1974 - So What Happens to Me (5 page)

Before going to sleep that night, I thought over what had happened. It looked to me that Olson was planning some kind of steal and he wanted me in on it, but wasn’t sure of me. This idea, and I told myself I could be quite wrong, startled me. I would never have thought that Olson could be bent. I decided that I had better work or someone might begin to wonder what I was doing here.

It was sound thinking because around 16.00 the following day while I was clearing a gas feed and was cursing, I saw the three negroes, who were standing around watching me, suddenly stiffen as if they had been goosed. Their big black eyes rolled, showing the whites and I looked over my shoulder.

There was a woman standing a few yards from me, surveying me. What a woman! I knew at once she couldn’t be anyone else but Mrs. Lane Essex. Starting from the top of her head and reading downwards, she had Venetian red hair that hung to her shoulders in long, natural waves: a broad forehead, big violet-coloured eyes, a thin nose, a firm mouth. Quite an inadequate description. She was the most gorgeous looking woman I had ever seen and she made Pam Osborn look like a cheap hooker. Her body was something a saint would have thoughts about: long, long legged, full breasted. She was wearing a white linen shirt tucked into white jodhpurs and knee high, glittering black boots. Some yards behind her, a negro in white held the bridles of two horses.

She flicked one of her boots with a riding whip and her violet eyes continued to survey me the way a cattle dealer will survey a prize bull he might or might not be going to buy.

I began to wipe the dirt and grease of my hands with a jump of oily waste, aware of the tensions of the three negroes who very carefully, very slowly, as if backing away from a puff adder, moved out of the scene. They kept on moving until they were lost in the dust.

“Who are you?” There was an arrogant snap in her voice that made me remember that Pam had described this woman as the blueprint for the biggest bitch in the world.

I decided to play this one humble.

“Jack Crane, ma’am,” I said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

This fazed her a little. I could see that by her frown and the way she shifted her elegant feet.

“I don’t remember seeing you before.”

“That’s right, ma’am.” I kept my expression wooden. “I’ve just arrived. I’m working for Mr. O’Brien.”

“Oh.” She paused but continued to examine me. “Where’s O’Brien?”

Just then there was a hell of a bang and the two horses shied, nearly over-throwing the negro who began struggling with them. I could see he was in trouble and I slid past her and caught the reins of the biggest horse and by sheer brute strength brought him to a standstill. The negro had all he could do to handle the other horse.

“No place for horses, ma’am,” I said. “We’re blasting.”

She came to me, snatched the reins out of my hand and swung herself onto the saddle. The horse reared up, and she gave him a flick of her whip and brought him down to stand trembling but mastered.

The negro swung himself onto his horse.

“Take him away, Sam,” she said, “before another bang.”

The negro rode of fast, leaving her looking down at me.

“You know something about horses?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. I don’t dig anything without brakes.”

She smiled.

“You handled Borgia well enough. Thank you.”

Then the mother of all bangs went off it sounded as if a five hundred pound aerial bomb had exploded at our feet.

She was under the impression she had the horse under control so she was relaxed. The bang shook me and shook her.

What it did to the horse was nobody’s business. It reared and snaked and she hadn’t a chance to stay on. She was thrown heavily as the horse took off. There was nothing I could do in that split second she hung in the air, then I started forward, but was much too late. She landed on her shoulders and her head hit the tarmac and there she remained, still gorgeous to look at, but out to the world.

As I knelt beside her, a ring of gaping negroes formed. I didn’t know if she had broken her back and I was scared stupid to touch her

“Get O’Brien!” I bawled “Get me a jeep!”

The snap in my voice brought action. Four or five of them ran wildly down the tarmac towards the blasting site. Two others rushed into the dust.

Gently, I touched her and she opened her eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

Her eyes closed.

“Mrs. Essex! Can I move you?”

Again her eyes opened She shook her head and the glassy look went out of those wonderful violet eyes “I’m all right. She moved her arms, then her legs. “God! My head!”

“Take it easy.” I looked around. A jeep skidded to a standstill.

A big buck was at the wheel, his eyes rolling. “I’ll take you to hospital.” I gathered her up in my arms and she moaned a little.

I carried her to the jeep and got in beside the negro, holding her across my knees. “Get to the hospital,” I told him. “Not fast . . . be careful.”

The negro stared at the woman, let in the clutch and began a slow drive along the tarmac. It took ten minutes to reach the airport’s hospital. Someone must have phoned Two interns, a couple of nurses and a grey-haired man in a white coat surrounded the jeep as it stopped.

There was a stretcher and everything was very efficient.

They had her of my lap and onto the stretcher and inside the hospital in seconds.

I sat there wondering if by moving her I had done damage and the thought made me sweat.

A jeep came roaring up and O’Brien tumbled out. I told him what had happened.

“Hell!” He wiped his sweaty face. “What did she want to come down there for? She’s always sticking her goddamn nose into anything that doesn’t concern her! This could lose me my job when Essex hears about it!”

I shoved by him and entered the air-conditioned coolness of the hospital. There was a nurse at the reception desk.

“How is she?” I asked

“Dr. Winters is examining her now.” She regarded me as if I were a bum begging a dime.

I hesitated, then seeing one of the interns who had handled her come out through a doorway, I went to him. “How is she? Did I do wrong moving her?”

“You did dead right,” he said and smiled. ‘Nothing broken, but concussion. She’s asking about her horse.”

“Okay. Tell her not to worry about it. I’ll take care of the horse.”

As I started towards the exit, I heard the intern say to the nurse, “Get Mr. Essex and snap it up!”

I went out into the hot sunshine, got in the jeep and started off in the direction where the horse had bolted. O’Brien had gone. It took me two long sweaty hours to come up with the horse. It was at the far end of the airport in a thicket and it was only luck that I spotted it. It had got over its scare and I had no trouble tying it to the jeep and I drove slowly back with the horse trotting behind.

Mrs. Essex’s groom appeared from nowhere as I pulled up outside the hospital. He grinned at me and took charge of the horse.

I went into the hospital and to the reception desk.

The nurse regarded me, lifting her eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“Will you arrange to tell Mrs. Essex I’ve found her horse and it is safe and undamaged,” I said. “It’s news that might do her good.”

She inclined her head.

“And you are . . . ?”

“Jack Crane. Mrs. Essex knows me.”

Sudden doubt came into her eyes. Suddenly it entered her stupid, snobby mind that in spite of my sweat, filthy hands and shabby clothes, I just might be someone important in the Essex kingdom.

“I’ll tell Dr. Winters at once, Mr. Crane. Thank you for telling us.”

I gave her a long hard stare, then nodding, I went back to the jeep and drove to the site.

As I got out of the jeep, I heard another bang from the blasting site. At least, O’Brien wasn’t stopping work. He didn’t give a goddamn about Mrs. Lane Essex, but I did.

I remembered the feel of her body as I had held her. I remembered those violet eyes and the Venetian red hair against my face as I lifted her.

I walked across to the stalled bulldozer and began work on it again. As I worked I thought of her. I was still thinking of her when the whistle blew and we knocked off for the day.

Back in my cabin, I took a much-needed shower. I was getting into a pair of slacks when there came a knock on my door. Thinking it was Tim, I shouted to come in and reached for a shirt.

The door opened and Pam Osborn slid in. She quickly shut the door and I saw her face was pale and her eyes angry.

“What do you want?” I didn’t want her here. “Run away, baby.” I tucked in my shirt. “I made a mistake about you.”

I could see from the expression on her face she hadn’t heard what I had said.

“Must you act like a moron?” she demanded “Now you’re under a spotlight and that’s just what Bernie didn’t want.”

I moved over to the table and sat on it.

“What are you yakking about?”

“It’s all over the airport. You taking that bitch to hospital and then finding her goddamn horse.”

“What’s so wrong about it?”

“Everyone is asking who this Jack Crane is. Don’t you see - every one of the creeps here would have given their right arms to have done what you did?”

“What the hell did you expect me to do? Leave her lying there?”

“It’s the horse!” She clenched her facts, then unclenched them. “That bitch cares more about that horse than she does about herself, her husband or even her money! Couldn’t you have thought of that instead of spending hours looking for the blasted brute when anyone could have found it?”

“How was I to know?”

“And another thing. . . what made you start working with O’Brien? Didn’t Bernie tell you to supervise him and to keep out of sight? Didn’t he tell you not to mix with any of the gang? You have to go out there and fool around with the machines! When Bernie hears about this, he’ll blow his stack!”

I began to get angry.

“Oh, shove off” I said. “I’m not taking talk like that from you! I’ll talk to Bernie. Now get the hell out of here!”

“I came to warn you, you jerk! Before long the establishment will investigate you. The grapevine here is really something. Have a story ready. This sonofabitch Wes Jackson will be descending on you. He’s Essex’s manager. Watch him! He’s so sharp he could cut you by just looking at you. He’ll want to know everything there is to know about you. What you are doing here. Who you are. Why Bernie hasn’t put you on the pay roll. Have a story ready or we’ll be sunk. Do you understand?”

“No.” I stared at her. “I don’t understand and I don’t like any of it. If you. . .”

The sound of a car pulling up outside my cabin made both of us turn fast to the window.

“He’s here . . . Wes Jackson!” Pam’s face was whiter than a fresh fall of snow. “He mustn’t find me here.” She looked around wildly, then darted into the bathroom and closed the door.

That left me standing there on my own.

THREE

W
es Jackson stood in the doorway of my cabin like an undersized King Kong, but not all that undersized. He was around 6 ft. 5 ins., massively built and around thirty-two or three years of age. He had a turnip-shaped head that sat on his vast shoulders without suggesting he had any neck. His small nose, his small mouth and his small eyes struggled to survive in a sea of pink-white fat. His jet-black hair was close cropped. He wore heavy black shell glasses that slightly magnified his sea-green eyes. He was immaculately dressed in a blue blazer with some fancy badge on the pocket, white linen slacks and some club tie pinned to a white shirt with a large gold tie pin.

“Mr. Crane?”

The tiny mouth went through the motions of a smile: the sea-green eyes, like points of ice picks dipped in green paint, moved over me.

I knew at once this man was a natural born sonofabitch and I would have to handle him with care.

“That’s correct,” I said and waited.

He moved his bulk into the cabin and closed the door.

“I’m Wesley Jackson. I take care of Mr. Essex’s affairs.”

I nearly said that must be nice for him, but instead I said.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right Mr. Crane. Mrs. Essex asked me to come here and thank you for finding her horse.”

“How is she?”

He edged further into the room and slowly settled himself in a lounging chair. It creaked under his weight.

“She had quite a fall, but you know about that.” He shook his turnip head, and his fat face expressed sorrow. “Well, she could be worse. Slight concussion, but nothing really serious.”

“Fine. When I saw her come down I thought she had broken her back.”

He winced.

“Happily no.”

He crossed one enormous leg over the other and seeing that he was making himself comfortable, I took a chair opposite him.

“It was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Crane, to go searching for her horse,” he went on. “No one seemed to have thought of it. Her horse is important to her.”

I let that one drift and waited.

“Mrs. Essex is appreciative.”

I let that one drift too.

He studied his beautifully manicured finger nails, then shot me a sudden hard look.

“You work here, Mr. Crane?”

Here it comes, I thought. This fat fink isn’t wasting time on me.

“You could say that.”

He nodded.

“Yes.” A pause. “You don’t appear on our payroll, Mr. Crane, yet you tell me you are working for us.”

I put a blank look on my face.

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Jackson. I’m working for Colonel Olson.”

He nibbled at his thumbnail while he stared at me.

“Colonel Olson engaged you?”

“Maybe I’d better explain.” I gave him my frank expression with a slight apologetic smile. It didn’t seem to make any impact on him but I couldn’t imagine anything making an impact on him. “Colonel Olson and I served together in Saigon. He flew a bomber. I kept him flying.” I was speaking very casually. “I heard he was working for Mr. Essex and as I was looking for something to do and as he and I got along fine together I wrote, asking him if he could get me a job here. He wrote back and said there was nothing at the moment but if I were free, how would I like to come here and help out on the runway. He said he could give me a cabin and food, but there would be no money. I could look on it as a vacation. He said later he would talk to the staff manager and maybe there would be a vacancy. I was bored staying at home. I have my Army gratuity and I wanted to see Paradise City and I wanted very much to see Colonel Olson again. . .he’s a fine man. Mr. Jackson, but I don’t have to tell you that. . .so . . . here I am.”