Chapter 24 #2
One by one over the next half hour, the rest of the pilots joined their circle, sharing their grief while the tiny flames illuminated their faces and sparkled off their tears.
Pullman was the last to arrive. He took something out of his jacket that made Pancho smile briefly. It was the bottle of tequila she’d carried in her coat from Mexico.
Pullman said, “I thought we might make a toast to Marvel.” He pulled out the cork and offered the bottle to her.
Pancho took it and held it up. “To you, sis.” She poured a bit of tequila on the ground before taking a swig.
The liquor burned a path to her stomach as she passed the bottle to Amelia.
The slightly sweet, earthy taste of the tequila reminded her sharply of sitting in the speakeasy with Marvel that first day they’d met.
Amelia said a few words about Marvel before taking a drink and passing on the tequila. The bottle made its way around the entire circle in tribute to their fallen comrade.
The wind changed pitch outside, moaning softly in a lament of its own. Is that you, Marvel, crying because your life was cut too short? She would like to think so.
When the bottle made it back to Pullman, he held it up, his gaze on the row of planes. “To the best example of courage I have ever beheld. Marvel Crosson.”
They stood there together until the candles burned down and the bottle of tequila was drained.
Pancho took a moment to make eye contact with each of the women in the circle. Then she looked up to the heavens and said clearly, “I’m going to finish this derby, Marvel. I’m going to finish it for you.”
Horace Aldridge smiled as he spoke to Ayers on the phone.
“Thank you for getting the information to me so quickly. I concur with your assessment. In light of the board’s finding, the race must be canceled.
Make sure the women are informed tomorrow morning.
I’ll make an announcement to the press here in Cleveland. ”
“I shall tell them myself,” Ayers replied.
Horace smirked at the pleasure in the good doctor’s voice.
“That appears to have gone your way, my dear,” his wife observed from the front door, where she was pulling on evening gloves.
Horace’s smile grew wider.
“Shall we go?” his wife inquired. “The curtain will not wait for us.”
Outside, their driver waited in their car. Horace pulled the rear door open for his wife and helped her in.
“Enjoy the performance,” he told her. “Regretfully, I have business to attend to.”
She made a sound of disappointment, but he really did have elsewhere to be tonight. The car pulled away, and he went back inside to call a taxi company. He wouldn’t risk using his own car to go to Vito Lazovsky’s casino.
When he stepped in the underground space, the madam recognized him and said, “Vito will be glad to see you.”
Like the first time he’d come here, Lazovsky didn’t waste time on pleasantries and waved him to the chair in front of his desk. “I hope youse come with the news you promised me.”
“I assume you have seen the headlines,” Horace said cheerfully.
Lazovsky tapped a copy of the newspaper sitting on the right side of his desk. From where he sat, Horace could see a picture of Marvel Crosson’s smiling face under a banner headline that read, “Found Dead.” Lazovsky shrugged. “A guy can’t always believe what he reads in the papers.”
“In this case, the story is completely true,” Horace confirmed. “I’ve ordered the derby grounded.” He did so enjoy hearing those words spoken out loud. “I hope you have my payment ready.”
Lazovsky smiled coldly. “I got what’s coming to you, right here.” Lazovsky slid an envelope across the table to Horace.
“Our agreement was that I would be paid in cash. That is far too thin to hold what you owe me,” Horace declared. Indeed, it would take a good-sized valise to hold what Lazovsky owed him.
“Telling me something’s gonna happen ain’t the same as it having happened,” Lazovsky bit out. “The race ain’t over until those dames stop flying and go home.”
Curious, Horace picked up the envelope and opened it.
Inside was a single photograph. His eyes widened as he recognized himself .
. . with a naked woman on his lap, kissing his neck.
“What . . . what is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“How did you fake this? I would never . . .” Outraged, he tore the picture to bits.
“I have plenty more where that came from,” Lazovsky informed him in amusement.
“See, I don’t do business without collateral.
The pictures are insurance that you’re gonna go through with killing this derby.
Or else another picture like that one is gonna be on the front page.
” He tapped the evening newspaper sitting beside him.
“A whole lot of people are gonna see it.”
How? How? Yes, I’ve had an occasional discreet dalliance .
. . but never here. It finally dawned on him how such a picture had been taken.
The cocktail the madam had served him that first night, the only time he’d ever met Lazovsky in person.
“You slipped a Mickey in my drink! I wasn’t even conscious when that .
. . that . . . filth was photographed.” Outrage exploded inside him, but the burly men watching him from behind Lazovsky convinced him to hold it in.
Lazovsky smirked. “Go ahead. Tell the press and all your fancy friends the picture’s a setup. Tell your wife. Let’s see who buys your story.”
Horace rose to his feet indignantly, and the thugs took a quick step forward.
“Don’t come back and waste my time until the race has stopped for good,” Lazovsky demanded. “I ain’t payin’ you a nickel until the job is finished.”
Horace jerked his vest down and marched out of Lazovsky’s office, livid. But by the time he slipped out the back door of the gentlemen’s club and onto a dark and deserted side street, his fury had been overtaken by horror. Another picture like that would utterly ruin him.
Thankfully, the race was canceled. Tomorrow morning, those supremely irritating females would pack their bags and head home. And he would take his suitcase full of cash and never darken Lazovsky’s doorstep again. He was done doing deals with the devil.
RACE DAY 4, EL PASO, TEXAS
“Ladies and gentlemen . . . please, may I have your attention?” Dr. Ayers tried.
The women pilots stood just inside the hangar with their planes, and just beyond the large doors, which had been opened this morning, a gaggle of reporters milled around, ignoring Dr. Ayers.
Not that Pancho blamed them. The press corps had been following along the route of the race since the beginning, and they’d pegged Dr. Ayers as a pompous blowhard, which he was.
“You think he’s waving his hands around like that because he thinks we’re a herd of cows that’ll be intimidated by it?” Pancho asked Amelia under her breath.
Amelia flashed her a quick smile. “I believe you might just be right.”
“He’s chosen this spot deliberately,” Pancho murmured, “which worries me. All the press is just outside, well within eavesdropping range.” She was still miffed that multiple reporters had given statements to the board of inquiry relaying things they’d overheard the women saying in private conversations among themselves.
“He’s acting like he’s about to make a big announcement,” Amelia commented, “which worries me, too.”
“Let’s give him a nudge,” she said to Amelia with a mischievous grin. Raising her voice, Pancho called out, “Well, Ayers, we’re all here, so spit out whatever you have to say. The sun’s up, and it’s time to get this derby going!”
The other pilots chimed in, agreeing with her and calling out that they wanted to get airborne before it got unbearably hot.
Dr. Ayers locked gazes with Pancho, and she stared back, refusing to be the first to look away. Triumph gleamed in his malevolent glare as he said loudly, “There will be no flying today.”
“Why in the blue blazes not?” she demanded.
“This derby is halted until further notice, so there can be a thorough investigation of why adequate security for the race was not provided by the local race committees,” Dr. Ayers answered.
“Are the male pilots stopping their derby so you can investigate whether or not they’ve had adequate security?” Pancho shot back.
“Yeah. I want to know the answer to that question myself,” Amelia called out.
Ayers spluttered and eventually responded, “I don’t see what that has to do with the women’s race.”
“It has everything to do with our race,” Pancho retorted. “From day one, we’ve asked to be treated exactly the same as the men flying in their cross-country race to Cleveland. I’ll ask the question again. Has the men’s race been stopped because of local security concerns?”
Dr. Ayers went red in the face, but he didn’t offer up an answer to her question.
Instead, from behind her, one of the reporters shouted, “No! The men’s race hasn’t stopped! They’re flying out this morning, right on schedule.”
Pancho crossed her arms over her chest. “Then I’m not stopping either.”
Dr. Ayers pointed at her. “This derby is grounded.” His voice rose as he said, “Grounded! You hear me? No one’s flying until an official investigation is completed.” He stalked over to Pancho and pointed his finger in her face. “I am in charge here. Not you.”
“Better pull that finger back, Ayers, before I break it off!” Pancho warned him. She glared at him, deadly serious.
“I never did hear such words from a female before!” Ayers burst out.
“Glad to be of service,” she declared sarcastically. Seeing as how he’d given up his spot in front of the women, she stepped forward to take it.
The women quieted immediately and turned to look at her.
Like Ayers, she raised her voice so the reporters wouldn’t miss a word.
“Ladies, we came out here to fly. If the men can still finish this race, there’s no reason we can’t do the same.
We’re aviators, no matter what our jodhpurs have inside them.
Courage isn’t the sole territory of men. Never has been.”