Chapter 31: Shopping

Thank God, there's two fields in Clinton. One dead east and one a little south of west. Bill arranged a huge private hangar and wound the watch. A trifle too far, if the covered wagons under attack was any judge. What he could see of the weapons were muzzle loaders. Probably 1840's. He pushed the stem and was standing next to the plane when the kid ... with the GPS unit in his hand ... stepped out.

The kid freaked. Remember, Bill is bigger than any two men. Carrying the kid by his belt, Bill stepped out the side door and chopped the older fella standing guard in the throat. It didn't kill him but he was going to be drinking soup through a straw for a long time.

Bill dialed the local FBI and the NTSB. The FBI said don't touch anything. The NTSB said the FBI could handle it. This was a Federal crime. The Feds handled it ... the kid was the nephew of the fixed base operator ... he had some 'splainin' to do.

'Splainin' ... Ricky Ricardo's Cuban version of explaining.

When everybody was happy ... except for the alleged guilty parties ... Bill called and ordered a new GPS, the Feds kept the old one ... evidence ... and stepped in the hangar.

Ah ... November, 1945. Cold and windy, but Bill was ready for that. He walked to the tower, confused everybody inside, had a bowl of chili and asked for a ride. Since the war ended, the hangar Bill parked in was empty and he arranged to rent it for a couple of years. It was the same hangar he was parked in sixty years in the future.

"Where do you want to go?"

"The Flight School ... I hear they're busy destroying our country's heritage and I want to save what I can."

"That's a worthwhile project ... mind if I go with you?"

"Be my guest. You don't know what's available over there do you?"

"Nope ... they fly 'em in and park 'em. The smelter is running 24 hours a day." He pointed off west and a little south. "The smoke? That's it."

It was a forty Ford coupe that Bill rode in.

During the small talk on the way through Clinton, the driver complained about the car. "As soon as the '46's come out, I'm buying new car."

"Sell me this one."

"Sure ... it's not worth much. Fifty bucks too much?"

Bill like to have torn his pocket off getting at his wallet. "When you're done with it? Park it in the hangar."

"You gonna let me keep driving it?"

"Why not?"

"I might wreck it?"

"Stick it in the hangar if it'll still move."

They approached the Gate ... this was a real Air Base.

There was a gate guard ... of sorts. "What's yer buidness buddy?"

"I want to buy at least one flying aircraft. Who do I see?"

"You got cash money?"

"Ayup."

"See the fella just going into the Flight School building?"

"The one with the flannel shirt and khaki pants?"

"That's him ... he can deal with you. Want me to call?"

"Please."

"Perlite ain't you?" It was too late, they were already driving away.

Bill and the driver headed for the building ... about half way there. flannel shirt came out and stood by the door. There was a sign Parking for Official Business Only. The driver parked there.

Bill got out ... and out ... and out.

"Jesus ... you're a tall one. You remind me of one of the Cadet's we had here," commented Flannel shirt.

"I'll bet I do ... His name was 'Drink' as in a 'tall drink of water.' His instructor bailed out after disabling the radio."

"Yup ... that was him. Charlie down at the gate said you wanted to buy a flying aircraft."

"Yes, Sir."

"What do you want?"

"What do you got?"

"If the Navy flew it ... it's here and more coming in all the time."

"F-8?"

"Actually? Yes ... brand new. Got six."

"How long do I have to get it out of here."

"Not what it costs?"

"Well, that too ... and can I buy gas?"

"Gas we got ... truck loads ... airplanes by the thousands and cheap. F-8 ... oh, one eighty. F6? be right at one fifty. SNJ? hundred. It's pretty much the price of the motor. Something with two motors? two hundred and up ... depending. We got a couple of PB4Y's for four hundred. That's complete. As for time? Where you headed and how long before you get back?"