Chapter 4 #4
Pancho winced as they swerved hard and ran off the road to avoid hitting it.
Marvel stomped on the brakes, but not soon enough.
They slammed through a weathered wooden fence.
A horrible cacophony of splintering wood and high-pitched squeals filled the air.
The car came to an abrupt stop, with a sucking noise of wet mud clutching at their tires.
“I think we found a pigpen,” Pancho announced dryly.
Marvel rocked the car back and forth several times to free the tires from the muck before giving it gas and attempting to break free. But the tires spun fruitlessly beneath them, and the car didn’t budge.
“I think we’re stuck,” Marvel announced. She cast Pancho a frank look. “We’re gonna need a push here.”
Pancho huffed, but there wasn’t any help for it.
Gingerly, she climbed out and picked her way around behind the Duesy.
The mud, which stank to high heaven, was only about ankle-deep but as slick as hot grease.
No wonder the car got stuck. She did her best to dig her boots down through the layer of muck to get some traction as she put her shoulder against the rear-mounted spare tire and called, “Go!” Pancho pushed with all her might as Marvel gently gave the car gas.
Smart girl. She’d obviously been stuck before and knew not to spin the tires endlessly and just dig them in deeper.
Grunting with effort, Pancho heard the sticky sound of mud releasing the wheels right before the car shot forward, out from under her shoulder. She fell but managed to land on her hands and knees, coming face-to-face with a small but very ferocious-looking piglet.
“Easy now . . . I’m just getting on my way. Be out of your mud in a blink.”
With an adorably angry grunt, it charged at her. Pancho shoved upright just in time for the young pig to slam into her shins and send her staggering back, windmilling her arms like crazy. She managed to stay on her feet, but just barely.
The little rascal charged her again, but this time she was ready. Just before he rammed her, she channeled her inner bullfighter and sidestepped the pink bundle of rage, leaning down to scoop him up into her arms.
He kicked and squirmed, letting out a shrill sound of rage. If will alone could have broken Pancho’s grip, the pig would have won the day, but she was strong from wrestling the controls of unruly airplanes and managed to hang on to the tiny devil pig.
The Duesenberg idled on dry ground past the mud wallow, with its driver’s side door open. Pancho slopped toward it, abjectly grateful when she finally made it out of the treacherous muck.
In the Duesy’s headlights, she spied Marvel unlatching a gate on the far side of the pigpen. “Whatchya got there, Pancho?” Marvel asked as she headed back to the car.
“Got me a fat pink piggy. Little toot thinks he’s a full-grown boar and tried to chase me out of his mud hole.”
“Is he on the racing committee?” Marvel asked.
“Seems like he’d fit right in.”
Pancho chuckled as the car drove through the open gate. She turned her little buddy loose just inside the pen and then latched the gate. Not that it would do much good. The pen’s fence on the other side now had a Duesenberg-sized hole in it.
“Those lights ahead are in the middle of a field,” Marvel said. “I’ll bet that’s where the plane went down.”
Pancho stuck her head out the window to get a better view and spied the silhouette of a high-wing, closed-cockpit airplane. And it appeared to be in one piece. “It’s a Monocoupe, and it didn’t crash!” she cried jubilantly.
“That’s Phoebe Omlie then,” Marvel responded.
Pancho started to duck back inside the car but stopped halfway, staring.
“Are those police cars?” She made out a half dozen vehicles.
The front three were black, unmarked sedans.
But the rear trio were light-colored Model A’s with big silver stars on the doors and the word Sheriff painted on their hoods.
“Worse,” Marvel groaned. “Those black cars look like Feds. Can’t tell if they’re dry agents or worse. Either way, they must’ve pegged Phoebe for a smuggler. They’ll tear her plane apart looking for contraband.”
“I already stopped one pig tonight. Guess I can stop a few more,” Pancho declared as they neared the vehicles.
As Marvel parked the Duesy, Pancho spotted a pair of men running their hands over the Monocoupe’s tail. One man drew back a fist as if to punch a hole in its fabric covering. “Stop!” she hollered at him.
The man looked up, scowling. But at least he didn’t follow through with putting a hole in Phoebe’s plane.
Marvel sent Pancho a worried look. They climbed out and tromped over to where Phoebe stood, surrounded by lawmen. A nasty-looking federal agent glared at her and Marvel, the look on his face defiantly unwelcoming.
“Hey, Phoebe!” Pancho said warmly. “Glad to see you and your plane are okay!”
“Man, am I glad to see you!” Phoebe turned back to the G-man. “These ladies are—”
“Your accomplices,” Agent Pullman interrupted. “I was waiting for them to arrive before I hauled you all in.”