Jay Lake - Rocket Science

Well, that was clear enough. “Red-blooded American, by God.” Like most guys, my language got worse as I got more and more angry. It was probably just as well that Lois had left. Just one more thing she’d hold against me, otherwise.

“ Amerikaner ?”

“Damned straight. From right here in Kansas.”

“ Wo ist ‘Kansas’?”

I shut the trunk and got back in the car without answering further. This had become ridiculous. I restarted the Cadillac and pulled over to the side of the road before someone came along and asked me what I was doing. I wanted to keep driving away from the fire, from Lois’ anger, from the voice, but I didn’t know where to go next.

I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before Sheriff Hauptmann had me tailed on a full-time basis. I obviously needed the protection, with everything happening around me. He seemed suspicious of me, as well, so maybe I was lucky he hadn’t taken me in after all.

Heck, at this point I’d be suspicious of me. No matter what I did now, it looked bad. Including standing in the middle of Osage Street arguing with invisible Nazis. Lois was a good enough egg, even if she was never quite my girl. I could hope she’d write that off to an episode of shell shock, so to speak, and not go blabbing to Doc Milliken out of concern for my sanity.

But the question of what to do next deviled me. I didn’t feel like seeking out the voice, which had fallen mercifully silent. That thought reminded me of the metal thing from the f-panzer, which lay heavy in my pocket. I drew it back out and looked at it again.

It was just as small and twisted as ever. Just like the aircraft, it had the unmistakable look of having been designed that way. By someone who didn’t think like I did. I turned it over. No seams, no access doors — although something like that could easily have been concealed in the visual complexity of the design.

Yes, this had to be a radio set. Somehow, this was the device the German was using to talk to me. I didn’t understand how it spoke in my ear without Lois hearing it, but that was just engineering as far as I was concerned. Like the questions I could ask about its miraculously small size, the lack of a power source, absence of an antenna — there must be hundred of those little problems. Regardless, this was a handset for talking to the aircraft.

Satisfied that I had understood the answer to one small conundrum of so many, I shoved the Nazi radio back in my pocket and drove over to the State Street Lounge. I needed a drink, something I never did.

I knew I was just a pale echo of my father.

Even though it was Sunday morning and the parking lot was empty, I knew from listening to Floyd chatter that the place would probably be open. The lighted sign in the window said “CLOSED,” just as the law required for the Lord’s Day, but the door was unlocked.

When I went inside, I found Midge wiping down tables. She was a small-boned woman, almost girlish, with black hair and big mole on one cheek. She looked like a three-quarter scale model of a Hollywood pin-up girl, especially in the red-trimmed white dress she was wearing instead of a uniform. I could see what Floyd liked about her.

“Oh, hey,” she said, flipping the grubby towel over her shoulder. The place was empty except for the two of us. “You’re Floyd’s friend, right?”

“Yes.” I had my hands in my pocket, feeling foolish and nervous. “Vernon Dunham.”

Midge popped her gum at me. “What can I do for you, Vernon Dunham?”

I had the sudden wish that she’d kiss me the way she kissed Floyd. It was the same wish I’d had for years, that the world would love me the way it loved him. He had two good legs, service medals, and a personality the girls went gaga over. Me, I limped, was too smart for my own good, and never seemed to say the right thing to anyone.

“I want a drink.” I’d said. Somewhere deep inside my heart, I apologized to Mom.

Pop went the gum. “We’re not open Sundays. Against the law to serve liquor, wine or beer.”

“I heard if I tipped big enough you’d give it to me.”

She smiled, lipstick as pink as her gum. It clashed terribly with the red trim of her dress. “Tip big enough, a fellow could get a lot of stuff around here.” Midge ran one tiny hand along the hem of the v-neck of her dress, flipping the fabric back just slightly.

It could have been a casual gesture, but it wasn’t. Despite myself, I felt a firm, hard rush to my groin, and my breathing got faster.

I was a virgin. I’d never gone with a girl who went for those games. I’d never seen Lois in less than a bathing suit, and didn’t expect to unless we got married. Which had never seemed likely.

Now, this little dark-haired woman was offering me something I’d dreamed about since junior high school, for just a bit of money. I probably had enough cash.

My hand drifted to my back pocket as Midge smiled at me.

Oh God, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t talk dirty with a girl like this, even though I knew exactly what she meant, exactly what I wanted. I could buy those kisses I’d longed for, and as much more as I could afford, just like I could buy that drink I’d longed for.

Then I’d be like Floyd and Dad. No one else might ever know, but I would. It wasn’t any big deal to Floyd, and with Dad, well, who could tell, but I would feel different, crossing a line I could never come back from.

Even worse, what if she was teasing me? It wouldn’t be the first time a girl had gotten my goat, just to laugh about it later.

“I, I… no thanks,” I blurted, my face red and hot.

She leaned forward and blew me a kiss, flipping her dress open far enough to show me the edges of a lacy white brassiere. “Your loss, honey.”

Face hot, breath heaving, groin aching, I stumbled through the door. Behind me, Midge laughed, her voice pealing like little silver bells.

In the parking lot, I banged my head against the steering wheel of the Cadillac until most of the pressure in my sinuses went away. Not to mention the pressure elsewhere. What did I stand for? What did I want? I had been ready to do one stupid thing, trying to drink away my troubles. It took the offer of another stupid thing to wake me up. I felt like I’d walked to the edge of the bridge and thought about jumping.

“By God,” I muttered to the dashboard, “I will never find myself on the inside a bottle. I will not be like Dad.”

Dad.

His name blew Midge right out of my thoughts like last year’s leaves. Last night I had been willing to let him go to the hospital alone. He was unconscious, but Doc Milliken had said Dad wasn’t in great danger. Every time I saw the old man, I got angry all over again with him, but now, since finding him in the trunk of my car, I pitied him.

My heart ached for him.

I really wanted to go look for him in Wichita, but there was no point. A hundred and fifty thousand people lived there, and I didn’t even know the name of the coffee shop where Deputy Truefield had lost him. For that matter, I realized, I didn’t know which hospital Doc Milliken had sent Dad to. There were several hospitals in Wichita. Why hadn’t he told me? That was strange.

What I could do for him was to drive out to Dad’s house and look around myself. Ollie Wannamaker had told Sheriff Hauptmann that the place looked like it had been tossed. I could well imagine what Ollie thought he saw, but I knew Dad’s habits, especially how he had been since Mom died. Unlike Ollie, I’d be able to tell which part of the mess was new and which was just housekeeping Dunham-style. Gosh only knew what Ollie might have missed in the chaos.

I started the Cadillac and headed out toward Wichita Highway. I passed just a few blocks from the police station, which made me wonder if there was any point in telling the entire story to Ollie — Nazis, airplane and all. Or maybe even approaching Chief Davis for help. I could throw myself on the mercy of the Augusta police department. If I was lucky, they’d put me in jail just to keep me safe.