Chapter 10

Hairy

I don’t know ... but I simply had to get away. “She’s not in my future.”

<You’re right. She’s not.>

“Damn! I was afraid of that.” At first I was ruminating in my mind; now I was vocalizing.

<We know.>

“You guys know everything,” I said, a little louder than necessary.

“Did you say something, sir?” That from the driver. Rats.

“Nothing to concern you,” I said shortly ... and grumpily ... too.

“Oh.” The ‘oh’ of Oh ... shit, there goes my tip.

“I didn’t mean to sound testy just now. I’m having the worst of bad days.”

“Women problems, sir?”

“How did you know?”

“It always is, sir. If we didn’t need ‘em to breed, we’d have hunted ‘em to extinction.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Sir. We were a bunch better off when girls had cooties.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Then we got nuts and they got tits and it was all over but the shouting.”

“How did you get so smart?”

“Masters in Psychology.”

“And you’re driving a limo?”

“No Doctorate.”

“There’s some truth in that.”

“At least it’s not in the Arts.”

“Would you like fries with that?”

We both laughed ... he laughed HaHA ... and I laughed sheesh.

We entered the airport grounds. He popped open the trunk. I grabbed the duffle. He grabbed the suitcase. He dropped the case at the flight desk. I still had the duffle on my shoulder.

“Tickets?” Asked the desk attendant. She was startlingly beautiful.

“Let me guess, Japanese, American, and Mexican.”

“Right the first time,” she smiled, and I forgot where I was. “Tickets?”

“Why, yes. Two to Denver.”

The attendant looked around.

“One ticket is for me ... the other is for the duffle.”

“What is in the duffle?”

“Would you believe two million dollars?”

“No.”

“Good.” I said, “Two to Denver ... on the Maytag.”

“We don’t fly Maytags.”

“I know ... you fly Aero Commander 500’s”

“Why?”

“Do I call them Maytag?”

“Yes.”

“During the War, the Japanese flew a G4M Bomber, code named Betty, over the ‘canal. The engines were deliberately out of sync so the Americans would know what was coming. The aircraft would circle our end of the island dropping small bombs all night long ... nobody got any sleep. The Marines called the plane “Washing Machine Charlie.” Maytag.”

“I see ... how fascinating.”