Read Online Fool's Flight (Digger) by Warren Murphy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Warren Murphy
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Foxy had to help me."
"Foxy?" Digger made a show of writing down the name.
"Our stew. Melanie Fox. It’s a nickname, for Christ’s sakes. We call her Foxy."
"Oh, I see." Digger made an equally large display of crossing out Foxy from his note pad. Notes were nonsense. He could feel his tape recorder vibrating gently against his back. The open-mouthed frog tie clip that housed the unit’s microphone was picking up more of Randy Batchelor than notes ever could.
"Anyway, we were in the lounge and I was heaving like I had morning sickness and before we got back to the plane, Steve is taking off. It’s too late to do anything about it, so we’re left there holding our hands on our asses."
"Very strange."
Batchelor shrugged. "I guess. I know a lot of times pilots take off without passengers. They leave some of them behind. I almost did that once. I had a charter out of Pittsburgh and I was so goddam busy getting the plane ready that when the tower told me I was cleared to move into takeoff position, I forgot that I was still waiting for these corporate bigshots. So it happens. Stews are left behind a lot, especially if they’re a couple of minutes late. But not cockpit crew. That’s weird."
"It certainly is. In all my years of experience with planes, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like that," Digger said. "What do you think happened?"
"I don’t know. The flight was a local. Steve could handle a hundred like that by himself. You wouldn’t want a better pilot."
"I understand he had a drinking problem?"
Batchelor shook his head. "No, that’s not right. He had one once but that was a long time ago. He didn’t believe in drinking anymore."
"Sounds born again," Digger said casually.
"Something like that. He was in a church and he had straightened out. No more booze. I thought he was nuts because he was a good drinking buddy in the old days but who knows what gets into people. He was so good lately he was a pain in the ass." He glanced at his watch again.
"I’ll only be a few more minutes," Digger said. "Whose idea was it that you leave the plane when you got sick?"
Batchelor thought for a moment. Then a look of understanding came over his face. "It was Steve’s," he said. He thought some more. "Sure. It was Steve’s. I was feeling like cooked shit and he said, better go back to the crew lounge. Get some Pepto-Bismol or something. The walking would do me good. Yeah. That’s right. And he told Foxy to go with me to make sure I was all right."
He stopped, looking off into space as if he had just understood something that had been puzzling him for a long while. Digger looked at him carefully, wondering what he had just discovered.
"The passengers were aboard by then?" Digger asked.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess they all were."
"Did you fly with Captain Donnelly a lot?"
"I was here first when Interworld first opened. Then Steve came. We were generally a team. He had stopped drinking but we still used to bounce around a little. Then he got religion and we didn’t bounce much…I don’t know, I always thought religion was supposed to make you happy, but he wasn’t exactly Maurice Chevalier."
"Few of us are," Digger said. "It’s so hard towhistle while you’re dancing. Were you close friends?"
"Like how?"
"You know. Golf together. Weekends at the old cabin in the woods. Make-believe business trips out of town. Wives and husbands together for a four-hand game of gossip. You know what I mean."
"No, never like that. Steve was too inside himself lately. And I never liked his wife."
There was something in the way Randy answered that last question, Digger thought. Wasn’t there? It seemed as though Randy was no longer worried about Digger, but something entirely different.
"When you saw the plane taking off, what did you do?"
"I said ‘shit.’"
"Nothing else?"
"What else? Throw rocks at it?"
Batchelor glanced at his watch again. "Listen, I really…"
"It’s all right," Digger said. "I’m done
"Foxy?" Digger made a show of writing down the name.
"Our stew. Melanie Fox. It’s a nickname, for Christ’s sakes. We call her Foxy."
"Oh, I see." Digger made an equally large display of crossing out Foxy from his note pad. Notes were nonsense. He could feel his tape recorder vibrating gently against his back. The open-mouthed frog tie clip that housed the unit’s microphone was picking up more of Randy Batchelor than notes ever could.
"Anyway, we were in the lounge and I was heaving like I had morning sickness and before we got back to the plane, Steve is taking off. It’s too late to do anything about it, so we’re left there holding our hands on our asses."
"Very strange."
Batchelor shrugged. "I guess. I know a lot of times pilots take off without passengers. They leave some of them behind. I almost did that once. I had a charter out of Pittsburgh and I was so goddam busy getting the plane ready that when the tower told me I was cleared to move into takeoff position, I forgot that I was still waiting for these corporate bigshots. So it happens. Stews are left behind a lot, especially if they’re a couple of minutes late. But not cockpit crew. That’s weird."
"It certainly is. In all my years of experience with planes, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like that," Digger said. "What do you think happened?"
"I don’t know. The flight was a local. Steve could handle a hundred like that by himself. You wouldn’t want a better pilot."
"I understand he had a drinking problem?"
Batchelor shook his head. "No, that’s not right. He had one once but that was a long time ago. He didn’t believe in drinking anymore."
"Sounds born again," Digger said casually.
"Something like that. He was in a church and he had straightened out. No more booze. I thought he was nuts because he was a good drinking buddy in the old days but who knows what gets into people. He was so good lately he was a pain in the ass." He glanced at his watch again.
"I’ll only be a few more minutes," Digger said. "Whose idea was it that you leave the plane when you got sick?"
Batchelor thought for a moment. Then a look of understanding came over his face. "It was Steve’s," he said. He thought some more. "Sure. It was Steve’s. I was feeling like cooked shit and he said, better go back to the crew lounge. Get some Pepto-Bismol or something. The walking would do me good. Yeah. That’s right. And he told Foxy to go with me to make sure I was all right."
He stopped, looking off into space as if he had just understood something that had been puzzling him for a long while. Digger looked at him carefully, wondering what he had just discovered.
"The passengers were aboard by then?" Digger asked.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess they all were."
"Did you fly with Captain Donnelly a lot?"
"I was here first when Interworld first opened. Then Steve came. We were generally a team. He had stopped drinking but we still used to bounce around a little. Then he got religion and we didn’t bounce much…I don’t know, I always thought religion was supposed to make you happy, but he wasn’t exactly Maurice Chevalier."
"Few of us are," Digger said. "It’s so hard towhistle while you’re dancing. Were you close friends?"
"Like how?"
"You know. Golf together. Weekends at the old cabin in the woods. Make-believe business trips out of town. Wives and husbands together for a four-hand game of gossip. You know what I mean."
"No, never like that. Steve was too inside himself lately. And I never liked his wife."
There was something in the way Randy answered that last question, Digger thought. Wasn’t there? It seemed as though Randy was no longer worried about Digger, but something entirely different.
"When you saw the plane taking off, what did you do?"
"I said ‘shit.’"
"Nothing else?"
"What else? Throw rocks at it?"
Batchelor glanced at his watch again. "Listen, I really…"
"It’s all right," Digger said. "I’m done
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