the cabin which proved surprisingly roomy, with a headroom of six feet, two inches. Judging from the shattering strength of his snores he wasn’t in need of a doctor. He was obviously feeling no pain. He did need a barber to work on his scraggly white beard, yellowed with tobacco stain, and to do a fast clipper job on his gray Beatle hair.

A pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, with lenses thick enough to be bullet proof, lay carelessly on the floor beside a bottle one-third full of 100-proof bourbon. The label on it advertised its tempting contents, as well as where Old Grandad had come by his name.

I picked up the spectacles and put them on a locker where they wouldn’t get stepped on. The cabin, with its stainless-steel sink, two-burner stove, ship’s clock and barometer, and two comfortable berths, felt as snug and cozy as my apartment at home. In addition, due to Old Grandad’s breathing, it had taken on some of that pleasantly protective aura of a first-class waterfront saloon. Only the fact that under my gay exterior there lies a hidden will of prestressed concrete prevented me from knocking off the rest of Grandad’s bottle, rolling into the opposite bunk, and letting Joe Slade handle all his nautical problems alone.

The Tantivy was already rising to the swell of the Gulf Stream. Those eight hundred thoroughbred horses in her had quit whinnying through their fiberglass nosebags and settled down into what might be called a contented purr. I took a look at the five-inch compass mounted flush in front of the wheel, to starboard in the cabin. We were headed almost due south, on a course of 182°. Looking out of the cabin windows, I could see that the ominous cloud had used some brains and moved off over the land somewhere. We were skimming over a bright blue sea. To starboard the mammoth hotels of Miami Beach were black against the setting sun. I wished the hour were earlier. I could give a ring to Miss Minute Maid, with the orange-juice voice, on the ship-to-shore phone. When I asked for myself and she wanted to know where to call me back, I’d tell her Dr. Carrillo was on a ship at sea and couldn’t be reached. He was on his way to Cuba in perfect weather, and had already made friends with a drunken Cuban bum.

I went aloft to the flybridge and huddled back of the windshield beside Joe. He said, “The wind’s hauled around to the northeast and we’re going to have a following sea. But don’t let that worry you.”

“Why should it worry me? Ever since the Kerritack made port, everybody in Miami has been following me.”

“Hunh! Well, this baby holds her course without yawing or broaching even when she’s opened up wide in the biggest following sea.”

“I’ll bet the waves can’t catch her. It just shows what God could could do if he only had the money.



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