The Boxcar Blues (41 page)

Rosemary had been frightened to death ever
since Jones walked into her house. Now, after seeing Catwalk’s
gestures, she had some hope that somehow Cat and Curly would get
them out of this. She looked at Curly. Again, almost imperceptibly,
he nodded. Rosemary closed her eyes and said a prayer.

Three hours later, Catwalk called Jones up
to the cockpit. When the jailbird arrived, Cat said, “There are
storms building over the coast. I’ve got to stop in Guadalajara and
refuel, so we’ll have enough fuel to hold if we have to wait for
the storms to clear. We shouldn’t be on the ground for more than
thirty minutes. From there it’s only an hour and a half to
Acapulco, unless the storms delay us.”

Jones thought about this for several
minutes. Clearly, he was worried that the refueling stop would
present Catwalk with a chance to somehow foil his plans. He said,
“You listen to me, fella, and you listen good. While we’re
refueling, I’m going to have a gun pointed at your lady’s head.
Your buddy is tied up so he won’t cause any trouble. If I see
anything funny going on, or if anyone tries to get into the plane,
I’ll put a bullet in her. You’ve got to remember, I’ve got nothing
to lose. The worst that can happen to me is, I go right back where
I came from. Do you understand?”

“
Don’t worry.” Catwalk
insisted, “All we’re doing is refueling and no one is going to get
on the plane. I guarantee you, no tricks.”

Jones went back to the cabin and told Curly
and Rosemary. “We’re going to land and refuel. While this is going
on, I’m going to have a gun pointed at the lady. If anything goes
wrong, or anyone tries to pull anything, I will pull the
trigger.”

Rosemary looked at Jones, silently weighing
his words. She had to trust Catwalk to get them out of this, but
the odds seemed to be stacked heavily against them.

Curly watched Jones. He’d been praying that
he and Catwalk had the same game plan. With the refueling stop, it
looked like Catwalk was laying the foundation for their trap, but
he still knew, if there was any difference in their unspoken plans,
it would be fatal for all of them.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Catwalk landed at Guadalajara and taxied to
the transient refueling ramp. When the ramp attendant walked out to
the plane, Catwalk recognized Jorge Velasquez, whom he’d gotten to
know and had enjoyed an occasional lunch with, when they were
flying cargo flights down here.

Catwalk opened the cockpit window and said,
“Top off both sides, Jorge.”

Jorge was overjoyed at seeing his old
friend. “Hey, senor Catwalk, how have you been? I haven’t seen you
for a long time.”

Catwalk cursed Jorge’s congeniality. He
didn’t want to do or say anything that Jones could interpret as
being suspicious. And, he didn’t want Jorge to get the idea that
anything was wrong. He said, “I’ve been fine, Jorge. We don’t fly
through here anymore.”

“
That’s too bad, I miss
seeing you and Mr. Curly. How is he? Is he flying with you
today?”

“
No, not today, Jorge. I’m
running late, can you get us refueled as quickly as
possible?”

“
Si, senor Catwalk. I’ll
have you filled up in a jiffy.”

Catwalk felt the barrel of the pistol in the
back of his neck. Jones had appeared behind him. He said, “What’s
all this talk about?”

Catwalk slid the window closed, then turned
his head and said, “Just an old friend. He’ll refuel us and we’ll
be off the ground in no time.”

Jones wasn’t convinced. “God damn it,
Jackson. I swear if you’re trying to get help, your old lady is
dead in a second.”

“
I’m not doing anything
except getting the aircraft refueled. We’ll be taking off
shortly.”

Jones said nothing. Catwalk then heard his
steps retreating back into the cabin. He breathed a sigh of relief,
but only for a second. Jorge’s helpful attitude again raised the
level of anxiety.

Outside, he was motioning Catwalk to open
the window. Catwalk opened the window and Jorge said, “Hey, senor
Catwalk, you have much oil spray on your number one engine nacelle.
You should let me clean it off and check the level of your oil
reservoir.”

“
It’s O.K., Jorge. The oil
pressure is good and we don’t have far to go.”

Jorge looked at him with questions all over
his face. Catwalk knew it was because they both realized that any
other time, Catwalk would never start the engine until the oil
level was checked and brought up to the proper level. Catwalk said,
“How’s the refueling, Jorge? Are we about ready to go?”

Jorge said, “Is everything O.K., Senor
Catwalk?”

Catwalk silently cursed. He expected to hear
a gun-shot any second. Trying hard to sound convincing, he said,
“Everything is fine, Jorge. Couldn’t be better, except I’m late
with a real important load.”

“
O.K, Senor. I’ll get
going. You come back when we can have lunch again.”

“
I’ll do that, Jorge.
Thanks.”

A few minutes later another ramp attendant
appeared next to his engine with a fire bottle. Catwalk yelled,
“Clear on number two.” He then completed the engine start
procedures and sighed a, “Thank God.” He saluted the ramp attendant
and taxied toward the runway.

After departing he set his course for the
rugged hills south of Morelia. He’d flown over them many times when
they were flying cargo and often thought this would be a terrible
area in which to have engine problem, because level places where
you could make a forced landing were almost nonexistent. If you
lost power around here, your chances of surviving were slim at
best.

Once he leveled off, Catwalk again went over
the plan in his head, trying, for one last time to find any flaws.
Thirty miles south of Guadalajara, he decided it was time to put
the final phase of his plan into play. This was the moment when he
and Curly would find out if Jones was as predictable as they hoped
he was.

He eased back on the fuel mixture until the
number two engine started running rough. Then, he yelled out,
“Shit! God damned Mexican fuel.”

Jones came running to the cockpit. “What’s
wrong with that engine?”

“
I don’t know; the gauges
are all fine. The only thing I can think of is, we must have got
some bad fuel.”

“
Are you sure?” He pressed
the gun barrel against Catwalk’s head. “If you’re pulling
something, I won’t hesitate to shoot because there’s another pilot
in back, who can fly and right after I drill you, your old lady
gets it.”

Catwalk held up his hands and yelled. “Jesus
Christ, man. What could I be doing? Do you think I’m intentionally
causing an engine problem down here?”

“
What can you do? Can we
still fly?”

Catwalk looked at the rugged mountainous
terrain below him. “Yes, if this one quits, we can still fly on one
engine. The problem is, if we lose both engines. Then, I’ve got to
find somewhere to land, and as you can see, there aren’t any places
out there that are level enough to land on. If we lose both
engines, we’re going to crash — period.”

Jones ran back to Curly, took his gag off
and stuck the gun in his face. “Your pal says we might lose both
engines and if we do, there’s nowhere to land down here. Is he
telling it straight?”

“
Of course he is. It’s not
uncommon to get bad fuel down here. If we got some when we
refueled, the only direction we’re going is down and you’re going
with us.”

While Jones was busy with Curly, Catwalk had
adjusted the fuel mixture so the other engine started running
rough. He yelled, “Number one is running rough too. We’re going to
have to find a place to set it down.”

Curly said, “There ain’t anywhere down here,
Cat. You know that.” He looked at Jones, “You better prepare for a
crash landing.”

Jones stood back and broke out in a sly
grin. “Like hell I am. You prepare for a crash landing, chump. I’ve
got an ace in the hole and you gave it to me.”

Jones went to the back of the cabin and
hurriedly put on the only parachute in the plane.

Curly yelled, “Jesus Christ, Jones. For once
in your life, why don’t you do the right thing and give the
parachute to the woman.”

Catwalk heard this and knew the plan was
taking shape—but then, he had a sobering thought, it wouldn’t be
out of character for Jones to shoot everyone before he bailed out?
He had to keep him busy.

Picking up on Curly’s logic, he stood up and
yelled, “Give her the parachute, Jones. We’ve only got a few
seconds and we’re going in.”

Jones grinned and waved his pistol around
the cabin.

Catwalk yelled, “We don’t have much time,
Jones.”

Jones fired back, “You don’t’ have much
time, pal!” He then checked the parachute straps and wrestled the
door open.

Standing in the slipstream, he said, “So
long, suckers.”

Alton Jones jumped into the Mexican sky. For
a moment — just a brief moment — he was convinced he’d beaten the
odds and would be living an idyllic life on a beach in Mexico. Then
he pulled the rip cord.

Catwalk looked out the cockpit window and
saw his life’s nemesis falling toward the hills below. He brought
the fuel mixtures back to normal. Soon, both engines began purring
like a contented cat. He banked the plane to the north and set the
auto pilot.

He went back to the cabin. As he untied
Rosemary, he said “Everything is fine, honey and we’re going home.”
He then untied Curly and closed the door.

She asked, “You mean we’re not going to
crash? I though the gas was dirty.”

“
No, it’s not. Curly knew
if we faked having engine problems, Jones would want to save
himself. That’s why he brought only one parachute.”

Rosemary looked at Curly. He was laughing
hysterically.

Catwalk stared at Curly, then broke up
himself.

His soon-to-be wife said, “What’s so
funny?”

Catwalk said, “I’m guessing Deputy Jones got
the biggest surprise of his life when he pulled the ripcord and
nothing happened.”

Rosemary looked at Curly and said, “You
mean….?”

Curly nodded and said, “I was going to throw
that bad parachute away, until I found a better use for it.”

She looked at Catwalk, and said, “Curly
saved our lives, honey.”

“
That may be, but he’s
still the world’s worst chicken thief.”

THE END

About the Author

I was born and raised in Batavia, Illinois,
a small town that straddles the Fox River about 30 miles west of
Chicago. After our high school graduation, a friend and I found our
lives looking pretty bleak. We were thinking that this would be a
great time to head for Colorado. We were also broke. This meant the
only way we could leave town was by hopping a freight train. So we
jumped aboard a boxcar and headed west. Eventually this youthful
adventure blossomed into THE BOXCAR BLUES.

I joined the Marine Corps at the age of
eighteen and entered the fabulous world of aviation. Serving with
the Second Marine Air Wing in Vietnam I was awarded the Navy
Achievement Medal with a Combat V. Following my service I joined
the FAA and spent nine years as an air traffic controller at O’Hare
Field, the world’s busiest airport. After O’Hare I spent the next
twenty years at various other airports. Now you know why most of my
novels have an aviation based theme in them.

I started writing in the late 90s and have
had two historical novels published. I’ve also had the dubious
distinction of having 4 publishers show an interest in my work but
then go out of business prior to publishing any of my work. As of
this writing I have three more novels and two nonfiction books that
will be out in the next two years.

An avid outdoorsman and photographer, I
currently live in Tucson, Arizona with my wife Diane and our
spoiled rotten cat, Pumpkin. My e-mail: [email protected]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

These are my novels that are available at
Amazon now, or will be there soon.

THE TARGET
—
Someone is stealing
military jets, leaving behind no trace of plane or pilot. As a
field agent for the International Bureau of Investigation, Loretta
Goldberg is sent to investigate. She uncovers the ingenious method
used to steal the jets, then finds out that she’s only digging up
what the criminal masterminds want her to find. Knowing the stolen
jets will be used for a hostile act, Loretta breaks all the rules.
This puts her at odds with bureau management, who think the target
is Air Force One. Loretta knows better and calls in a former agent
and part-time lover to help her crack the case. Together they buck
the system, against a decreasing time element, to take down an
enemy syndicate that is bent on capturing—The Target.

The next two novels I wrote were about a
couple who are in the risky business of recovering stolen
aircraft.

CARIBBEAN SPLASH
is a one-of-a-kind novel where two people find a
seven year old child asleep in a plane they just recovered. When
they discover that she’s the child of a former drug kingpin, they
know they have to return her — but after stealing his plane, the
drug lord won’t welcome them with open arms. Now they wonder if
they’ll survive the encounter??

In
ESCAPE
, the duo go to Russia to
recover a plane, only to find out they’ve been used to smuggle a
political assassin out of the country. They get out of Russia, but
then discover that they’ve been framed for an act of sabotage at a
Russian military base and their pictures are plastered all over
European TV. To flee eastern Europe they have to use trains,
planes, boats and that old escape stand-by, a Turkish furniture
van.