The Briefcase Blues

Chapter 5 Checking the Records

Chapter 5   Checking the Records

It was nearing noon before Jason had found his way to the Brothel Buzz. Located in a narrow valley of the Rocky Mountains, it was only accessible by ground. With the Shady Lady parked at a nearby field, carefully stowed under a dense canopy of trees, Jason hitched a ride to the bizarre whorehouse. As they drove down the side of the mountain in a drizzle of rain, passing beneath the dazzling height of the railway bridge, the Brothel Buzz loomed up in the distance. Made from the wreckage of a crashed zeppelin, it made an impressive sight to see. The enormous framework was still largely covered and housed the working girls, the ‘staff’, the Cloud Nine bar which stood in the mid section, and it even served as a parking garage. Each end of the zep’s hull was cut away for easy access. You got in through the front with your car and if anybody started to make trouble, quite a regular occurance, the brawlers were swiftly dispatched through the back exit.
It felt good to be back in Skyhaven, Jason thought to himself. The modern Tortuga of aerial piracy on Mount Wausa served as a refuge, trading post and as a place to unwind after much hardship. The fresh air and beautiful mountains all around worked miracles on the weary. Every clan of pirates could come here in peace, if they obeyed the basic rules of course. Skyhaven ‘s strange architecture of makeshift houses, hangars and bars all stacked upon one another was home to anybody who didn’t want questions asked or who was looking to buy or sell things on the black market. Here, they could buy ammunition, fuel, parts, planes and a good time with the ladies. It was this last particular commodity that Jason was heading for. The man he was looking for supposedly was a true regular at the Brothel Buzz.
As soon as the truck stopped, Jason hopped out. He thanked the driver and walked towards the Cloud Nine bar. At this time of day, it was virtually deserted. Two bored working girls stood smoking at the end of the bar. Half a dozen local drunks had fallen asleep at their table, except the one sitting on a stool by the bar. A blood red ribbon was tied over the sleeve of his worn leather flight jacket, a tell tale sign of the Red Skulls. Pungent smells of alcohol, sweat and sigarettes hung about him. By the look of the mans grubby beard and dirty fingernails, he gathered the man hadn’t seen a bath up close for quite a while. Taking a seat next to him, Jason signaled the barwoman for a drink.
When Bonnie turned around to pour him a whiskey, he almost lost his composure in surprise. She winked at him and started to wipe glasses from the bar. Jason realised that her appearance shouldn’t be such a  surprise. After all, Bonnie had worked here in the past. Before she joined up with the Firebirds, she’d owned a bar and small smuggling operation with her brother Jean Paul ‘Clyde’ Fortescue. After he was shot down, the Firebirds helped Bonnie get her revenge and she never left the Firebirds. So that’s why she left for Skyhaven early, thought jason, So she could assume the role of bartender without raising any suspicion.
Making contact with the Red Skull was a breeze. The man was desperately in need of another drink and his pockets were already empty. Simply buying him a drink was enough to get his mouth running. A few shots of whiskey later he introduced himself as Rattlesnake Jake, one of the Red Skulls most lethal aces. At least he sounded convinced of it himself. Jason doubted very much if the man was even fit to get a plane safely off the ground, let alone survive a dogfight.
An easy afternoon passed away. The Red Skull bragged non-stop about the feats they’d accomplished, in no small part thanks to him of course. Bonnie made sure their drinks were never empty, although Jason found his whiskey to be replaced by cold tea, while Rattlesnake Jake received ample fillings of the toughest, most corrosive moonshine the bar had to offer. There were mechanics around who used the stuff to degrease their engines. Around them the bar was filling up. More ladies of dubious virtue came down to drink with the crews of various pirate gangs. Jason spotted some Redman’s Gang members, one or two Killer Moths, even a lone Black Swann came to spend his earnings. The pick up truck in which Jason had rode in, once the only vehicle in the parking lot, was now surrounded by cars of all shapes and sizes. Somebody tugged at his arm.
‘You see, we don’t take any crap from nobody,’ explained Rattlesnake Jake in his heavy Texas drawl. The booze turned his speech into an almost incomprehensible slur. ‘If they mess with us, they mess themselves.’ The man almost fell from his seat with laughter. He jabbed his elbow in Jason ribs. ‘Mess themselves! Ha! Get it? Hee hee. But serious, those guys who double-crossed us? They’re gonna be sorry, I can tell you that. Blowing up our target and then not paying us, you believe that?’
The phrase ‘blowing up’ brought Jason’s attention back.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, making sure to come across with genuine marvel.
‘I mean, those guys paid us an advance to raid a zep, supposedly loaded with riches, and in return they want a share of the profits. Well, pretty stupid of them of course! We’re Red Skulls aren’t we? Ha, thanks for the tip, suckers! But as soon as we get there, the whole damn thing blows up right in our face! Sooner ‘r later we’ll get the blame and everybody’ll come looking for us. But that’s ok. They was looking for us anyway. But when we came back here to get the rest of our money, the bastards went up in thin air! So now Genghis has everybody searching everywhere to find those cheatin’ lizards and give ‘m a crash parachute course. With the emphasis on ‘crash’! And I’m supposed to stay here to see if they show up. As if they would be that stupid.’
‘Mr Jake?’ came a rough accented voice from behind them. Jason turned to see two familiar faces looking at him. It was Scarface and Muscle Man.
‘Yes?’ answered Rattlesnake Jake. His eyes narrowed as a dim memory swam to the surface. ‘Say, don’t I kno…’ The rest was cut short by a vicious right hook from Muscle Man. He sank to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
‘Then you must be mister Grant, yes?’ came the scarred man’s voice. Jason recognized the accent, it was Russian.
‘That depends on who’s asking,’ he replied and took a sip from his surrogate whiskey.
The other man smiled like something that hunts reefs in shadows. There was no expression in the eyes above that smile, as if they were dead glass. Muscle man positioned himself behind Jason.
‘We hear much about you. We met before, have we not?’ Scarface continued in his oily voice. He held up his hand to stop Jason giving an answer he wasn’t about to.
‘Forgive me, where are my manners? First let me introduce. My name is Oleg. And my associate here is Sergei. No need for details, let us say we are businessmen. You are businessman as well?’
On the surface it looked like Jason was sipping his drink casually, not caring much for the other mans inquiries. On the inside he was feverishly trying to figure out how the hell he could get out of this mess. Both men would undoubtedly be armed and expecting him to try and make a break for it. This Sergei looked too much of a bruiser to be easily knocked to the ground. All he could do for now was to stall them and keep them talking.
‘I prefer the term opportunistic entrepreneur,’ he answered, ‘And I believe I have an idea what you might be after.’
‘Do you now?’ inquired Oleg smiling as if a little kid was trying to sell him the Empire State building.
‘It’s the briefcase, right?‘ continued Jason, ‘That’s what you were after on the Pacifica Princess. And you’ve figured out, as I have, that you came back with the wrong one. So there’s really no need for any hassle. We’ll just trade briefcases and go our own merry way. How about that?’
‘Oh, I am afraid it is not that simple, mister Grant,‘ replied Oleg without losing his smile. ‘Not that simple at all.’
As if I’m surprised, thought Jason. There was no way guys like Oleg would give up a clean $50.000 once they’d laid their hands on it.
‘You see, mister Grant, that money is used for very good cause. One might even say it is noble cause. It is now used for greater good of glorious Communist Party. You are very lucky not to have stood in its way. I am sure that you are firm believer in communist ways, taking so much interest in our zeppelins. I think you want assist us very much.’
In your dreams pal! came to Jason’s mind, but instead he said: ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘I am glad you ask!’ replied Oleg delighted, ‘Very glad indeed. You see, money is very useful to us, but briefcase even more. If you be so kind as to escort us to your plane, then you radio your comrades to bring down briefcase. We take it from you and will not bother you more.’
Behind him, Jason heard Sergei crack his knuckles and say: ’Oleg, mozhem my pojti nazad k Mat'Rossiya? Ya hochu slushat' k psalmam.’
‘Bezmolviye, vy okolpachivayete!!’ snarled his comrade, ‘Ili ya obespechu vy budete poslany k gulag dl'a ostal'noyev vashej zhizni!’
The beefy thug cringed at the other man’s words. He quickly shuffled back, looking hurt.
‘Now, back to business,’ continued Oleg, his face returning to the perfect expression of benevolence again. ‘What do you say, mister Grant?’
‘I suppose it’s an offer I can’t refuse,’ he answered, smiling weakly to pretend he had ignored the the bigger Russian. He checked the bar, but Antoinette was nowhere to be seen, so she was probably safe at least. Leaving his drink for what it was, he got up and strolled out of the bar as if he didn’t have care in the world. Meanwhile his eyes were searching like mad for an opportunity to flee. The situation was worst then he thought was possible. They also knew that the Damocles was their former zep, something the Russians wouldn’t leave alone until they gotten their revenge. But he knew something now that could get them their money back. It was crucial that he got away. From the corner of his eyes he saw Oleg place his right hand inside his jacket and resting it on something.
In front of him were the various other pirates, drinking, gambling, harassing the working girls. The dim lighting and heavy cigarette smoke obscured his view. Along with the cheerful music came a noise from the outside of a plane’s engine tormented to its limits. Probably just another stuntflying challenge, ignore it, thought Jason. There was no escape. They would reach the parking lot soon and there was nothing to stop the two goons walking behind him. The roar of the airplane outside grew louder; it was almost to the point where you couldn’t hear what you were saying. It couldn’t concern Jason, he was guessing if he could jump behind a car and crawl to safety. Catching a bullet before he was halfway was more likely.
The noise was starting to get painful. Suddenly the light coming in from the entrance became obscured as an airplane flew right inside the whorehouse. The screaming engine ripped the air to shreds in the enclosed space of the old zeppelin hull. The pilot barely managed to wrestle the nose of the plane up and over the parked cars. The earsplitting howl and propwash of the aircraft knocked everybody over who wasn’t already fleeing for their lives in a blind panic. Jason saw it was a Brigand, painted in all too familiar colors, that flashed overhead and disappeared behind the Cloud Nine bar. Only Walter would try to pull a stunt as insane as this. Without hesitation, Jason spun around on one foot and kicked Sergei in the stomach with all the strength he had in him. Oleg had his hands over his ears. Before he could reach for his gun, he caught an uppercut to his chin and reeled over.
‘So long boys, maybe some other time,’ he called out over his shoulder as he made a break for it. While Scalpalot exited the Brothel Buzz through the back exit, smashing the Cloud Nine Bar’s neon sign with his wingtip as he did so, Jason ran onto the parking lot where a sleek Auburn Speedster had pulled up.  The driver in fancy clothes was still cowering from the plane that had passed only inches above his head. Jason simply dragged him out of the open car, jumped in and hit the gas. With tires screeching, the fancy sports car shot forward instantly. Jason turned it around with tires shrieking and raced out of the Brothel Buzz, into the fresh afternoon air. It would only take a few minutes before he could reach the landing strip.
Pine trees flashed past him as he gunned the engine of the Speedster along the mountain road. The dry crack of distant gunfire resounded behind him and something very hot buzzed past his ear, shattering the windscreen. Two of its brethren smashed into the trunk of the car. In his rearview mirror he saw the two Russians running out after him. Oleg seemed to be talking into a radio, while Sergei fired another salvo. Before they disappeared out of sight, Jason hart sank as he heard the trademark whup-whup sound of an autogyro. Two Russian marked Hoplites descended from the sky and landed next to the Brothel Buzz. Oleg and Sergei each got into an armored aerocar and took off again within an instant.
Gaining on him with agonizing ease, the planes got on his six o’clock and started a dive to strafe the car. Jason watched them come down like a pair of hungry buzzards. Deliberately waiting until he heard two pairs of Sperry-Browning .30 caliber guns opening up, Jason jerked the car to the left and onto a deserted back road. Four trails of bullets, whipping up dirt from the road, sped towards him and miss him by mere inches. The car skidded violently. It nearly slid off the side of the road, knocking over the road sign marking it as a dead end. He was on a ridge now, going up. The woods lined the side of the road, leaving no room to maneuver. The Hoplites arced around in a tight formation as they circled around to cut him off. Dread sank into Jason’s gut. There was nowhere to go. He was going too fast to stop, he couldn’t swerve to avoid and within a few hundred yards the road would end in a deadly ravine. Oh crap, he thought, this is it. No escape for me this time. Closing his eyes, he awaited the sound of the guns.
Strangely, the sound was heavier then before. Even more strange, it came from behind him. Jason opened his eyes to see two streaks of tracer ammo shoot overhead. The two Russian Hoplites broke formation sharply to avoid the oncoming hailstorm of bullets. Again the roar of a radial engine filled the air. A chrome spinner appeared in Jason’s rearview mirror, set like a pearl in the black of the Lil’ Bastard’s engine, the personal Fairchild F6 Brigand of Scalpalot. Dancing in the wind like a feather caught in a whirlwind was a rope ladder dangling beneath its fuselage,. In front of him, the end of the road came into view, a spectacular drop of more then 500 feet onto solid rock.
Having only one chance to rescue Jason, Walter flew his plane as precise as he could, overtaking the slower Auburn without swerving. But he was going too fast. The Brigand was designed for fast combat aerobatics, not slow and low level flying. He would have to pass over the car with considerable speed to remain airborne. The edge of the ravine was now only a hundred feet away. Below the deafening drone of the plane and the yanking propwash, Jason floored the gas and threw his hands in the air. There was a gust of wind and the rope ladder fluttered away right before he could reach it. Then the ground ended.
A small rise in the road and the high speed launched the car through thin air. As if the world slowed down, Jason’s mind became as clear as crystal and as fast as lightning. In a last ditch effort, he climbed onto his seat and jumped. He reached for the rope ladder with one hand as it swayed back and forth. The last rung suddenly came up to his hand and Jason grabbed hold for dear life. Instead of being lifted up, he saw the sleek car fall away beneath him. It flew a good fifty feet through the air before it nosed down and dove straight into the gorge. The explosion thundered through the valleys of Skyhaven.
Even hanging from a rope ladder at 500 feet and rising, Jazz couldn’t help regretting the sacrifice of such a fine car. Until he spotted the two Russian Hoplites from the corner of his eyes. They had circled around them and were once again closing in from behind. Wasting no more time, he climbed up the ladder, through the access hatch and into the cramped space of the rear turret. Scalpalot’s cheery voice greeted him.
‘Good afternoon there, laddie! Hope ye don’t mind that I don’t shake hands, I’m a wee busy.’ The Lil’ Bastard lurched to her upper left as Scalpalot twisted her into a battle turn, both turning and climbing at the same time. There was an unnerving noise of bullets zipping past them.
‘We got a call from Bonnie saying you was in need of some assistance! And I…eh…just happened t’ be in the neighborhood. Seems like ye picked on someone with real a bad temper there. Those Russians sure ‘re some nasty buggers!’
‘For once I’m glad you’ve strayed from the Damocles, ’ Jazz called back at him. ‘Now, if you don’t mind getting us the hell out of here, I’d be much obliged!’
‘Aye aye sir! We’ll do. You just keep them off our tail.’
Settling himself in the rear turret, Jazz grabbed the .30 caliber gun and took aim. Hoplites were notorious opponents. Their agility and rate of turning made them near impossible to hit. Fortunately, a rear turret evened things up a bit. As Scalpalot zoomed in on one of the autogyros, Jazz saw the other creeping up from below. He hammered away at it with the machinegun, but it stayed out of range. Suddenly a bright flash lit up the world, a thundering boom and the airplane gave a sickening jolt.
‘It’s no good!’ yelled Jazz through the intercom. ‘He won’t get near us and he’s using rockets.’
The radio crackled and Sergei’s voice came through.
‘Give up, mister Grant. You have no chance, yes? We are superior pilots of the Red Army.’
‘All that and modest too!’ answered Scalpalot, ‘So let’s see if he can play a game of follow the leader. Let's hit the deck!’
The ground disappeared and nothing but late afternoon sky filled Jazz’ little windows. It felt as if his stomach was trying to escape through his throat. The lake in the center of Skyhaven came into view from above, followed by the colossal stone arch of Archie’s Loop shooting by as the Lil’ Bastard made an inverted pass through it. The trailing Hoplite had to drop down steep and follow them in order not to lose its prey. In doing so, it also brought itself right in the sights of Jazz’ .30 cal. He opened up on the other aircraft, steadying the jittering machine gun as best he could. As Ford never had the intention for the Hoplite to be a military fighter, it was equipped with only inferior armor. Bullet holes appeared in its engine cowling, fuselage and wing pylons. Now the world started to spin around like crazy and the entire railroad bridge came around. They zoomed right through the main trestles with only a few feet to spare, but the Russian wasn’t quick enough. It rammed a trestle with its right wing pylon and instantly caught fire. Two parachutes opened up out from the black acrid smoke bellowing out only a second before the plane exploded into a million pieces.
‘One down, one to go!’ Jazz called into the intercom. ‘Finish off the remainder and head back to the Damocles.’
Scalpalot radioed his consent and mercilessly pulled back on the stick, but not before a lead hailstorm rattled the fuselage and right wing. Jazz sighed with gratitude for Scalpalot to have extra armor on his bird. The bullets bounced off the reinforced aluminum, only scratching the paint. yet that was enough to get the pirate angry. G-forces pulled at them from all sides as the Lil’ Bastard arced through a series of barrel rolls to get behind the second Hoplite. It tried to escape by diving into a narrow mountain pass and a sharp turn through Hobson’s Arch. Scalpalot steered his Brigand into a death defying Hammerhead by yanking back on the stick and then stomping down on the rudder. Like an eagle dropping from the sky, the nimble little fighter dove towards the ground with the unsuspecting autogyro dead in it’s sights. With a mere pull on the trigger, the twin United Munitions .40 calibers spewed lethal fire.
The Russian had nowhere to go. His plane was caught in a rain of bullets. It chewed through the armor and tore it apart. By the time they were forced to pull out of their dive, the Hoplite was already engulfed in flames. Another pair of parachutes bloomed in the air as the plane smashed into the ground, trailing thick smoke.
‘Looks like the last of ‘m,’ cheered Scalpalot. ‘I’m requesting a docking clearance with the Damocles. She’ll be hovering high over the lake.’
They rose up into the sky untill the earth was nothing but a green-brown blur far below them. High above them, the sun still cast its rays over a sea of pristine whiteness. A few miles to their left, the floating bulk of the Damocles hung between two towering cumulus clouds, like a giant fish hiding amongst the reef. Cutting across the immaculate clouds, the Lil’ Bastard headed for her perch.

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