Dirty Work

18

They sat at the end of the runway in San Juan, the engines of the DC-3 roaring, while the pilot did his runup.

Stone was enchanted. He hadn’t been on a DC-3 since he was a boy, and he loved the deep rumble of the radial engines. “This is great, isn’t it?” he said to Dino.

Dino, who was holding tight to the armrests, his knuckles white, did not reply.

“Isn’t it great, being on a DC-3?” Stone asked, elbowing him.

“It has propellers,” Dino said.

“Of course it has propellers.”

“It’s not a jet.”

“You’re very observant.”

“Why is the tail on the ground and the nose in the air? We’ll never get off the ground.”

“It’s a tail dragger,” Stone explained. “It doesn’t have a nosewheel, just a little one at the back. It’s the way all airplanes used to work.”

“They used to crash a lot, too.” Dino let go of an armrest long enough to grab the wrist of a flight attendant, who was walking down the short aisle. “I need a drink,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir, but our flight is too short to offer drink service. We’ll be in Saint Thomas in half an hour.”

“I’m a cop. Does that make any difference?”

“We don’t even have liquor aboard, sir. Please relax, it’s going to be a very short flight.”

Dino let go of her wrist and resumed his death grip on the armrest. The airplane rolled onto the runway and kept going, while Dino helped by keeping his eyes tightly shut. After an interminable roll, the airplane lifted off and began to climb.

“See,” Stone said, “it flies.”

They crossed the coastline and entered clouds. The airplane began to shake. The pilot came on the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “this is the captain speaking. We apologize for the turbulence, but I’m afraid we’ll be dodging thunderstorms along our route today, so please keep your seat belts fastened.”

Dino let go of an armrest long enough to yank his seat belt tight enough to cut off circulation to his legs.

“This is going to be great,” Stone said, as the airplane leveled off.

Dino looked out the window. “We’re flying awful low.”

“It’s a short flight, Dino. There’s no point in climbing higher; we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The airplane suddenly dropped a couple of hundred feet.

“Jeeesus!” Dino said through clenched teeth.

“Nothing to worry about,” Stone said, sounding unconvinced. He was feeling a little queasy himself.

The airplane banked sharply to the right, kept that course for ten minutes, then banked sharply to the left. Items were falling out of the overhead racks.

Then, unexpectedly, they were on the ground, just as a rain squall struck the airplane. It did some weaving as it braked, but then they were at the terminal.

“I want a drink,” Dino said.

“When we get to the hotel,” Stone replied.

The rain continued as they got into a taxi, and what little they could see of the town of Charlotte Amalie through the rain-streaked windows seemed drab. The taxi climbed steeply for a few minutes, then deposited them on the doorstep of a small hotel. Shortly, they were in their adjoining rooms.

“You want a drink now?” Stone called.

“I want a blood transfusion,” Dino called back. “Leave me alone.”

“Our dinner table is in twenty minutes,” Stone shouted. “Get changed.”

Twenty minutes later, they walked out onto a broad terrace overlooking the twinkling lights of the town. The rain had passed, and the night was filled with stars. A pair of cruise ships anchored in the big harbor far below were bathed in their own lights, while the anchor lights of sailing vessels bobbed around them. They found a couple of comfortable chairs, accepted menus from the waiter, and Stone ordered two piña coladas.

“I want a double Scotch,” Dino complained.

“Shut up, you’re in the tropics,” Stone explained.

The drinks were icy cold and delicious. Stone flipped open his cell phone to see if he could get a signal. He did, and he dialed Bob Cantor’s number and got the out-of-range recording. “Either Bob’s on a boat somewhere or he’s turned his phone off,” Stone said.

Dino looked out at the view. “Can you blame him? I’d do the same in this place.”

They listened to the piano player as the bar filled with arriving customers.

“Did you call the DA’s office this morning, about getting Herbie’s charges dropped?” Stone asked.

“Who had time?” Dino replied. “You yanked me out of my office before I had time to do anything.”

“Call him in the morning,” Stone said. “It’ll be easier to convince Herbie to go back to New York if the manslaughter charge has disappeared.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dino said. “Now can I drink this ridiculous drink and enjoy the view?”

“Be my guest.”

“You’d better believe it.”

The waiter came and took their orders. “It’ll be twenty minutes or so,” he said. “Would you like another piña colada?”

“You betcha,” Dino replied.

“What, no Scotch?” Stone asked.

“We’re in the tropics, dummy.”

Stone laughed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t bring Mary Ann along.”

Dino looked at him as if he were mad. “You bachelors,” he said, “don’t understand anything. The duty-free shopping alone would break you.”

“Break me?"

“We’re on your nickel, remember?”

“My nickel doesn’t extend to duty-free shopping. It won’t support a camera or a Rolex, you remember that. Besides, you’re not going to have time to shop. We have to find Herbie.”

“And how do you figure to go about doing that?” Dino asked.

“If Bob Cantor won’t answer his phone, then I don’t have a clue,” Stone said.

Then a flashbulb went off in their faces.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” somebody with a New York accent said. “Here’s my card. Can I print that great shot for you? Only twenty bucks.”

As his eyes readjusted to the available light, Stone looked up into the smiling face of Herbie Fisher.