Read Online The Diehard by Jon A. Jackson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jon A. Jackson
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all this snow and crap,” Byron said. He lit a cigarette and steered swiftly through the expressway traffic. They maneuvered onto westbound Edsel Ford and headed out toward the airport. “Be there in a few minutes, Ellie, but I can't guarantee this ten o'clock flight.”
Elroy slumped down in the back seat.
They rolled out of town past the bleak scenery of warehouses, fuel storage tanks, assembly plants. Soon there were bare trees and the median strip grew broader until it almost hid the westbound lane from the eastbound.
The taxicab shot by an exit ramp where a sign pointed to Metropolitan Airport. Byron cursed. “Goddamn. There goes your ten o'clock flight. Now I have to go all the way to the next exit and come back. Or do I? I guess I can take this service ramp.”
Elroy sat silently. “Oh well,” Byron said, “there's another flight at eleven. That'll be better, anyway. Give us time for a drink in the bar, eh, Ellie?”
The car turned onto a quiet road and soon they were driving along a gravel surface that ran along the perimeter of the airfield. There were no cars on the road, no houses. Jet airplanes took off and landed. There was a great deal of paper blowing around. The paper stuck against a low wire fence that bounded the airfield, or tumbled and skidded across the thin snow, catching in scrub brush.
“Is this the way to the airport?” Elroy forced out, almost in a whisper.
Byron slowed the car. “I think so,” he said. “There ought to be a way to get around to the other side.” He looked across the field at the distant terminal buildings and hangars. “No, maybe you're right, Ellie. I guess I screwed up.”
They cruised slowly, looking for a likely place to turn around. When they came to a little dirt track that led off through the scrubbrush, Byron turned onto it and drove in off the perimeter road about thirty feet and stopped. Byron got out. He opened the back door and beckoned to Elroy.
Elroy's face was paler than the dirty snow. He trembled in the heavy overcoat. “No,” he said.
“C'mon, Ellie,” Byron said. The big pitted face loomed in the doorway. He wore a brown wool workman's cap with a union badge on it. “We're going to walk.”
“Walk?” That didn't sound right to Elroy. His mind was flooded with panic and confusion. He was so abjectly fearful that he could not be certain of Byron's intent. He wanted to believe the best, that they were going to walk to the airport. “Something's wrong with the car?” he suggested plaintively.
“That's right,” Byron said. “Out of gas.” He stood in the snow and weeds next to the door, looking in at Elroy. Elroy sat primly on the seat, not daring to get out.
“But I'm going,” he said. “I'm going to Miami.”
“You should have gone then, Ellie. C'mon.” The big man reached in and dragged the smaller man across the seat and out the door. Elroy was so shaky that Byron had to hold him up. He walked him around the car and down the little lane, back through the brush and away from the perimeter road.
“I'll go to Miami, Byron,” Elroy rasped, “I'll go there and there won't be no trouble, honest.” He suddenly broke down and collapsed against the larger man, sobbing. Byron continued to move him along with his arm around him, almost as if comforting him. “Oh, God,” Elroy sobbed, “Oh, I can't help it. I can't help it. Help me, Byron.”
“It's all right, Ellie,” the big man said in a gentle voice, carrying the smaller man. “I'll help you. Just a little ways further, here.”
Elroy fell to the ground on his knees, his hands on the grimy soiled snow. Tears ran down his thin cheeks into the stubble of his beard. “Oh God, Byron, don't do it,” he begged. The tears were cold on his cheeks in the harsh wind.
Byron stood over him and looked somber. He puffed out his cheeks and breathed heavily. The wind made tears in his eyes.
“I'll give you the money back,” Elroy said.
Byron's brow knitted. He was a
Elroy slumped down in the back seat.
They rolled out of town past the bleak scenery of warehouses, fuel storage tanks, assembly plants. Soon there were bare trees and the median strip grew broader until it almost hid the westbound lane from the eastbound.
The taxicab shot by an exit ramp where a sign pointed to Metropolitan Airport. Byron cursed. “Goddamn. There goes your ten o'clock flight. Now I have to go all the way to the next exit and come back. Or do I? I guess I can take this service ramp.”
Elroy sat silently. “Oh well,” Byron said, “there's another flight at eleven. That'll be better, anyway. Give us time for a drink in the bar, eh, Ellie?”
The car turned onto a quiet road and soon they were driving along a gravel surface that ran along the perimeter of the airfield. There were no cars on the road, no houses. Jet airplanes took off and landed. There was a great deal of paper blowing around. The paper stuck against a low wire fence that bounded the airfield, or tumbled and skidded across the thin snow, catching in scrub brush.
“Is this the way to the airport?” Elroy forced out, almost in a whisper.
Byron slowed the car. “I think so,” he said. “There ought to be a way to get around to the other side.” He looked across the field at the distant terminal buildings and hangars. “No, maybe you're right, Ellie. I guess I screwed up.”
They cruised slowly, looking for a likely place to turn around. When they came to a little dirt track that led off through the scrubbrush, Byron turned onto it and drove in off the perimeter road about thirty feet and stopped. Byron got out. He opened the back door and beckoned to Elroy.
Elroy's face was paler than the dirty snow. He trembled in the heavy overcoat. “No,” he said.
“C'mon, Ellie,” Byron said. The big pitted face loomed in the doorway. He wore a brown wool workman's cap with a union badge on it. “We're going to walk.”
“Walk?” That didn't sound right to Elroy. His mind was flooded with panic and confusion. He was so abjectly fearful that he could not be certain of Byron's intent. He wanted to believe the best, that they were going to walk to the airport. “Something's wrong with the car?” he suggested plaintively.
“That's right,” Byron said. “Out of gas.” He stood in the snow and weeds next to the door, looking in at Elroy. Elroy sat primly on the seat, not daring to get out.
“But I'm going,” he said. “I'm going to Miami.”
“You should have gone then, Ellie. C'mon.” The big man reached in and dragged the smaller man across the seat and out the door. Elroy was so shaky that Byron had to hold him up. He walked him around the car and down the little lane, back through the brush and away from the perimeter road.
“I'll go to Miami, Byron,” Elroy rasped, “I'll go there and there won't be no trouble, honest.” He suddenly broke down and collapsed against the larger man, sobbing. Byron continued to move him along with his arm around him, almost as if comforting him. “Oh, God,” Elroy sobbed, “Oh, I can't help it. I can't help it. Help me, Byron.”
“It's all right, Ellie,” the big man said in a gentle voice, carrying the smaller man. “I'll help you. Just a little ways further, here.”
Elroy fell to the ground on his knees, his hands on the grimy soiled snow. Tears ran down his thin cheeks into the stubble of his beard. “Oh God, Byron, don't do it,” he begged. The tears were cold on his cheeks in the harsh wind.
Byron stood over him and looked somber. He puffed out his cheeks and breathed heavily. The wind made tears in his eyes.
“I'll give you the money back,” Elroy said.
Byron's brow knitted. He was a