Sojourners of the Sky

by Clayton Taylor

  Rather than follow in his father’s footsteps, Lars made a comfortable living running numbers for the local racketeers. Incorrectly assuming that he was more adept at math than his employers, when told to take five percent off the top for himself, Lars took eight. But he was smart enough to know that there wasn’t much of a future working for the wrong people, so Lars studied hard and used his money to obtain an airplane mechanic’s license. Blond-haired, single and in his mid-twenties, Lars had given up working for the criminal element, but always considered himself to be in their debt. And unknown to Lars, there were some men back in Providence who would quite agree.

  Simply thinking about the possibility of actually landing the DC6 kept Asa’s mind far from sleep. At nineteen and a half, Asa was the youngest crew member in the cockpit. He grew up in Danbury, Connecticut and always drove a brand new Chevrolet to work. Asa’s dad was a very successful surgeon in Danbury, and whatever Pan Am’s salary wouldn’t buy for Asa, his dad certainly would. His dad also paid for every one of the one thousand flight hours Asa needed to have in his logbook in order to get hired by Pan Am. It didn’t hurt that his father was also good friends with Juan Trippe, the President of Pan Am. Asa and his dad’s relationship went far beyond father and son, they were practically best friends.

  Sitting virtually alone in the back of the darkened cockpit, Ed Vito rolled his eyes and exhaled softly. Their takeoff was one of those times that he despised riding in an airplane as a virtual passenger. Without access to the flight controls, he was forced to watch others control his destiny.

  Ed was himself a Pan Am pilot. In fact, he was senior to John by quite a few years. Pan Am’s DC6 copilots could bid a monthly schedule to fly as either a pilot or navigator. Having had his fill of piloting the DC6 across the Atlantic, Ed determined that it was a lot less strenuous to make a couple of star sightings once every hour than to sit and fly an airplane all night. But their white-knuckled departure from Idlewild had him rethinking that decision.

  Until their flight was flying over the ocean, the pilots would navigate using ground-based navigation aids. Knowing he would not be required to work for a few hours, Ed sat back in his navigator’s chair and closed his eyes, replaying in his mind what he’d just witnessed and contemplating his next month’s bid.

  “New York radar, Clipper forty-two over Islip at five-five, still climbing to eight thousand,” advised John.

  “Clipper forty-two, roger; report over Nantucket. You may continue climb to ten thousand and report level,” said Roscoe.

  Charles engaged the autopilot, slid his seat back as far as it would go and said, “All right then, John, I’ve had enough fun. Why don’t you fly for a while?” Charles then removed his hands from the controls and raised them up as if he were surrendering to the police.

  “I’ve got it,” said John.

  Charles was still shaking on the inside after the harrowing takeoff, but refused to allow his crew to see just how much the experience truly frightened him. Continuing to show his airline captain side, Charles pulled the New York Times out of his flight bag and settled back to read while his underlings handled the ship.

  After passing the eastern tip of Long Island, John spoke to the controller. “New York radar, Clipper forty-two is level at ten thousand.”

  “Roger, Clipper forty-two. What is your Nantucket estimate?” queried the controller.

  “Clipper forty-two is estimating Nantucket at two three, three-three,” reported John.

  “Roger, Clipper Forty-two. Overhead Nantucket, contact New York Oceanic control on HF frequency five niner zero six, if unable try four four eight two. Have a good crossing,” advised Roscoe. Then without waiting for a reply, he slid his seat back and raised his arm, alerting his supervisor that he was ready to leave.

  “Five niner zero six or four four eight two over Nantucket, wilco,” responded John.

  Lars, wishing he hadn’t had two cups of coffee during flight planning a few hours earlier, pushed the curtain back and left the cockpit for a bathroom break. He slipped into one of the forward lavs and locked the door behind him.

  Before leaving the lavatory, Lars checked his teeth and straightened his tie. Opening the bathroom door to exit, he hoped to spend a few minutes flirting with one of the stewardesses, but gasped as someone rushed forward and forced him back into the tiny room. Caught off-guard, Lars could feel someone’s fist grasping his collar and he plainly heard the door slam shut, but was too dazed to understand what was happening.

  “Lars, me and you got some business to discuss,” announced the attacker.

  “Uh, what? I, uh?” muttered Lars, unable to catch his breath.

  “A little birdie told me that you’ve been messing with my wife whenever I’m out of town on business, and I’m here to put a stop to it,” said Albert Viscelli, nicknamed Sonny by his friends and coworkers.

  Lars gurgled, struggling to breathe. His eyes were wide open, but all he could see was his own fear.

  Sonny relaxed his incredibly strong grip, but kept his right fist clenched and ready to strike.

  “Sonny, what are you doing here?” asked Lars, using his familiar New England accent.

  “I told you why,” he said furiously.

  “I never did any such thing. Yeah, I see her walking the dog sometimes. And yeah, we talk, but nothing more; I swear. You gotta believe me,” gasped Lars.

  “That isn’t what I’ve been told. And do you know what? I have some Polaroids to prove it.”

  “I, I don’t know what to say, Sonny. I, ah...” stuttered Lars.

  “Save it, Lars. I don’t want to hear any more lies. I’ve been getting enough of those at home.”

  “What do you want from me?” uttered Lars, barely able to speak.

  Sonny de-clenched his fist and reached into his right pants pocket. He pulled out a snub-nosed pistol, pushed it as far into Lars’s left nostril as it would go. “I’m going to kill you, Lars. I just wanted you to know that. It might be today or it might be tomorrow. Who knows, it might even happen in some hotel room, say, in London.” snarled Sonny with anger, hate and hurt wrapped around each of his words.

  “Sonny, please. We’re neighbors; I would never do that. I like you. I’m telling ya,” said Lars, before having his Adams apple nearly crushed by Sonny’s solid left forearm.

  “I can’t hear you,” said Sonny, nearly overcome with the desire to choke Lars to death right then and there. He knew it would feel good to squeeze the life out of the man who’d soiled his sheets. But reluctantly, and ever-so-slowly, he eased up his forearm pressure, telling himself to stick to the plan.

  “So why don’t you just kill me now if you’re so sure about this?” asked Lars.

  “Because I want you to know fear before you die. I want you to look over your shoulder every day and wonder if today is the day that your life will end. And I want you to feel as much pain as I do right now,” barked Sonny.

  Shaking his head, Lars said, “Sonny, I…I swear.”

  Sonny placed the gun back into his pants pocket and then grabbed three photographs from his shirt pocket and stuffed them into Lars’s mouth. “Look at these! You’re nothing but a fornicator and a liar.” He glared at his quarry for a moment before adding, “You look good in the uniform. Maybe they can bury you in it.”

  Sonny then looked deep into his future victim’s eyes. If there had been any lingering doubts as to whether or not he could do it, they were no longer present. The pain and sorrow he felt about being wronged by his neighbor and the woman he loved was more than he could bear. Lars was going to die, but only after suffering first. After looking the wife-stealer in the eyes, he knew he could do it without regret. His mind was made up. He then released his grip and quietly slipped out the door.

  Lars removed the photos from his mouth and stared into the mirror with bulging eyes. He didn’t need to look at the pictures, he knew it was true. He hadn’t felt even a twinge of guilt during the six months he’d been sleeping with Sonny’s wife. In fa
ct, he loved the excitement of it all. The sneaking around, knowing he’d been with his neighbor’s wife only hours before her husband walked through the front door, proved to be quite electrifying. He wasn’t sure who ratted on him, but it didn’t matter. What did matter was figuring out how he could get out of it. He adjusted his shirt, straightened his tie, returned his white cap to its rightful place and then slowly returned to his bunk.

  The twenty-five-year-old junior flight engineer spent the next two hours staring at the ceiling of the cockpit, wondering if he could somehow get Sonny first. Lars had no doubts that Sonny was serious; he’d seen the rage in his eyes. Lars had always been the kind of guy who preferred to avoid controversy, but his hand was being forced. He hated admitting it to himself, but he knew that he would have to get rid of Sonny and somehow make it look like an accident. Lars sincerely hoped he could find a peaceful solution, but knew he had to be ready to act. After all, when dealing with a man who’d just discovered his wife has been sleeping around: it was kill or be killed. Sonny, he knew, was a rabid dog.

  Five

  Dirk and Marie Myers, sitting together in the tenth row, could not get enough of each other. Though people were staring, neither of the newlyweds seemed to notice or care. It almost appeared as if the two were slowly merging into one giant person. Lips, hands, legs and hair roiled together into a mass of humanity that seemed to be generating an incredible amount of heat.

  Sonny, who just happened to be sitting across the aisle from the young couple, was both amused and intrigued. He wished he too could somehow join in on the fun. Though others may have found the display distasteful, Sonny found it arousing.

  Sonny was a salesman whose job required him to be on the road at least two weeks per month. Since he was away so often, he frequently paid women to accompany him for the evening. Sometimes his regulars spent the entire night at his side and sometimes they did not. He saw nothing wrong with that. After all, he was a man; it was practically expected of him. Never did it bother him that while he frolicked, his wife was faithfully holding down the fort. He always just assumed that since she was married, she would remain celibate in his absence.

  When he found the unmarked envelope containing three pictures of his wife and neighbor in a very compromising position, his world collapsed. There was no note. It looked like the photos were snapped from outside their ground floor bedroom window. He had no idea who’d taken them, but was grateful that someone had the courtesy to inform him that his wife had been making a fool of him. But at the same time, Sonny was outraged. Not only was he angry about his wife’s infidelity, but more so that others in the neighborhood knew. It was a gauntlet at Sonny’s feet: his manhood was being called into question.

  While half of Sonny’s brain pondered his situation, wondering how his wife could ever do such a thing, the other half was being stimulated by the unbridled lust playing out before him. He was about to feel sorry for himself, but the slurping and moaning emanating from the couple nearby brought him back to the present. And, as usual, his sensual side won out. After staring at the couple for practically ten minutes with total mental focus, a fantasy began to take over his mind. If the moment of opportunity should arrive, Sonny would be ready.

  *

  “We’re on top, Ed,” announced John, letting their navigator know that the clouds were beneath them.

  Ed didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed his sextant and a small stool stored under his desk and proceeded to the center of the cockpit. Once the stool was set, he pulled a small curtain down that was held up by a clasp in the ceiling. Ed took care to make sure the curtain remained in the small guide vanes as he unfurled the long piece of fabric that would create a small enclosed circular room necessary to block much of the ambient light. He stood on the stool and was pulling the curtain around him when Liesel entered the cockpit.

  “Ed, why don’t you step down from there? I think John might need some practice looking at the stars tonight,” suggested Liesel.

  “That might work if we wanted to find Bermuda instead of England,” joked Ed.

  “I’ll go inside the curtain with him, just in case he needs some encouragement,” said Liesel with a smile.

  John turned and smiled. He was totally smitten with Liesel, but was much too shy to make the first move. He wanted to engage her in conversation, but feared the rejection. John knew inside that if he was ever going to speak with Liesel, she would have to be the one to break the ice. He didn’t like knowing that, but accepted it nonetheless.

  Liesel knew John was interested because he seemed to fall to pieces whenever she was nearby. She’d tried dropping hints that she wanted to get to know him better, but he never picked up on any of them. Watching the two newlyweds in row ten ignited a spark inside of her nearly perfect five-foot-six body. After deciding that it was time to take the next step, Liesel brushed her long hair to the side and proceeded deeper into the cockpit.

  The young stewardess sat on John’s lap and then gently pushed the fingers of her left hand through his thick brown hair, while running the fingers of her right hand through her own natural blond and slightly curly hair. “How about it, John, do you want to practice looking at the stars tonight?” she asked with a smile.

  John was speechless. He could feel his blood heating up and coursing through his body. He wanted her badly, but was frozen. All John could manage was a very enthusiastic smile.

  Charles looked up from his newspaper and said, “Now’s your chance, John.”

  Even G.R., who had better things to do, stopped briefly to watch the show. “Hey Liesel, when you’re done here, I could use another cup of joe,” he said.

  “Come on, John. What’s it going to take?” asked Liesel seductively. “You have such handsome brown eyes.”

  “You know what, Liesel, I could use some coffee, too,” said Charles with a smile.

  “I’m busy, guys,” she said. “I’ve got my hands full.”

  In a somewhat muffled voice from under the curtain, Ed chuckled, “Hurry up and do something, John. It’s starting to get hot in here.”

  Liesel put her mouth to John’s ear and whispered, “I want to get to know you. Summon up the courage and come back and talk to me when you go on break. I promise I won’t bite…unless you want me too.”

  John nodded, while uttering a barely audible, “I’ll see you later.”

  As the blond haired, blue-eyed bombshell left the cockpit, Charles, just before burying his nose back in the newspaper, said, “Come back anytime, Liesel. It’s always a pleasure.”

  “I think she wants you, John. You’d better make your move soon or she’ll find somebody else’s backyard to play in,” said G.R. “Trust me.”

  “Yes, I know,” said John. “Something about that woman gets me all knotted up inside whenever she’s around. She makes me feel like an idiot.”

  “You should get on with it,” suggested Ed as he climbed down from the stool. “That woman is practically throwing herself at you. If you don’t act soon, she’ll be gone forever.”

  “I hear you,” replied John.

  “Now give me a few minutes to work the numbers,” said Ed. “There are plenty of stars out there tonight so I was able to get some good sightings.”

  Even though John had been mesmerized by Liesel’s presence, he did manage to keep one eye on the radio compass and the other on his VOR (Very high frequency Omni directional Range: a ground based navigation aid).

  The moment Liesel was out of the cockpit, John picked up his microphone to report their position to the air traffic controllers. As he spoke, he glanced outside. In the distance off to the left, he could see a smattering of lights on the otherwise imperceptible darkened ground. Off to his right, there was only ocean, visible through the moonlit breaks in the clouds.

  “Clipper forty-two, contact Moncton control on HF frequency two eight niner one. Goodnight,” advised the New York controller.

  “Clipper forty-two, wilco. Goodnight,” said John.

 
; John checked on frequency with the controllers located in Moncton, Canada. There was little radio chatter to be heard, with the exception of two other Pan Am flights that would be making their Atlantic crossing ahead of flight forty-two. John knew the pilots on both flights and was familiar with the flight numbers, as well as their destinations. He drew a mental picture in his mind of the location of each airplane as they passed along their time estimates to the controller. Knowing where everyone was could prove invaluable, if for no other reason than to obtain weather information ahead.

  On his number two radio John dialed in the frequency for weather ship “Echo,” one of two Coast Guard ships stationed east of Gander, Newfoundland, used to pass along position reports and weather observations when necessary. Later in the flight, he would monitor the frequency for weather ship “Bravo,” located further south of their intended track.

  The air was smooth and the sky was rapidly clearing: a perfect night for flying.

  Shortly after Clipper forty-two passed a few miles east of Nova Scotia, Canada, G.R. announced, “Charles, I’m detecting an anomaly on engine number four.”

  Six

  Mark Small wasn’t convinced that flying was the safest way to travel. Indeed, it was the first time the twenty-three-year-old man had ever been on an airplane. But with his mother gravely ill, there was simply no choice. Mark had to get home as quickly as possible. Born to parents that looked much like him, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, square-jawed nervous flyer was beside himself.

  Sitting in row fourteen near the window, the takeoff alone practically scared Mark out of his wits. The noise created by the four engines during the takeoff run was so overwhelming he could barely hear himself think. Then, while rolling down the runway with his eyes shut tight, he could feel the entire airplane shuddering and fishtailing back and forth. Even after they were airborne, the airplane continued to vibrate and roar; frightening him beyond anything he’d ever experienced. It took the better part of an hour just to calm his nerves and get his heart rate back to where it should be. When the airplane finally broke free of the clouds, allowing him to view the moon and some stars, he began to believe that everything would be all right.