Homeward Bound: Chapter Sixty-Two

Homeward Bound: Chapter Sixty-Two

      As we start our second cup, I let the air force regulars know that I spent six years in the air national guard as a flight line mechanic. Dub tells me that one of his good buddies, Henry, is a flight line mechanic. "Works in the hydraulic shop," he tells me. We three air force people spend a few minutes discussing how screwed up the non-coms are, and even more screwed, the officers. 

     "Well, what do you think? You guys want to make it to Cal., or what?" Omar asks when we've finished our second cups.

     "What about our stuff? We got a whole carload, tools, camping equipment, suitcases… How much will your Buick hold?" Vance asks.

     "Why don't we go over and take a look?" Omar answers.

     The Buick is the biggest modal they make, with a gigantic trunk. Omar explains that he'd only packing a duffle bag and a small over night bag. "The girl don't have too much. She told me she travels light," Omar tells us.    

     We agree that we could pile a lot of stuff on the back floor. "Looks like we wouldn't have to leave too much behind. Maybe the tent and some of the tools," Vance tells us.

     "What about sharing expenses? I mean, we got to be really tight. That’s why we got to split… What say, we divide it three ways you, the girl, and us? Jack and me can do most of the driving. You know, we got oil, and extra gas and stuff we can throw in…"

     "Three ways? I figured we'd each pay a share," Omar tells Vance.

     "Yea, but you know, the three of us are like a team. Besides, we got a lot of canned food and stuff. We can cook most of the meals," Vance says as Anne and I nod our heads in agreement. 

     "O.K. That's cool," Omar says nodding his head.

     We arrange to meet Omar Thursday morning before he starts work at eight. We'll load everything we can fit into his Buick. Dub will let us into the motor pool to wash the car. We'll put our left overs in storage, and sell the old Plymouth. Omar will meet us downtown. We shake hands all around when everything is agreed.

     "What do you think of the cat?" Vance asks as we head for the main gate. 

     "A little dumb, but he seems all right," I answer.

     "Christ, he sure ain't too heavy into making money, is he? I mean, collecting newspaper. Picking fruit? I don't know what the canneries pay, but I know you don't make no money picking fruit."

     "You notice, he had his friend pay for the coffee," Anne tells us.

     Yea, what's his name, Dub? That's really nice of him to let us wash our car… Christ, I wonder what we'll have to pay for storage?"

     "We'll have to check it out first thing in the morning," Vance tells me.

     "We'd better stop at the airport first. If I get on, you know, I'll bust my ass and make a really good impression. I'll probably be able to get you on with me in a week or so. You know, guys are always quitting flight line work…"

     "Who knows, maybe something will turn up in the paper tomorrow," Anne tells us.

     While we're washing up at the train station, the old porter stops in and greets us. "How you doing, boys? You ain't found yourself no place to stay?” 

     "No, in fact, we might just head out for California. Don't look like there's no work in these parts."

     "Oh, California is nice. Sun shines there all year round," the old man tells us.

     "Yea, well, you get your share of sunshine here, too. It's really strange to see it still shining after ten."

     "Oh, it takes some getting use to, the sun… You boys just remember if you stay, or you come back, you always welcome here. Day or night you welcome," the porter tells us and steps into a little storage closet.

     "There's an f---ing job for you, Daley. Just pop in and welcome the transients. I mean, have you seen his ass clean up once?" Vance asks as we make it back to the car.

     "Well, he's still a nice old guy. I wonder if they'll be this friendly in California? I mean, the two at the Cottage, the bookstore owner, this old cat, even the chick at the union hall. I don't think we're gonna find people any better than this…"

     When we sit down to eat, we find that the special on Tuesday is beef stew. Sopping the extra large portions with white bread, we fill our bellies and linger over a third cup of coffee. Paula tells us to be sure to let her know if we decide to go to California.

    As we pull into our sleeping spot, Vance smells gasoline. We look under the hood, and discover fuel squirting all over the engine. On closer examination, I find a crack in the copper tubing that runs from the fuel pump to the carburetor. "Christ, Vance says as he steers towards town, "doesn't this get you right in the nuts? I mean, this bitch could explode if the gas hits the manifold, couldn't it?"

     "Can it really?" Anne asks as she grabs my arm with both hands.

     At the first gas station, the mechanic is off until eight A.M.  At the next, it's the same thing. "You could tape it," the attendant at the third station tells us. I pull a roll of black friction tape from my flight line bag, and slow the leak to a trickle.

     "Christ, You'd think these frigging attendants could replace a God dammed gas line. All they want to do is pump gas, the lazy bastards. You know, if it would'a held off one more day, we'd'a had the thing sold," Vance tell us.

     "It shouldn't cost no more than a couple bucks," I answer.

     "Yea, but if the tape holds, the cat is still getting a bargain."     

     "But, if he smells the gas," I say and feel Anne's body pressing closer.

     In the morning, we find that the gas is trickling down the tape with little chance of hitting the manifold. We decide to hold off on getting it fixed until after we visit the airport. Walt promises to check around to see if anyone needs a good work car just in case I don't get hired.