Chapter 24 #3
“But we’re protecting you with this decision,” Dr. Ayers protested. “You’re . . . women!”
Pancho pointed a finger back at him. “We’re pilots!
” She stuck two fingers between her lips and whistled loudly.
The line of men holding the reporters back at the hangar’s entrance turned their heads in response to the piercing sound.
“Let ’em through!” Pancho yelled at the line of airport employees.
The reporters shoved forward aggressively.
As the airport crew stretched their arms out to hold the press back, some of the reporters dropped to their knees and crawled underneath them.
They came running, their expressions avid and their pens out.
Someone set down a movie camera directly in front of Pancho, and it started to click noisily.
“Mrs. Barnes,” Ayers spouted indignantly, “have you no shame?”
“Shame?” Pancho retorted. “You’re the one who should be ashamed. I suggest you stop trying to pat us on the head and treat us as if we’re fragile china dolls who might break at the slightest jostle.”
The women called out their agreement.
She continued, “While you’re at it, stop trying to tell us to crawl home and cry into our aprons instead of facing the challenge of flying.
I’ve got some news for you. I’m not the crying type!
This is the United States of America. A place where people come to build a brighter future.
I was born to a family that has been pushing the boundaries of flight since the Civil War.
I’m as proud as I can be to be part of this all-women’s derby. ”
“Are you proud of the way it claimed the life of Marvel Crosson?” Dr. Ayers demanded angrily.
Pancho didn’t bat an eye. “I’m proud of how Marvel refused to be intimidated by the cowardly actions of saboteurs!
I’m prouder than I can say of her courage, and I owe her no less than to demonstrate the same courage.
I’ll thank you not to utter her name again unless you have something positive to say about her. ”
Ayers opened his mouth. Closed it again. He clearly had no idea how to respond to this outright revolt.
“What are you gals gonna do now?” one of the reporters yelled.
“You can bet I’m not going to stand here letting anyone try to scare me into quitting,” Pancho replied for all of them. “Hey, guys. Help us push these planes out of the hangar. We’ve got a derby to fly!”
“You are grounded. grounded! I have made an official decision!” Dr. Ayers screeched loudly enough to freeze everyone in place.
Except for Pancho. She walked up to him and put her nose right in his face.
Expectant silence fell, with only the movie camera clattering away.
They expected her to call him names and insult him for a solid hour.
But she had something better in mind to bring him low.
Much better. She said in a pleasant, conversational tone, “Did you know, Dr. Ayers, that every woman in this race either owns the plane she’s flying or has a sponsor who provided a plane to her?
The organizers of this race have no ownership stake in the planes whatsoever.
Furthermore, we are all licensed pilots.
And that means each and every one of us can climb into our plane any damn time we want and fly anywhere we damn well please. ”
She paused to let that sink in for a moment before delivering the coup de grace. “And you, Dr. Ayers . . .” She enunciated her next words slowly and clearly: “Can’t. Stop. Us.”
Horror appeared on his face as the truth of her words struck him. He had no power to stop any of them from continuing the race. Over his shoulder, she saw the women breaking into grins.
She finished with, “If any or all of us choose to fly the rest of the race route, that’s our business and not yours. As for me, I’m flying to Cleveland.”
The reporters erupted into cheers that mingled with those of the pilots.
Ayers sputtered, but no one paid him any attention. The women were eager to get to their planes. It went without saying that they were all going to continue the race, whether or not Joe Nikrent timed them. They owed it to Marvel, plus they’d earned the right to finish the race.
Pancho turned on her heel and headed for her Travel Air, never once looking back at Dr. Ayers. She climbed up into the cockpit, strapped in, and put on her helmet. The race mechanics gleefully turned her plane, pushing it toward the open hangar doors. Outside, a blue sky beckoned.
“This one is for you, Marvel,” Pancho murmured. She stuck her head over the side of the cockpit and yelled, “Contact!”
Women are lacking in certain qualities that men possess.
Handling details essential to safe flying is one of the qualifications women have not mastered successfully.
Women have conclusively proven that they cannot fly.
Women have been dependent on men for guidance for so long that when they are put on their own resources, they are handicapped.
Horace Aldridge smiled as he read the opinion piece penned by Erle Halliburton, in which the oilman and airline owner blamed Marvel Crosson for her own death. Oh, that is rich! He must remember to pen the man a thank-you note after all the hubbub over the Women’s Air Derby being canceled died down.
In the end, things had turned out just as he’d intended. He’d had no reason, after all, to worry that the women would be too stubborn to quit the race or that the other race officials would foolishly allow the race to continue with so many disasters plaguing it.
He spent the remainder of breakfast picturing how he was going to spend the pile of money he’d come into.
No doubt about it. Doing business with mobsters had been a tricky beast. He’d prevailed, of course.
No criminal was going to get the best of him!
Although, that picture Lazovsky had given him haunted him.
Were there really more images like it? He wouldn’t put it past Lazovsky to bluff.
Horace knotted his tie and adjusted it in the front hall mirror.
If all went well, this was the last day he would ever have to work for a living.
He planned to stop by the casino on his way home from the office to pick up the cash from Lazovsky.
The mobster had better have it ready and waiting for him—
The phone rang.
Lazovsky has seen the headlines. I’ll bet he’s calling to congratulate me. He was going to enjoy hearing the mobster beg Horace to do business with him in the future.
“Hello,” Horace answered confidently.
“Sir . . .” Dr. Ayers sounded as if he were choking. “The pilots . . . they’re taking off!”
“What?” Horace squawked. “The derby is grounded!”
“They didn’t listen to me! It’s that Pancho Barnes again! She stirred them up, incited them to rebellion!”
“Manage the situation, man!” Horace yelled, too agitated to control himself. “That’s why I got you this job!”
“I can’t physically restrain them,” Dr. Ayers pointed out. “They own their planes and are licensed pilots.”
“Fine!” Horace snapped, seething. “I’ll deal with Pancho Barnes myself since you’re incapable of keeping her in line!
Don’t come looking to me for another job after this.
I do not hire inept fools.” He slammed the receiver back in the cradle.
His face was hot with temper, but his belly was icy cold with fear.
The evening edition of the news would surely report that the women had continued the race even after Marvel Crosson’s death.
The nerve of them . . . Focus. This was no longer about a bunch of upstart females. This was now about saving his own neck. He had to have a solid plan in place before Lazovsky learned the women were continuing the race.
It was Pancho Barnes or him. Only one of them was going to survive this blasted derby.