The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [64]
“Brad! Jesus, I can’t believe you’re here! She took off five minutes ago. She’s flying the King of the Sky to St. Louis.”
“In this storm?! I figured D. K. wouldn’t let her go till morning.” From his raincoat pocket Brad pulled out a small velvet jewelry box with a black silk bow. It was as hip as his stylish black jacket and square-toed shoes. “I had everything planned. I was going to propose.” He stared at the ring box, perplexed, as if it had tricked him.
“You don’t need to propose. You’re married to her,” Clark reminded him grouchily.
Sam stepped between them. “She needs help. Go to St. Louis, Brad. If you miss her at the airport, try the Royal Coach Motel.” She touched his face. “You’ve got a mustache. That’s new.”
“Yeah. You like it?” Brad touched his fingers to the trim black mustache.
“It looks good.”
Clark rapped her shoulder. “Sam!”
Brad stared at one, then the other, uncertain.
She shoved him. “Go, go on. ‘Just raise your hand up, Chief.’”
Not sure what she meant by the “Chief” remark, Brad nonetheless felt moved to kiss Sam. “Where’s that wankhead D. K.?”
Clark pointed to the lights of D. K.’s “office,” a trailer nearer the runway. Brad ran off through the rain in that direction.
“You’re crazy,” Clark told Sam. “Why are you encouraging him? Don’t encourage him.”
“Oh Clark, she’s got to marry somebody. She wants to have a baby.”
“Says you. Besides, that’s no reason to marry the same somebody twice. How many times does she have to be Mrs. Hopper Two? Or t-o-o? Two times?”
“Funny.” Sam found a pack of Destin’s unfiltered cigarettes on a shelf crowded with engine parts. She shook one out. “You’re probably right.”
Clark stared at her. “What the hell are you doing, smoking?! What about your vow to give it up if Jimmy Carter won?”
Sam inhaled with satisfaction. “Yeah, well, the right wing outfoxed me and Jimmy both. Jimmy and Rosalynn are taping up Sheetrock in Uganda these days and neocons are running the country.”
“Maybe so, but they’re only smoking the occasional Cuban cigar, even though of course they despise Cuba as an enemy of the freedom to hang out in Mafia night spots where big shots used to be able to have a little fun.”
“You’re getting cynical, Clark.”
“No, I’m not. I love my country.”
“And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking cigarettes for years.”
They stood for a while, watching Brad’s silhouette gesticulate behind the dirty window of D. K.’s small trailer. Finally Sam asked, “Do you believe Jack was actually in prison in Cuba?”
“It’s entirely possible.” Clark grabbed at the cigarette but the athletic Sam spun easily away from him and sucked in a long drag before grinding it out.
After calling for Malpy, they decided to wait there for the Maltese to return from whatever exploration he was on. They stared together into the night, Clark leaning against a doorpost, Sam leaning on him.
Sam sighed from time to time.
Clark said, “Annie’s too smart for Brad.”
Sam sighed again. “Smart? Love’s not smart. Hey, I’m not stupid and I opened a joint bank account with a woman who ran off with my life savings to Belize, and it was her investment manager at the bank that she ran off with. The bitches.”
“Sam, there’s no honor among thieves.”
“I guess they were really in love.”
“Will you stop defending Jill?”
“I want Annie to be happy.” Sam looked sadly at car taillights in the dark, hurrying away from her. “That’s all I want.”
Clark laughed, shaking his head. “Jeez, our generation. Annie’s right. We still believe it all—true love, true grit, New Deal, huddled masses, anything your heart desires. We still think if you want something, you can have it.”
“‘Keep hope alive,’ Clark.”
“Were you happy? Why should Annie be happy?”
Sam said, “Because in America things are supposed to get better.”
Chapter 20
Wing and a Prayer
The little plane was shaking. Her fingers doing a drumbeat on her instrument panel, Annie cheered as she climbed through the turbulence. To her surprise, a single sharp bark echoed her. She shouted