Hopscotch by Brian Garfield

Author:Brian Garfield [Garfield, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com / Open Road
Published: 2012-02-22T02:27:00+00:00

– 16 –

AT ONE TIME the Cubans had used the field for training; now it was wild with weeds. The ocean threw a redolent breeze across the flats, roughing up the trees. The shadows seemed to be inhabited by the ghosts of short brown guerrillas with obsolete weapons and quixotic ambitions.

Kendig had paid one hundred dollars cash for the gas-burning 1955 Buick; he left it parked on its bald tires in the trees with the key in the ignition—somebody would boost it within a week and joyride it until it died or ran out of gas and that would destroy the evidence for him. He carried his big suitcase to the verge of the overgrown strip and sat down with his back against the bole of a palm. The sun was two hours up, very bright in a pale ocean sky. He listened to the cry of the gulls.

The plane approached on the wind, preceded by its sound; he watched it descend, wingtips teetering in the uncertain air currents above the mild surf. It made a half-circle inland and made its final approach into the wind, nosing down over the trees and settling gingerly on its tricycle gear at a very low stalling speed—evidently out of respect for the tangled weeds on the surface. She kept the tail down after touchdown and rolled forward on two wheels, nose in the air; twice the tailskid bounced. She used up a good deal of runway before the speed was down sufficiently to make the U-turn and taxi back toward him. Kendig picked up his suitcase.

She cut the port engine and opened the door. He climbed onto the step and passed the suitcase inside, stepped onto the root of the wing and ducked to enter the cabin.

The sun was behind him; he saw her Modigliani face twinned in the mirror of the opposite window. She wore Levi’s and a denim jacket over a blouse that looked like yellow satin. He pushed the suitcase across one of the rear seats and moved forward to settle into the right-hand seat beside her—the copilot’s position.

“Where’s my other passenger?”

“Been a change in plan. I’m flying out alone.”

“The price is the same.”

“Naturally.”

She said, “You picked a hell of a field. I hope we don’t snag something.”

He only smiled and she fixed the door shut behind her; then she pushed the starter switch to mesh the port engine. The props ran up and there was too much noise for talk; she pointed toward his lap and he fastened the safety belt.

It was a bumpy ride but nothing grabbed the wheels; she had them airborne a quarter mile short of the beach. The sun hit them square in the eyes. Kendig said, “Turn around now. Make your course two-sixty-five magnetic.”

“What?”

“We’re going to Mexico.”

“I think you’re a little crazy, you know?” The plane came out of its bank; the sun was behind them now. They were still in a steady climb but they had airspeed now and the wind took the engine noise with it; she could talk without shouting.

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