Kill Her If You Can by Hank Janson

Author:Hank Janson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Telos Publishing Ltd

10

Charlie was as good as his word. The following morning, I’d no sooner fixed it with the chief and got back to my desk than she was on the phone.

‘How are you fixed for getting time off?’ she demanded.

‘Well,’ I doubted. ‘I mean ... how long? What’s it all about?’

‘Just today, Bighead,’ she snapped. ‘I wanna fly the pants off you.’

‘I guess maybe I can manage something,’ I said doubtfully.

‘Good,’ she said crisply. ‘Meet me at the flying field in a coupla hours.’

‘I’ll see if I can make it.’

‘You be there,’ she ordered, and hung up.

She was waiting for me when I reached the Flying Club. Charlie was there too. They were sitting at the bar, watching her plane being loaded.

I shook hands with Charlie, raised one eyebrow at Beryl. ‘What goes on?’ I demanded. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Just a little trip to see an old friend of mine,’ she said offhandedly. ‘What poison do you drink this time of day, beer or Scotch?’

She caught the bartender’s eye, gave him my order. Charlie mystified me by saying. ‘D’you feel strong, fella? How are your muscles?’

‘My muscles are okay,’ I said gruffly.

Beryl chuckled as Charlie shrugged wryly, took out his wallet and found a ten-dollar note which he passed to Beryl. She tucked it away casually in the pocket of her jeans, eyed me with amused tolerance.

‘What goes on?’ I demanded, nettled by all this.

‘A private joke between me and Beryl,’ he said suavely. ‘Don’t let it worry you.’

I glowered, sipped my drink. The last crate of stores was being stowed in the plane. ‘Okay,’ said Beryl. ‘Let’s go.’

We walked out across the tarmac, and the cold wind tore at my trousers, seemed to cut through them and bite into my flesh. With an experienced eye, Beryl scrutinized the crates, nodded approvingly. ‘Them fellas have loaded it right this time. Most times, they load it like they expect you to fly on your tail.’

Charlie said. ‘Don’t forget I’m expecting you back for dinner.’

‘Don’t you worry about me,’ she told him. She gave him a playful little squeeze, rubbed her cheek against his. Then she went around the other side of the plane, climbed into the cockpit.

Charlie looked at me meaningfully, squeezed my hand with a special significance as we shook hands. ‘Have a good trip, son,’ he said. ‘Do the best you can.’

It was a small plane, the cockpit just wide enough for two of us side by side, and the fuselage just large enough to store a fair quantity of cargo.

I climbed in beside Beryl, pulled down the unbreakable glass canopy over us so we were completely enclosed. Charlie stood back, waved his hand to us.

‘You ever do any flying?’ she asked as she pushed buttons, turned knobs.

‘Flown a bit, one way and another,’ I told her.

‘Take over,’ she invited. ‘Let’s see your form.’

I flushed. ‘I’ve flown,’ I admitted humbly, ‘but I haven’t piloted.’

She flashed me a look of withering contempt. ‘A baby can be a passenger,’ she sneered. ‘But you couldn’t say it had flown.

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