Louder Than Words

by Brett Baker

  “Would that matter?” Mia asked. “Should Dirk worry if a police officer came asking questions about him?”

  “You know my name, and you know Dirk’s name, but you won’t tell me your name.”

  “Sure I will. I’m Mia Mathis. I’m from Chicago.”

  “Mia Mathis? From Chicago? And you’re here looking for a cousin?” Mia nodded. “Dirk’s a good guy. I can’t imagine he’d have any reason to worry if the police came asking questions. Are you with the police?”

  “No. Just visiting.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a technical writer.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I write manuals. Instructions. Stuff like that.”

  “So when I’m trying to fix a plane and the instructions tell me to loosen a bolt that isn’t there, you’re the person I should blame?”

  “I don’t write anything that complicated. I stick with the simple stuff.” Part of my cover with The Summit is that I work as a technical writer. I’ve picked up a few things over the years as I’ve studied to make myself believable in case I ever run into anyone who knows what a technical writer does, but the last thing I wanted to do was to get into a discussion about the technical aspects of airplanes with someone well-versed on the topic. “You fix airplanes?”

  “Sometimes. Nothing too complicated. I stick with the simple stuff, too. We’ve got a mechanic that handles the difficult repairs for pilots.”

  “Is Dirk a pilot?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why does he spend so much time around here?”

  “I already told you, he likes planes.”

  “Why not fly them?”

  “Not everyone who likes planes can fly planes. Dirk’s a busy man. No time for lessons, I guess.”

  “What do you talk about? Other than planes?” I asked.

  Before Bruce responded, a voice called out from down the hall, near the back of the building.

  “Hey Bruce, when did you tell Neally we’d have that hydraulic line replaced?” Footsteps followed behind the voice, and a few seconds later a man emerged from the hallway. He wore dark blue coveralls with black stains at the knees, and brown work boots with untied laces. He looked like he hadn’t shaved for three days, and he had a dark, rugged look equal parts genetics and Florida sunshine. He struck me as the type of guy who was good-looking, but didn’t know it and didn’t care. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here,” he said.

  “That’s okay, we were just finishing up,” Bruce said. “I told Neally it’d be at least a week. I know those hydraulic lines can be tricky, especially on the older models.”

  “Good. I don’t want him breathing down my neck,” the man said, turning his attention from me to Bruce. “Sorry to interrupt.” He turned around and walked back down the hallway from where he came.

  Bruce stood up, and said, “I’ve got to get back to work. Nice meeting you, Mia.”

  “Who was that?” I asked, ignoring Bruce’s words.

  “That’s Mel. He’s the mechanic I mentioned. He’s a good guy to have around. If it flies, Mel can fix it.” Bruce spun around and carried his coffee toward his office without saying a word.

  “I’ll see myself out,” I said. Bruce waved without looking back.

  Before I left, I knew I had to talk to Mel.

  Chapter 20

  I left the main building of the airport and walked around to the side, hoping to see Mel. Bruce seemed hesitant to say too much about Dirk, which didn’t surprise me since it fit into the cone of silence that Tyler Jo mentioned. And since he didn’t want to talk to me, I suspected he’d prefer that Mel not talk to me either, so I couldn’t just walk out the same door Mel had exited because Bruce would have seen me. Instead, I crossed my fingers and hoped that Mel hadn’t gone too far away.

  A fence blocked access to the runway and the back of the building, where I imagined Mel worked on planes in one of the hangars, but from behind the fence I could see him sitting at one of the picnic tables, a water bottle in his hand.

  “Excuse me! Mel! Can I talk to you for a moment?” Somewhat startled, he looked up, saw me, and waved. “Can I just ask you a few questions?” I yelled.

  He shrugged and started walking toward me. “A few questions about what?” he asked, as he approached the fence. He looked at the main building, as if he understood that I didn’t want Bruce to see us talking.

  “Planes,” I lied. “Can we sit and talk for a minute?”

  “Meet me on the other side,” he said. “There’s a gate over there. We can sit at one of the tables.” I did as Mel suggested and met him at the gate. He let me in, looking over his shoulder as if to check to make sure Bruce wasn’t watching. As we walked toward the table, he said, “You could have just come through the building. Bruce wouldn’t care.”

  “I’m not too sure of that. He seemed a little uneasy with the questions I was asking. Do you mind if I ask you a few things?”

  “I guess that depends on what questions you’re going to ask. You might make me a little uneasy, too. Although maybe not.” Mel looked at me and smiled, and then looked down at the ground as we walked. “What do you want to know about planes? We don’t get too many visitors here. I’m sure you noticed we’re not a busy airport.”

  “I’m looking for a relative of mine, but no one around here has heard of him. Martin Coulson.”

  “Name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he a pilot?”

  “I don’t think so. He spent some time down here, but I don’t really know anything about him. What about Dirk Oswalt?”

  “Now that’s a name I know,” Mel said. “He’s a friend of Bruce’s. And a pilot. Or at least he wants to be a pilot.”

  “What do you mean? I asked. “He takes lessons?”

  “He sure does. He’s out here at least twice a week. Sometimes on the weekend, too. He’s the type of asshole who wants to be in charge of everything, and the pilot’s the one in charge, so it’s not too surprising that he likes it. What is surprising is that an instructor never opened the door and threw him out. He’s a real sonofabitch.”

  “Really? I’ve only heard good things about him.”

  “Then you must have only talked to the ass-kissers,” Mel said. “Or the people with money. If you fall into one of those groups, then I’m sure you probably do think he’s a good guy. Otherwise, he’s the sort of bullshitter that an honest man can detect from miles away.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard about his son,” I said.

  “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Mel said.

  “What’s Bruce’s deal? I get the feeling he’s holding something back. He got defensive when I mentioned Dirk.”

  “Bruce has been around a long time, so he knows everyone. He and Dirk go way back. Plus, he’s the type of ass-kisser that loves Dirk. He’s got money, he’s well-known in the community. I’m sure Bruce thinks Dirk might help him somehow. He’s taking lessons here, and Bruce runs things, so maybe they’ve got something worked out. I don’t know. I stay out of it. Just come to work and do my job.”

  “Why would Dirk take lessons?” I asked. “I mean, besides wanting to be in charge. Does he have a plane?”

  “I don’t think so. Not that I’ve ever heard him mention. Most people who take lessons here are recreational pilots. Get in a plane, fly out over the ocean, come on back. We’ve got about fifty flights a day here. Most of them are refueling on their way somewhere else. But all of them are recreational.”

  “Does Dirk fly during the day or at night?”

  “Daytime. We’re a difficult airport for night flying. Pilots can land and take off whenever they want, but the airport’s not staffed during the night, so if they need anything they’re out of luck. Dirk’s an early morning flyer. Usually right after sunrise. I assume he flies and then goes off to work.”

  “Is anyone else around when he’s flying?”

  “Not anymore. He had an instructor at first. Pilots have to master
takeoffs and landings, and show they’re reasonably competent in the air, but once they do that they’re free to fly alone.”

  “He’s out here by himself in the morning?”

  “Most of the time,” Mel said. He paused after speaking, tilted his head as if something had just occurred to him, and asked, “Does that matter?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Whose plane is he flying if he doesn’t have his own?”

  “Varies day-to-day. He’s made friends with the other pilots here, so no one minds if he takes their plane out. He pays for the fuel he uses, and contributes to upkeep. Kind of a smart move, as much as I hate to say it. Maintaining your own plane is expensive. Better to make friends with people who have planes and just contribute to the plane’s upkeep.”

  “So it’s not like he has to steal a plane to get some flying time?”

  “Steal a plane? I think you’ve got him confused with his son.”

  “I heard about that,” I said. “You think Cooper crashed that plane?”

  “No doubt in my mind. No experienced pilot would get that far down the runway before figuring out they couldn’t take off. Even a new pilot would have put on the brakes in time to avoid going off the end of the runway. It’s not like they’re flying huge jets that can’t be stopped. Most of these planes aren’t much bigger than large SUVs.”

  “Seems like Cooper’s plane crash is the town’s best-known secret.”

  Mel laughed, nodded his head, and said, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  “This place has a lot of secrets.”

  “Every small town does,” Mel said.

  “Is it a secret that Dirk’s taking flying lessons?”

  “Why would that be a secret?”

  “I don’t know. But when I asked Bruce about it he denied it.”

  “Denied that Dirk takes flying lessons?” I nodded. “Dirk probably wants it kept a secret for some dumb fuck reason. You know how those rich people are. They’ve got an inflated opinion of themselves. He probably doesn’t realize that no one in this town gives a shit whether he can fly a plane or not.”

  “What about Bruce?”

  “What about him?”

  “He seemed in a hurry to get me out of there. Especially when I started asking about Dirk. Is he someone you trust?”

  “I’m probably not the best person to ask about that,” Mel said. “I don’t trust anyone. Bruce is okay, I guess. But if you’re asking me whether he’d cover for Dirk if Dirk needed covering, the answer is yes. Without a doubt. Bruce is the type of guy who would do whatever Dirk asked him to do if he thought he could ingratiate himself with him. Bruce is a hanger-on, and there’s nothing Dirk likes more than a hanger-on. He’s a big fish in a small pond here. Not much around Dixie County. I’ve often thought that’s why he hasn’t moved on to bigger places. He’s got some money from his dad’s logging operation. I’m sure he could put that money to good use elsewhere. But instead he’d rather stick around here. Maybe he’s content with what he has.”

  “That hasn’t been my experience,” I said. “People who don’t have anything can sometimes become content with what they have. People who have something always want more. It’s just a question of how far they’re willing to go to get more.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s holding Dirk back,” Mel said. “He’s not willing to go beyond Dixie County to get more.”

  I thanked Mel for his time, and started to walk away. He called my name as I approached the edge of earshot, then jogged up to me. He moved his right foot back and forth, smoothing some imaginary pile of dirt as he looked down, but directed his voice toward me.

  “Where did you say you’re from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Why are you in Cross City?”

  “I’m looking for a relative. Martin Coulson. Remember?”

  “That’s right. Coulson. You mentioned him.” He looked up at me. I expected him to continue, but he said nothing. I was just about to turn and walk away when he said, “If you need someone to show you around, I’m happy to do it. I mean, there’s not much to see, but I enjoy talking to you, so maybe we could grab a bite to eat sometime. You know, if you’re not too busy looking for Coulson.”

  “Thanks, Mel. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be around, but I know where to find you.”

  After almost two decades of men asking me out while my mind was focused on whatever mission I was on for The Summit, I hadn’t become any better at saying no.

  Unfortunately for Dirk Oswalt, I was much better at hunting criminals than avoiding dates.

  Chapter 21

  I left the airport without much direction. Bruce lied to me about Dirk taking flying lessons, but why? The events from the night before showed that Dirk was involved in something shady, but Bruce’s lie about flying lessons held no innate meaning. If Bruce and Dirk were friends, and Dirk valued his privacy, it’d make sense that Bruce wouldn’t say anything about Dirk’s activities. But short of stealing a plane and following Dirk when he flied, my only hope of finding out about his motivation remained word-of-mouth. I decided to go back to the gas station.

  As I drove through Cross City I kept an eye on my rearview mirror to make sure no one followed me, and as I passed the Church of Christ, near the turnoff to the Oswalt homestead, I looked for Dirk’s Mercedes, but saw nothing. I pulled into the gas station parking lot, and a man pumping gas fixed his gaze on me. I drove past him and looped back around to park in front of the building, and the man didn’t take his eye off of me. After I parked the car, I turned it off, got out, and said, “Beautiful day outside, isn’t it?” to the man as he stopped the pump and pulled the nozzle from his tank.

  “Not as beautiful as you,” he said, raising up to his tiptoes, his voice thick with excitement. “I don’t mean to stare. We just don’t have many pretty women around here.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, closing my door behind me, and walking around the front of my car toward the building. “I’ve seen plenty of pretty women around town.”

  The man shrugged, closed the fuel door on his gas tank, and said, “Have a good day!” as he got back into his car.

  I walked into the gas station and stood just inside the door, out of view, but still able to see the man in the car. He started the car, fiddled with something in the front seat – his phone, I assume – and drove off. I waited to make sure he didn’t plan to turn back.

  “Watch out for him,” the woman behind the counter said. “You may have just made yourself a new friend.”

  “He said there aren’t many pretty women in Cross City,” I said, walking toward the counter.

  “More like there aren’t many pretty women in Cross City who still want to talk to him. He’s creepy. He’s friendly, I guess, but boundaries aren’t his strong suit. You know that filter most people have that prevents them from saying everything they think?” I nodded and smiled, amused because she seemed to lack such a filter. “He’s got no such filter. Says every damn thing that’s on his mind. Just came in here to pre-pay and told me that he forgot to brush his teeth this morning so he didn’t want to get too close. But don’t worry, he’s going to head home and brush right away, so he’ll be ready to make out with you in no time.”

  “Is that what he said?” I asked.

  “No, but I can tell that’s what you were hoping for.”

  Before I could respond she put her hand in the air as if to tell me she was done talking. She turned toward the television behind the counter, put her hand down, and leaned on her elbows.

  A voice from the television broke the sudden silence.

  “There’s the scene as captured live at this moment by our news chopper. In the clearing in the middle of those trees below is where everything is unfolding. As they pull back in the shot, you can the streets are lined with dozens of law enforcement vehicles. County and state vehicles are present. A number of what look to be unmarked cars are on the scene. And there, just creeping into the shot are the first ambulances on the
scene. We’ve had no reports of survivors, so presumably those ambulances are there just to transport bodies at the conclusion of the investigation.”

  My heart raced. I couldn’t see the screen with the way she had it setup behind the counter, but the newscaster’s narration sounded just like what had unfolded in the woods between me, Dirk and the others the night before. I thought The Summit might have arranged to clean up the mess in the mysterious way that they do, but that must not have happened.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, interrupting the newscaster who had just said something like “responded to a call early this morning.”

  She put her hand up in the air again, but at that moment the newscaster broke away from the story and turned her attention toward the meteorologist.

  “What’s going on?” I asked again. She’d put her hand down, so I hoped to secure some of her attention.

  “They found a bunch of bodies at a campsite west of here. News says six bodies. That’s all they’ve said so far. Someone found them on their morning walk and called the police. It’s been going on all morning, I guess, but they just got a helicopter over here. I was hoping for some good shots of the carnage, but I guess they’re not going to show that on TV. Actually, that’s not true. I don’t want to see it. What if it’s a family or something. Jesus. What’s wrong with people? No one’s safe anywhere these days. Can’t even go camping without ending up dead.”

  “That’s horrible.” I said. “I hope it’s not like some serial killer or something. I watched that Ted Bundy movie on Netflix and it creeped me out. Now every time I hear about someone getting killed I worry it’s a serial killer.”

  “Nah, I bet it’s some crazy person who killed his whole family. Most people are killed by people they know. Or at least that’s what they always say on Dateline. That’s why I keep everyone at arm’s length. Ain’t no one killing me because they want me out of the way. I ain’t getting in the way to begin with.”

  I’d hoped to ask her about Dirk Oswalt and see if the topic of flying came up. Everyone knew secrets in Cross City, so it stood to reason that if Dirk wanted to keep his flying a secret then everyone should know about it. But the drama unfolding on the television screen threw a wrench into that plan. She seemed on edge, and I worried if I asked too many questions I might arouse her suspicion. She seemed a bit pre-disposed to suspicion to begin with.