Amerika (8 page)

The Hurricane of 1935 not only killed hundreds of people, it also killed the Key West extension of the Florida East Coast Railroad. With miles of track washed into the sea and hundreds of bridges and causeways gone for good, the railroad ended its thirty-year adventure and sold its right-of-way to the state to build highways instead.

‘Pop-Pop was a hero,’ Abby said.

‘For sure.’

‘I want to be a hero too, some day.’

‘You can’t decide something like that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because history picks its heroes. Not the other way around.’

‘Doesn’t make sense.’

‘A hero is someone who does something ordinary in extraordinary times - like when Pop-Pop went out and led those men back to the train. It’s really an ordinary thing when you think about it, but he did it with the wind blowing and the rain coming down in buckets and the water rising all around him. Even with all that scary stuff happening, he just went ahead and did it.’

‘While that old fireman hid in the locomotive.’

‘Don’t blame him. You weren’t there to see what happened.’

She scowled. ‘If I’d been there, I’d have gone out with Pop-Pop to save those men. And maybe I could have saved him too.’

‘Maybe so.’

‘I know so.’

She clenched her jaw, looked straight at me and her brown eyes seemed to darken. ‘And if I hadn’t been sick and stayed with Grammy that night, maybe I could have saved Mommy and Baby Eddy. But they’re dead, and it’s all because of the Nazis, they’re worse than any damn hurricane!’

She pulled the release pin and swung the control wheel over to me. ‘I don’t want to fly anymore.’

She sat there, arms folded, head down and frowning while I corrected our course and re-trimmed the flight controls. I finally said, ‘If I hadn’t been out on my trip, maybe I could have saved them too.’

‘But you were, and they died and why did you go, Daddy? Couldn’t you have said ‘no’ just once?’

I bit back the truth and lied, ‘It was my job, honey. I had to.’

She folded her arms tighter. ‘If that’s what it’s like to have a job, I’m never going to have one as long as I live.’

‘What are you going to do to stay alive?’

‘Be like you and Uncle O.’ She patted the armrest. ‘Have my own airplane and fly lobsters and stuff.’

‘Then it’s time you start learning what it takes to do just that.’ I swung the controls back. ‘You have the aircraft.’

I expected her to smile, but she sat up and looked straight at me, her face serious, and in that instant I saw Estelle looking at me instead. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.

‘I have the aircraft, sir,’ she said.

After our Miami delivery, Abby slept all the way home to Key West, despite the constant engine roar. Been that way ever since she was a baby. Sleeps through anything. No need to tiptoe. Just bang and clang and she’ll snooze away. Her sleep, minus the serious face, seemed sweet and simple. I wished she could stay that way forever. But too much had happened in her short life to think that could ever be.

Had I been like this at ten? I think so. In fact, I think all kids are, but grownups don’t realize it. To them we’re in a state of unending bliss, when in fact we’re living in a jungle filled with wild beasts, and it’s up to the grownups to help us make it out alive. And if they can’t help us, then at least, please get the hell out of our way.

I tugged Abby’s seatbelt tighter and then and contacted Key West tower. As the operator rattled off the landing information, I throttled back and entered the downwind leg of the landing pattern.

As usual, I was the only thing flying in the sky, but not forever. I had twenty-nine days left on the Nazi’s ‘Limited Commercial Flying Permit.’ After that I had to come up with another thousand dollars up front, and five hundred more in under- the-table bribes to extend it another ninety days. The boys from Berlin were making a mint off private airlines like mine trying to make a living up and down the east coast.

I knew damn well that shipping Mike’s bi-weekly lobster catch was never going to keep Carter Aviation in the air. I had to hustle fishing charters and critical-cargo companies if I wanted to survive.

Thank God -- and thank Rosie for having taken out ads in the Miami and Jacksonville newspapers at her own expense - because she had landed a three-day, island-hopping, fishing charter for next week. Probably some real estate lawyer from Jacksonville and his cronies.

I could see them now: cigar- smoking, whisky-drinking, well-heeled ‘sport fishermen’ strutting their way onto the plane, all decked out in their outfits, ready to drink and cuss and lie like Hemmingway. Fine by me. I’d fly them to kingdom come if they wanted to, as long as they paid me for doing so.

Just as I began my final turn to line up with the runway, my heart stopped: a bright red, Beechcraft Staggerwing soared off the runway and headed straight for me like a rocket. For some inexplicable reason, the sleek, blunt-nosed executive biplane had taken off downwind instead of upwind and was on a direct collision course.

I firewalled the throttles, banked hard left and shouted into my mike, ‘Beechcraft, break right, break right!’

Abby woke with a start and started screaming as the high-powered airplane blasted past us in a shuddering roar, oblivious to my radio message.

Within seconds, nothing remained except its dwindling red and green wingtip navigation lights fading in the dusk sky.

A tight voice broke the silence. ‘Carter Air four-five, be advised aircraft your immediate vicinity.’

‘That bastard almost hit us. Which runway did you give him?’

A long pause.

‘Two-six.’

‘He damn well used the opposite end.’

‘We’ll file a report.’

The image of the sleek, high-priced aircraft flashed through my mind. Most likely belonged to some steel or oil tycoon.

‘Fat lot of good that’ll do.’

By the time we taxied up to the ramp, dusk had surrendered to nighttime. Our landing lights picked out the small shack attached to the small hangar that I leased from the airport. I wouldn’t park the plane inside tonight, because Orlando had filled the floor with parts of the engine he was overhauling. Not to worry. The Florida night air was surprisingly sweet and clear, the moon bright, and conditions perfect for sleeping beneath the wing under the stars. And that’s just what I intended to do; like back in the old days when I was learning to fly by following barnstormers.

As my engines rattled to a stop, the office door banged open and Rosie hurried toward me. Her face looked more serious than I wanted at this hour.

Abby leaped over onto my lap, slid down the window and shouted,

‘Grams, I flew all the way to Miami!’

Rosie tried to look interested but failed. ‘Good for you, dear.’

‘And I slept all the way back, except for when that crazy bastard almost hit us.’

‘Uh huh,’ she said distractedly.

‘Something the matter?’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘Yes and no. We have visitors.’

‘Nazis?’

‘A woman. I know I’ve seen her someplace before - and a man. They just came in on that Beechcraft.’

I felt a quick stab of anger. ‘They came to apologize, I hope.’

‘Actually, they want to talk to you. About a charter.’

‘As long as it doesn’t conflict my fishermen gig, I’ll fly them anywhere.’

‘It won’t, I’m sure. It’s just that...’ She trailed off, folded her arms, pursed her lips and paused.

‘What’s wrong, Grams?’ Abby said.

‘Nothing, dear.’

I patted Rosie’s shoulder. ‘Grams is just having one of her premonitions, honey. Fasten your seatbelt.’

‘I can’t help it if I get these feelings.’

‘Think they’re good for the money?’

‘They have cash and will pay up front.’

‘Then I can’t help it if I get the feeling that if we don’t pay our bills,

Carter Aviation is out of business.’

I unfastened my seatbelt. ‘Tell them to meet me over in the hangar. I’m going to check up on Orlando.’

My business partner had spread out the spare engine like a vast, unfinished jigsaw puzzle across the hangar floor: manifolds, pistons, rods, exhaust ports, reduction gears. To the unpracticed eye like mine, utter chaos, but to Orlando, it made perfect sense. Ever since we were boys he had torn apart clocks, radios, fans, and small engines and put them back together again. Nothing had changed, just bigger stuff.

‘What’s your best guess?’ I said.

He straightened up from where he’d been working on a piston. ‘Three, maybe four hours.’

‘To put all this back? Not a chance.’

‘It’s easy when you know how everything fits - lobsters get there okay?’ I patted my shirt pocket. ‘Our first payday.’

He lifted the heavy piston in salute. ‘Here’s to many more.’

‘We might have another one sooner than you think. Rosie said some folks want a charter.’

‘That so?’

‘Captain Carter?’

The woman’s voice drifted from the shadows of the hangar, low and melodious. I turned but saw nothing. The single light bulb above Orlando’s work space created a small pool of light. Beyond that, darkness.

‘That’s me,’ I said into the void. ‘But it’s Mister Carter, not captain. And you are?’

‘Ava James.’

She walked into the light and my mouth went dry. It’s one thing to see a movie star on the screen, but to see one in person is unnerving. At least for me. All I could do was mumble like an idiot, ‘I… I saw you in
Ceiling Zero
, with Jimmy Cagney and Pat O’Brien. You were great.’

She smiled and brushed back a strand of reddish-blonde hair. ‘Thanks, but the pleasure was all mine. Quite an honor to work with those two.’

She stopped in front of me and I was surprised at her height.

‘Jimmy Cagney’s not that tall,’ I said. ‘How did you... I mean, what did you...’

‘Mr. Cagney stood on his toes a lot.’

‘Never would have known.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Movie magic, Mr. Carter.’

She half-turned and said over her shoulder. ‘Are you going to spend the rest of your life in the shadows? Get the hell out here.’

A short, egg-shaped man scurried out of the darkness into the light, eyes bright, hand extended, hair slicked back and smiling like there was no tomorrow.

‘Didn’t want to spoil your entrance, darling. Never would, never could.’

I took his small, pudgy hand; like shaking hands with a dishcloth.

‘Name’s Nathan Siegel, I’m Ava’s agent, but everybody calls me Ziggy. You can too, Mr. Carter - and who might this gentleman be?’

Orlando wiped the grease from his hand and took Ziggy’s. ‘Orlando Diaz.’

‘What a handle! I could get you movie work with a name like that.’

‘I prefer planes.’

‘In pieces or all together?

The Bull of Key West just stared.

‘A joke, kid, a joke. Pay me no mind. I come with the furniture in the mighty House of Ava James.’

Ava’s slightly hooded eyes lowered. ‘One of these days you’re going to talk yourself off a cliff.’

‘True. Don’t doubt it. Probably happen.’

‘And I won’t be there to catch you.’