Department of Justice
was poking around,
wouldn't you have a few
hundred questions?
"What are they asking?"
Yeah, I agree, dumb question,
but I had to start somewhere,
and as I walked across the tarmac,
the conversation ran through my mind, his
twinkled eyed answer answer had been nearly curt;
"your supposed to be good at finding things out?"
Now as my other associates plane came into
view, the conversation kept nagging at me,
because it was strange. It wasn't that he
was tense, it was that he was deliberately
not telling me some things, which in that
he didn't hide that fact, meant he was
sending me off on a mission with very
few supplies? Alas we all go there someday.
So as Bert came into view, my mind was
racing a bit, as I knew exactly what Mr. Politic,
had in mind, if my connections were used
right, I'd work back to those questions
myself, and he'd know what he wanted to know.
Bert was a challenging person, his very presence
was one that evoked something, he is big, not
just large, but, fit; you could put my 5'8", 190
pound, next to Bert and you'd see it instantly.
He dwarfed me, and yet, he was not the sort
of large person whom you felt you could
hug like a Teddy Bear and survive the hug?
My guess was 6'5", about 230, but I'd never
asked, wasn't necessary, when you were in
Bert's presence, you realized size had ceased
being the issue, and was he going to attack
or not, became the central point.
"Yo Bert," Friendly, smiling, a good greeting...
"Well, look at what the cats set loose, what's
up Chuck..." Bert, always quick with the wit.
"Bert how long you been parkin' your Cessna
out here?"
"Cessna, son, something wrong with your vision?
This is a ways up the ladder from one of those
hoppers." He touched the fuselage, "it's O.K.
Gina, he just don't know what he's talkin' about
when it comes to splendor?"
"Huh?"
"Wrong make there Chuck ol buddy- this here's
a full blown, 100% Comanche, best of the line,
top of the release.." As he continued I realized
that I'd set him off...he was proud of the plane,
that was obvious, so I tried on the breath to
get in another opening question.
"Sorry Bert, you're right, I don't know much
about planes."
And he was off to the races again, only this time
it was me not knowing what I was looking at,
and once again, the pedigree speech, well
third times a charm, nothing ventured?
"Yeah, Bert, got it," back to square one here,
"how long have you been parking the plane
out here?"
Now there's a good question, but
I wasn't expecting his answer.
"Writin' a book Chuck?"
"Well, uh, no, just wondering?"
"Why you wondering?" No aggression
just standing there against the plane asking.
"Bert, easy, your my bud, just curious, I don'
know much about this place, don't come out
here, just looking for some history a little
and I know you a bit."
That seemed to relax him a bit, although I
was still a bit taken aback, was he paranoid?
Bert was an associate, someone I knew at a
distance, but, knew; had been knowing for
decades now. Weird rumors hung around
Bert like bad air over a crowded city; and
while my teeth testified to the fact that I'd
never been stupid enough to try and confirm
or deny them directly with the big man;
nevertheless they were there. One thing I
did know personally, some decades back
when we'd worked on a pretty simple
project, Bert had decided it needed to go
one way, and the group had decided it
needed to go another, and Bert had let
them know, very deliberately, very,
meanly (must be a word, sure describes
what happened) that he wasn't going to
allow things to go any other way. Folks
here about call that a temper? Bert was
also rumored to have used that temper
with family, and wife, and it wasn't kind,
and those rumors were the ones I for
sure would not ask about, which is why
my teeth weren't in any danger, see?
"How long you been around these parts
Chuck?"
"Since 1980,"
"Where'd you come from?"
"Colorado..."
"My Lord," Bert loved euphemisms,
"had no idea about you, hope you
don't mind the questions, we've
never really chatted much? Always
been business this, business that."
"That's our lives Bert, we don't have
time for much with any meaning."
It was a point everybody had been
noticing lately, how time had been
seeming to compress, be going
faster, as if that were possible?
"So, what's this history thing you're
talking about and my parking my
plane here?"
"Yeah, well, this airport hasn't
always been here, has it?"
"You mean was it built for a specific
reason, like a downtown extension?"
"There you go,"
"Near as I can figure, originally this land
belonged to one family, years back,
in the mid 60s, I hear that their farm
was doing real well, this was their farm
area here, anyway, I heard they had
this strip put in to bring in crop dusters
for their fields, and the surrounding
farmers who wanted dusting."
"Mid sixties, so it's about 40 years old?"
"Something like that, why, whats up?"
"Oh, it's just that the area here is growing,
and also, we've got lots of materials
that are being handled in the area, and
this strip is nice sized, but it's not called
a full blown airport by the FAA?"
"That's right, this is called a division
sized, but, that's cool as far as our rent
on storage areas goes, that fixin' to change?"
"Oh I wouldn't give it much thought Bert,
it won't happen anytime soon, but we
would all benefit from a regular sized
landing strip, and we may have the chance
to get one?"
"Well, if that happens, I only hope the
powers that be give us old timers a chance
to hold off on that high rent?"
"Sure shouldn't be a problem."
"So what else you got on your mind Chuck,
you don't come around much..."
It wasn't gnawing at me yet, but it was coming.
Had it just been coincidence that I'd
found him at the hangar? Or had I
been sent there like a heat seeking
missile, find the heat, miss the fire?
Did I dare go into the meat of the matter
with him? For that matter, did I even
know what sort of meat we was fixin' to eat?
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