1974 - So What Happens to Me (2 page)

“So I thought of you I’m putting the cards face up on the table Jack. I get paid forty-five thousand a year. I want you to take care of the runway and see for certain it is ready within three months from today. We get delivery of the new kite on November 1st and I expect to fly her in. I’m offering you fifteen thousand out of my pay. I tried to talk to Essex, but he wouldn’t play.

“It’s your job, Olson,” he said. “How you do it doesn’t interest me but do it!” I knew better than to ask him for extra help. He doesn’t go along with that sort of talk. You don’t have to worry about expenses. I’ve got the operation started, but I want you to be there to see it keeps moving.”

“What’s the additional length of the runway?”

“A half a mile will do it.”

“What’s the ground like?”

“Pretty hellish. There’s a forest, slopes and even rocks.”

“I’d like to take a look at it.”

“I expected you to say that”

We regarded each other. This wasn’t the exciting job I had been hoping for. Some instinct told me that there was something odd about it.

“At the end of three months, providing I get the runway built, what happens to me?”

“A good question.” He fiddled with his glass and stared out across the beach. “I’ll have a talking point with Essex. He’ll be pleased. I can talk him into giving you the job as airport supervisor and you’ll earn at least thirty thousand.”

I finished my coke while I thought.

“Suppose Essex isn’t pleased . . . then how do I stand?”

“You mean if you don’t complete the job in three months?”

“That’s what I mean.”

Olson lit another cigarette. I noticed his hands were unsteady.

“Then I guess you and I are washed up. I told him it could be done. If you don’t fix it, then we both are out.” He dragged smoke into his lungs. “I was lucky to get this job Jack. Top class pilots are a dime a dozen these days. Essex has only to snap his fingers to have a load of them in his lap.”

“You talked about fifteen thousand a year What it really comes down to is you will pay me $3750 for three months’ work and then it depends on how pleased Essex will be whether I get on the permanent staff—right’?”

Olson stared at the tip of his cigarette.

“That’s about it.” He looked at me, then away. “After all Jack, as you have nothing to do right now it isn’t so bad is it?”

“No, it isn’t bad.”

We sat in silence for a long moment, then he said. “Let’s go over to the airfield. You take a look and tell me what you think. I have to take him to New York in three hours so I haven’t a lot of time.”

“I’d like some money paid into my bank before I start work, Bernie,” I said. “I’m short.”

“No problem, I’ll fix that.” He got to his feet. “Let’s look at it.”

There’s something wrong about this setup, I told myself as he drove back onto the highway. But what can I lose? $3750 for a three months stint wasn’t bad money. If it didn’t finally jell, I still had Lockheed to fall back on. All the same my mind was uneasy. This man at my side wasn’t the great Colonel Olson I used to know. That man I would have trusted with my last cent. I would have given my life for him, but not this man.

There was an odd change in him that bothered me. I couldn’t put my finger on what the change was, but I felt wary of him and that’s a bad thing.

The Lane Essex airport was located about ten miles behind the City. Above the big-wired entrance gates was a sign that read: ESSEX ENTERPRISES.

The two guards in bottle green uniforms with revolvers on their hips, saluted Olson as he drove in.

The usual airport buildings looked bright, new and modem.

I could see people moving around in the control tower. They also wore this bottle green uniform.

Olson drove onto the runway, sending the jag surging forward. About half a mile down the runway, I saw a big cloud of dust and Olson slowed.

“Here we are,” he said and pulled up. “Look, Jack, let me put you further in the photo. I’ve organised everything as I told you. Your job is to see that it is kept organised. I’m scared of labour trouble. We have a gang of around sixteen hundred men: most of them coloured. They sleep in tents and they are supposed to work from 07.00 to 18.00 with a two-hour break for lunch. Make no mistake about this: It’s goddamn hot in the afternoon. The man in charge is Tim O’Brien. You’ll be his boss. I’ve told him you’re coming. He’s okay, but I don’t trust the Irish over much. Your job is to supervise him while he supervises the gang. Keep clear of them. I don’t want trouble. They like O’Brien. Do you get all this?”

I stared at him.

“So what the hell do I do?”

“Like I said. Watch O’Brien. Move around the site. If you spot anyone lying down on the job, tell O’Brien. Make certain no one knocks of until 18.00.”

He got out of the car and walked fast towards the cloud of dust. Bewildered, I followed him. When we had got beyond the cloud of dust, I saw the work going on and it shook me. There seemed to be around twenty bulldozers levelling the ground. An army of men sweated with shovels, heaving rocks, cutting up fallen trees with electric saws. There was a road-making machine and the stink of tar was strong.

From somewhere a short, fat man wearing baggy, dirty khaki trousers and a sweat-stained shirt appeared before us.

“Hi! Colonel,” he said.

“How’s it going, Tim?” Olson asked.

The man grinned.

“Like a dream. The boys have cut down thirty firs this morning. We’re just clearing them.”

Olson turned to me.

“Jack . . . meet Tim O’Brien. You two are going to work together. Tim . . . this is Jack Crane.”

While he was speaking, I was looking at O’Brien. He was a hunk of bone, fat and muscle, around forty-five years of age, balding, with a blunt featured face, steady blue eyes. This was a man no one could dislike: a worker, that you could trust and I thrust out my hand which he gripped in an easy manner.

A violent, too close explosion went off with a bang that made me jump.

O’Brien grinned.

“We’re blasting,” he said. “Got a lot of rock down there.”

Olson tapped my arm.

“I’ve got to move Jack. I’ll be seeing you in three days’ time. Tim will look after you.”

He turned and started back to where he had left the jag.

O’Brien looked at his watch

“Give me ten minutes, Mr. Crane and we’ll go back to the airport. I just want to see the boys get their lunch,” and he walked of leaving me standing there like a goddamn dummy.

I watched. The operation of clearing the land was going like clockwork. Already the road-building machine had completed two hundred yards of runway. There was another bang as more explosives tore into the rocks ahead and ten bulldozers roared into action. What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself. This couldn’t be better organised. At the rate these men were working the runway would be completed in two months let alone three.

I stood waiting in the hot sunshine until someone blew a whistle. The machines cut and the noise died down. Men dropped their shovels and there was a general movement towards three big trucks where Negroes started to hand out drinks and food containers.

O’Brien drove up to me in an open jeep.

“Hop in, Mr. Crane.” he said. “I’ll take you to your cabin. You could do with a shower. I know I could!” He grinned. “Then suppose you and me have a snack together in my cabin. It’s right next door.”

“Fine.” I got in beside him. “Look, Tim, suppose you call me Jack?”

He glanced at me, then nodded.

“Why not?”

He drove fast down the runway, sheered of and headed towards a long row of cabins that stood near the control tower.

He pulled up outside the row, got out and walked over to cabin 5.

“This is yours. Make yourself at home. Suppose you come to cabin 6 in half an hour? Okay?”

“Fine with me.”

Carrying my bag, I opened the cabin door and walked into a blessed air-conditioned atmosphere. I shut the door and looked around. Everything in the big living room was luxe. Four lounging chairs, a fully stocked refrigerated cocktail cabinet, a colour T.V., a bookshelf stuffed with books, a fitted carpet that felt like I was walking on grass and a stereo and radio set against the far wall. Beyond the living room was a small bedroom with a double bed, closets, night table with a lamp and beyond that a bathroom with all the equipment you could wish for.

I stripped of, took a shower, shaved, put on a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of linen slacks, then returned to the living room.

I was tempted to have a drink, but decided against it. Checking my watch, I had five minutes to wait, so I lit a cigarette and waited. At 12.30 I went to cabin 6 and tapped.

O’Brien looking a lot less sweaty but still in the same clothes opened the door and waved me in. I entered a facsimile of the cabin I had just left. There was a smell of onions frying that made my mouth water.

“Lunch is just about ready,” he said. “What’ll you drink?”

“Nothing, thanks.” I sat down in one of the lounging chairs.

A girl wearing a bottle green blouse and tight bottle green pants came in with a tray. Quickly she set the table, put down two plates, then left.

“Let’s eat,” O’Brien said and sat at the table.

I joined him.

My plate contained a thick steak, lima beans and french fried potatoes.

“You eat well here,” I said as I cut into the steak.

“Everything is top class here.” O’Brien said. “We’re working for Essex.”

We ate for a minute or so, then O’Brien said, “I understand you and Olson were buddies in Vietnam.”

“He was my boss. I kept him in the air.”

“How did you like it in Vietnam?”

I cut another piece of steak, put mustard on it and stared at it.

“It was fine with me but then I wasn’t getting shot at.” I conveyed the steak into my mouth and chewed.

“Makes a difference.”

“You can say that again.”

We ate for some moments, them O’Brien said. “You have had a lot of experience in laying runways?”

I paused in eating and looked directly at him. He was looking directly at me. We stared at each other and I just couldn’t help liking this heavy, fat man as he chewed his steak, his frank blue eyes looking into mine.

“I’m an aero-engineer,” I said. “I know the guts of most kites, but I have no idea how to build a runway.”

He gave a little nod, then plastered a piece of his steak with mustard.

“Yeah. Well, Jack, thanks for being frank. Let’s take it from here. Olson told me he wanted me supervised. He’s scared the runway won’t be completed in three months. He said he was getting an expert to watch me. I go along with him because the money is fine. He’s scared silly of Essex. When a man is scared of another man because he’s worried about keeping his job, then I’m sorry for him and am willing to play along.”

I hesitated, then said, “I knew him thirteen months ago. This is the first time I’ve seen him since then. There’s been a hell of a change.”

“Is that right? I’ve only been on the job for a couple of weeks, but I know a scared man when I see him.” O’Brien finished his meal, then sat back. “Well, Jack, what do you suggest you do?” I can assure you the runway will be completed within the next six weeks. I’ve a fine gang working with me and I know I can rely on them.”

“Olson said something about labour trouble.”

O’Brien shook his head.

“Not a chance. Everyone’s well paid and I know how to handle them.”

I shrugged.

“Then I’m damned if I know what I’m going to do. As soon as I saw your setup I knew there was nothing in it for me. You know, Tim there’s something, goofy about this. Olson is paying me good money out of his own pocket for what seems to be for nothing.”

O’Brien smiled.

“Well, if you’re getting paid and it’ll make you happy, you’d better supervise me, hadn’t you?”

“Can I come with you and take a look around?” I felt awkward.

“Of course.” He looked at his watch. “Time I got moving anyway.”

He drove me back to the site and slid out of the jeep.

“You take her Jack. I won’t need her this afternoon. Take a look around. I’m open to any suggestions.”

Feeling stupid, I drove by the men who had already begun working, got beyond the level ground and down into the forest.

There I left the jeep and walked.

Fifty or so Negroes were felling trees with electric saws. They glanced indifferently at me, then one of them, a big, good-looking buck waved me away.

“Ain’t safe to wander around, brother,” he said. “Trees are falling like rain.”

I moved away and leaving the forest, I walked into the hot sun to where they were blasting. Again I was told to keep away.

As O’Brien had said, the work was going ahead at a fast clip.

He had enough machines, enough men and enough explosives to make the runway in six weeks.

I turned down a sloping path that led to a running stream, well away from the site and I sat on a rock, lit a cigarette and did some thinking.

One thing I was now certain of: there was nothing here for me to do with O’Brien in charge. So why had Olson sent for me? Why was he paying me $3750 out of his own pocket just to stooge around when he must know that O’Brien would deliver? What was behind this business? He had gone now to New York. He had said he would be back in three days. In the meantime what was I going to do? My first inclination was to go back home, leaving a letter for him, saying I couldn’t see how I could be of help, but I quickly killed that idea. I didn’t want to go back to that little drab house: back into small time again.

I decided I would wait here until Olson returned and then have it out with him. In the meantime, I decided to write a report on the progress of the runway just to show him that I had been trying to earn his money.

I returned to the site and found O’Brien working on a stalled bulldozer. When he saw me, he came over.

“Look, Tim,” I said. I had to shout to get above the noise of the other bulldozers, “it looks fine to me. Of course the runway will be finished in six weeks. At the rate you’re going it could be finished in five.”

He nodded.