Rumble Tumble

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “Jesus Christ,” I heard Herman say behind us. “Run this fucker smoother!”

  “What you think you’re in?” Irvin yelled back. “A 747?”

  We flew on and I drifted in and out, mostly out, as the jerks and drops of the plane would bring me awake as soon as I dozed off. I felt cold and feverish at the same time. I looked out the window and saw the night earth running along under us, the plane a great shadow against the moonlit ground.

  “How are we?” I asked Brett.

  “Good,” she said. “I’m glad you were asleep. You missed being scared to death by a land rise, or as we say in East Texas, a mountain. We nearly ran into it. Someone, possibly Mexican Border Patrol, took a shot at us too. There’s a hole in the floor near the tail and we think the wing took a shot, and maybe one of the engines. You know that stuff I told you about never soiling my underwear. Well, I was wrong.”

  “Got any more aspirins?”

  “Yeah.” Brett pulled her pocket purse out of her coat and got out the aspirins and gave them to me. She went away then and came back with the canteen. I took a handful of aspirins and drank some water.

  “What about Tillie?” I asked.

  “Still out,” Brett said. “Had the shot been another three feet forward, she would have taken it. Shit, Hap. Is this going to end?”

  I patted her leg and gave her back the canteen. I turned and looked toward the back. Bill and Herman were sitting in one of the long seats together. Red had one of his own, looking out the porthole, biting his nails. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his cowboy hat and his string tie. There was just him and the soiled suit now. I saw Tillie on the floor, still as the dead.

  “Reckon if the Mexican Border Patrol took a shot at us a ways back, we’re in Texas now,” I said.

  Irvin, having overheard us, called from up front. “Actually, we’re about to enter Texas. There’s a kind of gap in surveillance here, and if we fly low enough, we’re okay on radar.”

  “So how much further to the landing strip?” Red called.

  “Not much,” Irvin said. “We’ll be passing into Texas pretty soon, then we got to do a half circle away from where the law is thick, come into the airstrip low enough to pick vegetables, then I got to land this baby without wadding it up. Which, by the way, takes pretty good skill. The landing strip doesn’t have any lights, just a handful of reflectors.”

  The moment Irvin finished his speech there was a sound like someone had fired a shotgun inside the plane. Briefly, I thought that’s exactly what had happened. We were tossed up and back down. I banged my head against the side of the plane, slid halfway to the floor, got my hands under me, pushed myself back into the seat, wished to hell there were seat belts.

  Brett was on her knees in the aisle.

  “Goddamn!” she said. “Goddamn!”

  I reached out and got hold of her and pulled her into the seat, feeling my shoulder tear, my injured thigh stretch. Brett and I looked over our shoulders for Tillie. Tillie had somehow gotten turned longways and was sliding down the aisle toward us on her belly. I glanced at Leonard. He was turned around, riding his seat like a horse.

  I heard Irvin say, “Oh shit,” and out of the corner of my eye I caught something, jerked my head for a better look. There was a flash of red and yellow on the wing and it swelled and turned orange and licked blue flames at its tips. The plane yawed and coughed and sputtered. The port engine was on fire.

  28

  Either one of the shots Brett said were fired from below had damaged the engine, or it had finally had all the dust, wasp nests, and lack of maintenance it could stand.

  The plane pitched and bucked as if in a carnival ride, lost velocity, then suddenly it was as if you were standing on something you thought was solid only to discover it was actually made of quicksand.

  We just dropped.

  The flames were wild now and in their glow I could see wisps of black smoke and the smoke coiled and curled around the wing and past the glass.

  Brett was in the aisle. She had hold of Tillie, was lying across her. I clung to my seat, glanced up, saw Leonard through the open cabin door. His face looked horrible, his eyes wide.

  The plane filled with a noise like a pride of lions roaring, and I realized it was the wind and flames. The fire was licking all along the wing now, tapping at the glass, asking us to invite it in. The wing was melting, becoming a tatter that resembled something made out of chicken wire and blazing toilet tissue.

  Then the plane went quiet, except for the roar of the flames, the hiss of the wind. We seemed to float, just float. The right side of the plane jumped and there was a whirling noise. We leaned starboard slightly, started moving forward and down, but at a calculated pace.

  I don’t know much about planes, but it occurred to me that Irvin had cut the engines. Maybe to stop the gas to the port engine. The flames were still there, but they weren’t as high as before. The right engine was all that was working now, and Irvin was using that to bring us down.

  I looked out the window, saw the ground was way too fucking close. The plane went silent again, the right engine out of play, the propeller whirling to a stop.

  “Out of fuel!” Irvin yelled. “Coasting in. Grab your asses.”

  Smooth and quiet we went, but like a bullet. I looked out the window at the flames on the wing, saw a stand of dark gnarly trees below us. And I mean just below.

  Ahead of us was a clearing, a metal hangar. It was the strip we had departed from. I had a moment of hope. I looked at Brett. She was still lying on top of Tillie, who to the best of my knowledge had yet to twitch an eyelash.

  I looked through the cabin doorway. Leonard continued to cling to and ride his chair like a horse. I could see the ground through the windshield. Big hard ground. The plane hit and bounced. It went way up, nose pointing at the sky, then it went back down, bounced again, not so high, bounced some more, then we were darting along the runway.

  The wheels screamed, bent under us. Next thing I knew the plane flipped, spun sideways, and skidded up a dust cloud, and finally, after what seemed about two weeks later, stopped upright, leaning.

  I wasn’t in my seat anymore. I wasn’t sure where I was. I discovered I had hit the wall next to the cockpit. My wounds had opened up. They were running freely. Except for a slight pain in my neck, there didn’t seem to be any new injuries.

  I looked into the cockpit. Leonard was getting off the floor. Somehow, Irvin had maintained his seat. Then I saw how. He had on a seat belt. He sat there with his head bent forward. Red was getting up between two seats and Herman was sitting on the floor holding his head. Bill was lying on the floor, and from the way part of him was wrapped around the stanchions of one of the seats, I knew he wasn’t doing well. Brett and Tillie had slid up under a seat, and I went over there and pulled Brett out. She had a banged forehead, a little blood. I sat her down in a bent seat and pulled Tillie out from under there.

  Tillie was snoring. I carried her and lay her across the seat so her head was in Brett’s lap. The plane was becoming very warm. I looked out a port window. What was left of the wing was blazing and the side of the plane was starting to catch.

  I pulled at the exit door, but it was stuck. I kicked at it and it came open. I got hold of Tillie and tried to lift her, but the wounds, the loss of blood, the crash, it had taken everything out of me. I had to sit down on the floor with her.

  Leonard appeared. He picked Tillie up and carried her out. Brett got hold of my arm and helped me out of the plane, onto the ground. Herman and Red followed. Leonard went back in. He came out carrying Irvin, who was unconscious. He went back in and brought Bill out. When he laid Bill on the ground Bill’s body moved like mercury flows. The foot on one leg faced the wrong way.

  “He’s dead,” Leonard said.

  “No shit,” I said. “What about Irvin?”

  “Unconscious.”

  “I want everyone to relax now,” Red said. We turned to look at him. His head was bleeding and his su
it jacket was almost ripped off. He was holding one of the Winchesters, pointing it at us.

  “From here on out,” he said, “we do as I say.”

  Leonard moved incredibly quick. He grabbed the Winchester by the barrel, snatched it away from Red, whirled it around his head and cracked Red a solid one over the ear. Red decided he had to lie down on that one. He held his head with one hand, said, “Oh God, I think something is broken.”

  “I advise we get away from the plane,” Leonard said. “And if anyone else has any ideas about guns or fighting, let’s get it over with now.”

  No one did.

  Leonard kicked Irvin a few times. Irvin grunted, opened an eye. “You can lay here, or you can get up,” Leonard said. “Personally, I think what’s left of your plane could blow.”

  Leonard picked up Tillie. Brett gave me a boost and helped me walk. My injuries only hurt now when I walked, breathed, or batted my eyelashes.

  I looked back. Herman and Red followed, Red holding his head. Irvin rolled to his hands and knees, crawled, finally made his footing and began to stagger after us.

  The plane didn’t exactly blow. It just burned and gave off a few muffled pops. It lit up the night sky like an oil well fire.

  29

  We made our way to the big tin hangar. We had parked our car and Bill’s truck in there. Irvin finally caught up with us. He had a key to the shed and he unlocked it. When he pulled the bolt back, Leonard put Tillie down, gave me the Winchester, helped Irvin open the huge doors. Leonard picked Tillie up again, and we went inside.

  When we were just in the door, the lights came on.

  The shed was full of very large men in very nice suits that had dust on them. One of the very large men was Wilber. He was the only one that didn’t have on a nice suit. He had on a cheap suit. He was still wearing his neck brace. He looked like a whiplashed Kodiak bear that had just finished shopping a Sears sale.

  One of the men wore a charcoal gray suit with a dark gray shirt and gray and blue tie with red highlights on it. His hair was combed down tight and he had the faintest touch of whiskery shadow. He was smoking a cigar, sitting on an old stool that came with the shed. He had a handkerchief draped over the stool and his ass was on that.

  It was Big Jim, and his expression was somewhere between amused and amazed. He had his legs crossed just right so as not to ruin the crease. His shoes appeared to be brand-new. He was looking past us, out the open doors at the blazing plane.

  All the big men, except Jim, had big guns. They closed in behind us and pointed their big guns and took the Winchester from me. I didn’t try to fight. That would have been useless. Red, bleeding slightly from the head wound Leonard had given him, smiled, limped over, and stood by one of the big men. He looked as happy as an erect dick.

  We were searched then. The man who searched Brett spent too much time at it. Leonard had been forced to place Tillie on the ground, and the same man went over and pulled up her shirt and looked at her for a moment.

  I said, “They call them women.”

  The big man grinned at me and held the big automatic he was carrying against his leg and tapped it there, as if trying to decide if shooting me would be more fun than beating me to death.

  Big Jim got off the stool, walked past us, stood at the open door and watched the plane burn. He said, “We heard it, but I hate to say we missed it. Anyone get killed?”

  “One,” I said.

  “Ah,” Big Jim said, “I’d say that’s pretty good odds. One out of all of you. ’Course, you look like hell, and surviving that isn’t going to do you any good.”

  “Red told you we’d be here, didn’t he?” I said.

  “That’s right,” Big Jim said. “He called us from someplace in Mexico. Some cantina, wasn’t it, Red?”

  “Yes, sir,” Red said, still a happy erection.

  Big Jim went back to his stool. He sat down on it and puffed his cigar. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and pointed the red end in Leonard’s and my direction. “You know, it took some balls, you guys to come into my whorehouse like that, shoot Moose in the foot, take my midget. Real balls. I respect that. Really. But, it pisses me off too. Red here, he says he wasn’t part of it, but you know, I got to wonder.”

  Red suddenly looked considerably less erect. “I was kidnapped, Big Jim. Really.”

  Big Jim looked at Wilber. Wilber didn’t move a muscle, didn’t flick an eyelash. Big Jim pursed his lips and turned his attention back to Red. “Wilber thinks maybe you were in with them.”

  “What!” Red said. “No way. No way, Big Jim.”

  “That’s Mr. Big Jim to your little red ass,” Big Jim said.

  “He wasn’t in on anything,” Herman said.

  “Herman,” Big Jim said. “Good to see you. Been a long fuckin’ time. I think the Bandito Supremes should have blown your brains out a long time ago. I think maybe they’re not as tough as they say. Don’t know how much longer I’m going to associate with them. Red here called to tell me he was down in Mexico. He didn’t expect you folks to return. But just in case, he wanted to tell me all about you so he could weasel his way back up my ass. I see you folks got Tillie back. My presumption is you found The Farm, and they were all ripped to the tits. Am I correct?”

  “Correct,” Herman said.

  “That’s no way to run a business. Personally, I don’t allow my men to indulge like that. These Bandito Supremes, they been trading on their reps too long.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Red said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Red,” Big Jim said. “Way I see it, I got a whole nest of rotten eggs here. I got the stoned whore who wanted out of my business, then didn’t finish her punishment at The Farm. I got the guys came into my whorehouse and shot the foot off Moose. Moose!”

  The man Leonard had shot limped from the back. His expensive pant leg was cut back and he was wearing a cast on his foot with metal braces.

  “See Moose there,” Big Jim said. “He’s got to wear that … what is it, Moose? Six weeks?”

  Moose nodded.

  “That’s a bad thing to do,” Big Jim said. “You guys coming in there like that, causing a ruckus, shooting Moose. He had to rip up some good pants. What, two suits, Moose?”

  “Two suits,” Moose said.

  “Antics like that do not encourage business. That wasn’t enough, you go down and get my whore from associates of mine who I was letting use her. I don’t like that. And you take my dwarf.”

  “Midget, sir,” Red said.

  Big Jim glanced at Red, turned back to us. “You took my dwarf. I don’t like that. He may not be worth much, he may even be a traitor—”

  “No sir, Big Jim,” Red said. “No, sir.”

  Big Jim turned and looked at Red again, said, “Red, I hear your mouth without asking you to say anything, I’ll have you killed. Maybe I’ll stuff you, put you in my office for a hat rack. Got me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Red said.

  “Now, where was I? Oh yeah, you come and get my gnome. You maybe convinced him to help you out. Could have been working with you all along. I don’t like that. Can’t let shit like that go. And look what you done? You’ve implicated others. I got to kill this other guy now. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Irvin. I flew the plane. I’m just someone they hired.”

  “Too bad, Irvin. The whore, she goes back to work. The woman here, maybe she and me could work something out. I think she could pull some change.”

  “Not likely,” Brett said.

  “All right,” Big Jim said, “then you get popped too. And Herman, I got to kill you, man. You know how it is? Once you start letting people get away with shit, well, it goes wild. Red here, and Wilber. I forgave them. Let them come back, and it’s been nothing but dog shit and piss water ever since. In Wilber’s case, that’s okay. He’s a moron. Right, Wilber?”

  Wilber’s face jumped slightly, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Yeah, a moron. But the leprechaun here, he kne
w what he was doing and he talked the moron into it. I shouldn’t have let the little shit come back, you know. Like midgets are bad luck anyway, and now, I don’t know. Maybe Red had something to do with all this, maybe not. Maybe he’s just trying to snake back in ’cause things didn’t go the way he wanted. Like with the Tulsa whorehouse. I think wiping him out, that’s a way for me to correct an old mistake I should have fixed some time ago. Sometimes I’m too big-hearted, you know?”

  I glanced at Red. He was trembling inside his ruined cowboy suit. It was the first time I believe I had actually seen him afraid.

  “Well,” Leonard said. “You gonna do it, or just talk us to death?”

  “Ooooh,” Big Jim said. “Feisty. You been watching too much TV, my man. You been seeing too many talky niggers. Where I come from a nigger is still a nigger.”

  “Where you come from, fuckin’ your dog and your mother are legal,” Leonard said. “Or having your dog fuck your mother. It’s all the same, ain’t it?”

  “Boy,” said Big Jim, “you really want to die, don’t you?”

  “Beats having you bore me to death,” Leonard said.

  “Like I was sayin’,” Big Jim said, “you and this fella here, you got balls. But, unfortunately for you, they aren’t bulletproof.”

  “I didn’t do anything but fly them,” Irvin said. “They paid me and I did it. I didn’t know what they were going to do.”

  “Shut up,” Big Jim said. “You think it matters? This shed, it’s going to look like the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, I get through here. I got more bullets here than all of you got brain cells. What I got here? Eight guys? Lots of guns. All you dipshits got are your asses.”

  “Excuse me, Big Jim,” said one of the men, “but that fire, it might draw someone.”

  Big Jim nodded. “We’re far out, Hector. But you’re right. Might as well get this over with. I believe Wilber would like the opportunity to kill … what’s your name?” Big Jim pointed to me.