Chapter Seven
Four WeeksLater
Dadgum floatplane and its stupid propeller. Maybe I should have bought this thing new instead of used with all of the problems it has had so far. I kick the plane, being careful not to dent it. Had I kicked it a few years prior, I would have most certainly left a dent, but now… now things are different. I am different. I relax my shoulders and pull my cell phone out of my boardshorts. I guess it’s time to call Rusty; I need this plane up in the air by tomorrow. The phone rings, and Rusty answers in a raspy voice, “Yo Coop, plane troubles again?”
“You know it. This thing thinks I can fly it without a propeller; it won’t spin.” I pat the plane with my hand, shaking my head as though the man can see me.
“Again? This is the third time since you bought the dang thing. Are you sure it isn’t spinning?” I roll my eyes, trying to remember that this guy is a friend and keep my cool.
“Yes, Rusty, I am sure that it isn’t spinning. I kinda have to check that each time I go to fly the thing. Remember? Cooper Heyes, Pilot.” I point to myself and try not to be too rude, but he has got to be kidding me.
“Oh yeah, right. Okay. I will be over in a few. Let me just…,” I hear a toilet flush in the background as his voice trails off and the call hangs up. Nice Rusty, real nice. Note to self: remember not to shake Rusty’s hand when he comes to fix the propeller. The dude was just talking to me while on the toilet. Gross.
I grab my fishing pole and my tackle box from the boathouse and dangle my legs off the edge of the dock. Might as well catch some dinner while I wait for the town”s mechanic to come fix the plane.
I catch two whitings,and am able to gut them out, clean them, and stick them in the fridge before he arrives, toolbox in greasy hand.
“Hey, Coop,” he reaches out to shake my hand, and I hold them up in front of me.
“Oh, sorry man, I just got done gutting a fish. You probably don’t want that smell on your hands while you work. Pretty gnarly.” I sniff my perfectly clean hands, pretending to curl my nose up at the smell that isn’t there.
“No worries; I can’t stand the smell of fish. Thanks, Coop.” He shuffles around me, and I get a whiff of some major body odor coming from the man.
“Which plane is giving ya trouble? I motion for him to follow me to the larger plane sitting on the other side of my boathouse, and hold my breath as he moves in front of me again. This guy could really use some deodorant, like an entire stick of it.
“Want ta go ‘round to the driver”s side and start her up for me? I need to see what’s goin’ on here.” I head around to the pilot’s side of the plane, finally taking in a fresh breath of air, and hop in, flipping the switches to get the plane started.
“Alright, switch it off. I think I know what the problem is.” I switch it off and move around to the front of the plane to hear what he is saying. “Seems that the governor on the propeller might be malfunctioning. See this right here?” He has the panel to the engine off and is pointing to a little device near the engine. “This is the governor, and it is what regulates the propeller speed and is based off of the engine”s power.” I nod my head, like I know what the heck he is talking about, before responding.
“So… do you have the part?” I get a sinking feeling in my gut as he begins to shake his head.
“Naw, Coop, this here is one of those specialty parts I will have to order online. Will probably take a few days if we do a rushed order.” Dang-it all. Hopefully my customers will be okay with taking the smaller plane. I will have to reschedule some of my morning passengers to the afternoon tour, but hopefully they won’t mind too much. I will throw in some extra touristy things if they complain.
“Alright, Rusty, if you can order the part and have this fixed in a couple of days, I would really appreciate it.” He moves to shake my hand again, and I point to them, waving a hand in front of my face to remind him about the fish smell, that isn’t really there.
“Oh, right-i-o. Almost forgot about that. I will order that part right now.” He takes a picture of the placard near the entry door that the passengers use, which contains the manufacturer, model, and serial number for the plane, before heading back toward a beat-up pickup truck that might be just as rusty as his name, before heading off toward his shop.
I close up the engine and head across the sand to King’s. It’s still morning, so hopefully I have caught him before he heads over to the surf shop.
“King, where ya at man?” I lean over the counter of the bakery, trying to see into the back, where King is probably trying, and most likely failing, to bake something edible. Meg, King”s employee, pops up from where she is hidden, and I shriek like a little girl.
“Oops, sorry about that, Coop,” she yells, batting her eyes at me as she rests her elbows on the counter while the sound from her headphones assaults my eardrums. I reach up, tapping my ears, to show her that she still has her headphones in, and she plucks them out.
“Hey, Meg, where’s King? Shouldn’t he be here right now, or is he already at the surf shop?” I point behind me with my thumb, motioning toward the surf shop in the distance.
“Oh, he’s here. He is in the kitch—,” A loud thumping sound comes from the kitchen, cutting her words off as she spins around, just as a large puff of white floats up into the air.
“Meg!!! A little help please.” King’s voice rings from the kitchen as the clanging sound of metal reaches our ears, followed by a curse, and then another large slapping noise. I jump over the counter, and Meg and I head for the kitchen, where we find a disaster of a mess and King lying smack dab in the middle of it all. He is moaning on the floor, covered in flour, and something yellow and sticky. I reach out my hand, and he grasps it as I pull him up and out of the mess.
“Dude, what in the actual heck did you do?” We both look around the kitchen as King rubs at the back of his head.
“I.. uh… guess I didn’t have the bowl attached to the mixer correctly? It started wobbling on the countertop, and the next thing I knew, the stupid machine was going full blast, and…,” he gestures to the mess.
I thump him on the back and a puff of white goes up in the air, making us both cough.
We look over at Meg, and her mouth is hanging open on its hinges. She snaps out of it and shakes her head, “Uh, King. I hope you don’t think I am cleaning this all up. I’m supposed to be leaving in a few minutes.” She holds her hand out toward the mess, a look of disgust on her face.
“Nah, I’ve got Coop to help with that.” Before I can move out of the way, a floury hand whacks me on my back, and I stumble forward, my feet slipping and sliding on the mess on the floor. I throw my hands out for balance, and my feet come to a stop before deciding to go in opposite directions.
I am stretched out as far as I can go, my feet finally stopping on something sticky, before King lends me a hand. Grasping it, he hauls me back up from my awkward split position and we get to work cleaning up the kitchen.
“What were you trying to make this time?” I chuckle as I try to figure out the best way to clean up the sticky, floury mess off the floor. A wet cloth hits my head, and I grab it before it hits the ground.
“Just use these. There’s a ton of them in here, and I can just take them to a laundromat later and let their machines deal with it.” He throws a few more at me, and I dodge them, because who knows where they have been, and pick them up off the floor and set them on the clean part of the counter.
“So… ya gunna answer my question.. Or…?” I start with the section of the floor in front of me, waiting for his answer.
“Oh… right. Yeah. Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. I was trying to make my Uncle Bill’s chocolate chip cookie recipe, but I wanted to double it since I need to get over to the surf shop soon. Hence the flour.” He holds his hand out to the kitchen and shakes his head, a blob of flour and something else mixed in dropping from his hair.
“Uh, King. I think you might have a little something… uh… well… everywhere?” I laugh at him as he reaches up to touch his head again, pulling another piece of half mixed dough from his hair.
“So, what else ya got on your mind?” I grab another cloth and wipe up as much of the goop as I can before grabbing another one.
“Just… all the things, Coop. The bakery, that I have no clue how to run, and the surf shop, which is where I would rather be. It is just all too much.” He sighs as he throws his rag on the floor. The bell chimes in the front of the shop, and King shakes his head. “Meg’s probably gone, so I’ve gotta go take care of that. Be right back.” He dusts himself off and heads for the kitchen door, leaving a trail of floury footsteps as he goes.