7 Wild East (12 page)

“Are you hurt?” the Wings asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“I suppose that I failed my test because of this.”

“Son, you just did something the books say is impossible.
Anyone who can perform a landing like that deserves to be in the air. I’d say
you passed with flying colors.”

Well, that was good then, the Wings thought as he climbed
out of the cockpit to examine the damage to his plane. Though it had taken all
the way to the landing to finally impress the man.

The door to Mark Stripe’s room crashed open, waking Mark
from a sound slumber. It was sometime in the late afternoon when Mark liked to
take a nap. The silhouette in the doorway looked familiar but didn’t manage to
rouse Mark’s attention until it spoke.

“Get out of bed, you lazy slacker!” the gruff voice of Pete
Mitchell insisted. “Get your clothes and pack on and meet me out front, we’re
getting out of here.”

“But boss, my ankle,” Mark blurted though he was only half
awake.

“Yes, please, bring your ankle with you,” Pete growled
before slamming the door and stalking downstairs to the common room.

Pete had bottles of water in all his pockets which gave away
the fact that he was leaving to those gathered in the room. Big John led the
charge to action by stepping around the bar to intercept Pete before he could
exit the inn.

“Where are you going?” he asked threateningly.

“Out of my way, Big John, unless you’re looking for
trouble,” Pete challenged. “Me and my partner are getting out of this town
right now.”

“But what about the bears?”

“I doubt there are any bears. You probably just brought
someone’s pet bear out for me to see. Do you seriously think that I don’t know
what you people have been up to trying to keep us in this town? Well, it’s gone
on long enough. We’re heading back to headquarters to report our gear and
records stolen, and then I have half a mind to come back and see to it that you
and the rest of the people in this town are arrested.”

Big John stroked his beard while he considered the man’s
words.

“Face it, Big John. You’ve lost. You can’t stop this. There
will be a major oil pipeline running down the main street of your town whether
you like it or not.”

Feeling sympathy for the big man’s plight, Pete clapped him
on the shoulder as he walked past. This simple action produced a small cloud of
dust and dirt. Big John didn’t move to stop Pete from leaving though he did follow
him out the door.

“I wish you’d wait just a little longer,” Big John pleaded. “Just
wait until our own survey team returns. Then we’ll show you. We’ve found an
alternate route. Whisky Jack has plotted the new course. And he’s stopped
drinking so he’s sober.”

“You mean that you want me to change the route of a
multibillion-dollar oil pipeline project based on the work of a drunk?”

“Yes,” Big John replied. “I mean no, I mean he’s not the
town drunk anymore because he’s out of town. I mean.…”

Frankly, Big John wasn’t sure what he meant anymore. He
stood outside the doorway to the Lonesome Moose and watched as Pete stepped
into the middle of the street. The others in the bar stepped out to stand
behind Big John. The people on the street stopped what they were doing and came
running to stand nearby in case Big John needed help subduing the surveyor. Pete
took the opportunity to clear the air between himself and the town folk.

“You people are guilty of interfering with an official
government project. You’ve stolen government property and effectively kidnapped
two government officials. You lied about the plane not working. I bet there’s
even a working radio in town.”

No one said a word. It was obvious that their time was up. The
surveyors were finally leaving and taking with them the information that would
destroy their town. There was nothing else they could do but stand and watch.

“Mark, are you coming or do I leave you behind!” Pete yelled
back to the inn.

“Coming!” Mark called from inside.

When Mark left the Lonesome Moose he was limping less than
when he’d arrived and carrying a thick slice of apple pie in his hand. The
Flowers stepped out behind him to wave goodbye. Fortunately, Whisky Jack and
company arrived in town just as the surveyors were about to leave.

“You might want to take this equipment with you when you
go,” Whisky Jack said, coming to a stop in the middle of the street.

“Our surveying equipment,” Pete said in surprise. “I don’t
imagine you have my logbooks and maps with you as well.”

“You’ll find them all in my pack,” Whisky Jack said,
unslinging his pack from his back and laying it on the ground in front of him.

Pete was quick to fall upon the pack and begin rummaging
inside. “Aha,” he gasped when he finally located his missing files.

“I’ve updated your log to include a new and improved route
through the Ruby Valley that misses the Gulch by several kilometers,” Jack
pointed out.

“I don’t care about your alternate route,” Pete insisted. “I
tell you, the pipeline is going through McIntyre’s Gulch.”

“But it can’t,” Thomas said, stepping to the forefront of
the gathering crowd.

“Oh? And why is that, Mountie?” Pete challenged.

“Because I found this newt,” Thomas replied.

“Not you and your newt again,” Fiddling Thomas moaned.

“Yes, it’s me and my newt again. And it just so happens that
my newt is an endangered species.”

“So?” Pete challenged.

“So, you can’t send your pipeline through McIntyre’s Gulch
without impacting the natural habitat of this endangered species. At the very
least there will be studies and then court battles and it will be years before
you get your pipeline approved.”

Pete paused to consider the Mountie’s statement. The Mountie
looked dead serious.

“An endangered newt you say?” he queried.

“That’s right,” Thomas replied, remaining steadfast.

“And you say you’ve plotted a route around this newt?” Pete
asked of Whisky Jack.

“It’s all there on your map and in your logbook,” Jack
explained. “In addition, my team has gathered rock samples from the areas being
traversed. Some of them look promising.”

Pete wasn’t paying much attention while he referenced the
new numbers registered in his logbook. Then he looked to his map.

“I don’t believe it, this is a far superior route,” Pete
exclaimed. “It would have taken us weeks to gather this data, if we had found
the route at all.”

“So, take a couple weeks off,” Whisky Jack suggested. “I’m
going to.”

“No, we need to get this new information to our headquarters
as soon as possible.”

“Why not use the radio to report your new findings,” Big
John suggested.

“Because it’s broken,” Pete replied with remarkable
patience.

“Come with me,” Big John replied with a wicked smile. “It
seems we’ve got it repaired.”

Big John led the milling crowd to the grocers where they
waited outside while he took Pete to use the working radio. Mark remained
behind on the porch of the Lonesome Moose to sit in an Adirondack chair and
kick his leg up on the rail while he finished his pie. Meanwhile, Chuck and
Butterscotch arrived. They were late but looked happy. That was nice. They had
both seemed harassed and distracted the last few days.

“Welcome back,” Chuck said to Whisky Jack when he saw him. “What’s
everyone doing out here in the street?”

“Waiting for the surveyors to radio in to their headquarters
that they’ve found a new route. One that doesn’t include newts.”

“Newts?”

Whisky Jack turned to Chuck to more fully address him.

“Young man, you can’t show up halfway through the
performance and expect to know all the players and keep up with the plot,” he
scolded.

“Right,” Chuck agreed, sharing a smile with Butterscotch who
stood beside him.

Like the others around them, Chuck and Butterscotch waited
while murmuring pleasantries amongst themselves until Pete returned on the
porch of the grocers. Everyone turned to face him as a hush fell over the
crowd.

“They called it off,” Pete announced in a loud voice.

“What does that mean?” Billy Jones called back.

“Apparently the legislation required to approve the pipeline
is hung up in the American congress. It looks like there will be no pipeline,”
he added thoughtfully.

The crowd was awestruck, and then as if New Year’s Eve bell
had tolled they erupted into spontaneous celebration. Butterscotch joined in
the cheering. Chuck bundled her into his arms and whisked her off her feet in a
spin.

“Damned bureaucrats,” Whisky Jack said, spitting in the dirt
and walking up the steps of the grocers to where Big John stood. “You owe me a
whisky. A lot of whiskies,” he announced, sticking his hand out palm up and
fingering the air greedily.

“I’ll have to open the bar for that kind of drinking, Jack,”
Big John explained.

“Come on,” Jack replied, turning toward the saloon. “I need
a drink.”

Anatoli watched sadly as the old surveyor returned to the
bar after whatever he was in search of in the bottom of an empty whisky bottle.
Then the Russian said a little prayer that someday the old man would find it.

*  * 
*

The Wings rode with Cliff Reynolds, an aircraft mechanic and
friend of his, to his garage in a nearby hanger. His precious plane was
strapped to the flatbed of the truck. As he rode he chewed his nails over just
how much the repairs were going to cost him. When they pulled to a stop outside
the garage and got out of the cab of the truck, the Wings could stand it no
more.

“Alright, Cliff, give me the bad news. Just how much are
repairs going to set me back?”

“Landing gear shot, windscreen replacement, two engines
needing cleaning and checking. I don’t know, Danny, this is probably going to
cost a lot.”

“Say a number.”

Cliff said a number and the Wings almost fainted dead away.

“So, what you’re saying is that I’m never going to fly
again,” the Wings concluded.

“Well, if it comes to that, I’ll be willing to buy what’s
left of her from you. I can’t pay much, but it will be more than the scrapyard
will give you.”

“Gee thanks, Cliff,” the Wings replied. “Have you got a
phone somewhere that I can use?”

“Yeah, in my office there,” Cliff said, pointing.

While Cliff worked with his team to unload Danny’s plane,
the Wings used the phone in the office to phone in his test results to the
Gulch. The Flowers answered the phone on the fourth ring. Obviously they had
called off the farce with the surveyors. That probably meant good news. It was
nice that someone was having a good day.

“Oh hi, Danny. How’d your test go?”

“Well now on that account, I have some good news and some
bad news.”

“What’s the good news?”

“I passed.”

“And the bad?”

“It looks like I won’t be flying the Gulch route anymore,”
the Wings explained solemnly.

“What?”

Danny explained.

The Lonesome Moose was packed. Aside from the usual
suspects, Thomas, Pete, and Mark were in attendance and blinking at the chaos.
I guess their usual board meetings didn’t look anything like ours.

Since word had spread that the pipeline was off, the mood
was celebratory and chaotic, and Big John had a terrible time bringing things
to order. This time I didn’t get up on a chair and threaten to shoot something
to quiet them down. Let them have their moment of happiness before we discussed
the Wings.

Eventually Big John broke his gavel and finally resorted to
offering free whisky to everyone if they would just be quiet. That got a cheer,
but it was a unified cheer. And since I wasn’t worrying about calendars
anymore, this time I also indulged.

Thomas, Pete, and Mark learned their first Gaelic by
toasting
slan leat!

Finally Big John got everyone’s attention and was able to
tell them about the Wings. Our mayor is a fabulous raconteur when he has a
couple drinks in him and he gave his recitation the full dramatic treatment.

“It was damned fine flying that saved his life and that of
the government man,” he concluded. Everyone was quiet, spellbound by Big John’s
yarn. “But the plane is a right dog’s dinner now and no mistake. He will need
about six thousand to repair it. And that’s six thousand he doesn’t have.”

I stood.

“Since it is of benefit to the entire town that the Wings
keep flying, and since we have a little money put by for a rainy day—” I meant
the mob money that was left from the plane crash but didn’t spell it out in front
of our guests, “I say we put it to good use and get that plane repaired.”

The acclaim was unanimous, the cheer being even louder than
for free whisky.

“So, Big John, you have the special gift box?” I asked when
things had quieted to the point that there was a chance of being heard.

“Aye.” He pulled out an old Scooby-Doo lunch pail and put it
on the table. Inside was the last of our cash. There were still some jewels
that we could hawk if we got desperate, but this was the last of the
untraceable paper money.

We heard the sound of a plane overhead. It was louder than
the Wings’ plane and sounded strange. Wrong.

“Okay then. Let’s go meet that airplane and give the Wings
his present!”

*  * 
*

Danny was feeling depressed. It was the first time in years
that he hadn’t been in the pilot’s seat and it made him feel pretty useless. He
also had to bite his tongue and not tell Keith Overton how to land the plane.
Keith was an okay pilot. It was just the Wings was a better one. He could
probably even land this oversized crate in town. Probably. If no one was on the
street.