Chapter 18

I needed to get to Austin ... my SPAD was lonely. Next year... 17. I can get a license. I know Junior would sport me a license ... if I wanted one the size of a card table ... I don’t. At 17 I can get one legal world wide.

The bar owner’s wife’s car made it to Bud Field. I dumped it in the road ... left the keys in the ignition and the title on the seat I have a perfectly good 1934 Ford sedan ... and a 1964 Volvo 544 Sport. Alice finally confessed that it was my money that paid for the car.

I had wondered why she never objected to Surprise using the 544 to get to school. Now I know.

My sail bug was squashed flat ... I want to fly. The Dr1 was parked under the AD1-Q’s wing. The Triplane weighs ... dry minus pilot... 397 pounds ... well under Princessapality 1657 pound weight limit. Mine had the discontinued Verner Scarlett 5 cylinder 2725 cc / 166 cubic inch engine, not a ton of power ... just perfect to putt around the sky.

Taxi to the head up by the helicopter pads ... check in with Bud ... inform the airbase and take off. Down hill gives the best takeoff run. By the time I was over the SPAD hangar I was already at 600 feet and climbing. East is large patches of space ... truck gardens ... which I own. Well ... Flintkote Farms owns.

That reminds me ... I remember seeing a For Sale sign in front of the Baptist church just to the east of Bud.

Note to self ... buy it.

Cell phone. “Call Flintkote Farms.”

“Mrs. Zájara, please.”

“Selene Flintkote.”

“Hi, Selene Flintkote here. I need you to buy the Baptist church next door to Bud field.”

“Yes, ma’am ... that Flintkote.”

“Feel free to dicker ... anything under 2 million is yours as a bonus.”

“Yes. ma’am, under 2 million.”

“Thank you, I’ll stop in one of these days. No.”

“I am perfectly satisfied with your performance.”

I hung up.

She bought the place for half a million.

Hell of a bargain. Half a million from 969 to the river.

So ... I’m putting around my sky when I was accosted by a Newport 25, A SPAD S XII, and a Camel ... all contemporaries of the Fokker.

Oooo ... fun! ... The Fokker will stand on its tail and sorta bounce. Up-down-up-down ... repeat. Far and away more maneuverable than the other three.

The Camel driver held up a cardboard sign with a cell phone number ... what the hell ... I’m not driving a car ... And nobody said a pilot can’t talk on the phone.

“Yes?”

“Nice Dr1 ... where are you out of?”

“Bud Field. You?”

“Bud lets you use his airfield?”

“Yes ... where do you guys fly out of?”

“Lite Flite Austin Airfield.”

“That’s closed.”

“We have to trailer in and assemble at the runway.”

“Care to follow me in?”

“Sure,” the Camel pilot said. He disconnected.

I called Bud.

“Hey, Bud?”

“Yes, Selene?”

“I’m coming in ... you clear?”

“Yup.”

“I’m bringing guests.”

“No problem.”

“You haven’t seen them, yet.”

“Hey, Mrs. Zájara called. You bought next door?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It was for sale.”

“Got a wild hair?”

“Yup. More room.”

“I’ll start tearing out the fences.”

“Thanks, Bud.”

“Mrs. Zájara said she’d send a crew to clear out the trash. Saturday.”

“Coming in ... I have trailers.”

The four of us landed and taxied to the hangar.