Jack Carter and the Mafia Pigeon Read Online Free PDF Page A

simplicity of the wing flaps. I turn away and re-read the William Hickey column, concentrating on the given reasons for the display of today’s ear to ear smile. Then when the plane is (presumably) pointing in the right direction for takeoff, there is a small pause. The jets reach screaming pitch, the plane begins to move, accelerating along the runway like an arrow from a bow, only I hope this particular arrow isn’t going to emulate the one in the nursery rhyme. Then the runway slants away and we’re up and streaming through the clouds and, although I’m still concentrating on the words in that boxed caption, the statistics going through my mind are of a different variety, the statistics for the incidence of major disasters during the first few minutes of takeoff. Of course, the Dagenham Boys have their own method of passing the time by joking loudly about all the various forms disaster could take, just to prove they’d been through it all before.
    “Hope the rubber bands are new,” the one called Barry says.
    “I bet the corner garage gave them a price on a job lot of tires,” Benny says. “Should make for happy landings.” They both bellow with laughter and it’s a toss-up whether the nearest one gets a knuckle or I keep my clenched fist clutching the newsprint.
    The plane veers and suddenly we’re above the clouds and the quilted whiteness that stretches to the horizon is reassuring enough to counter-act the Mike and Bernie Winter cross talk on my left. Then the illuminated lettering goes opaque and I shuffle my Players and my lighter out of the mohair and light up and inhale gratefully, and after I’ve done that I try and get myself into a position that will cause as little stress and strain on the mohair as possible; I don’t want to be seen getting off the plane looking like Gerald.
    Then, at last, they wheel out the trolleys, and after the Dagenham lot have performed I order a handful of vodkas and some cans of tonic and settle down to get quietly and methodically pissed.



Chapter Five
    O F COURSE , THEY ’ D SAID , Wally’ll be there to meet you. Don’t you worry about that. Wally’ll be there and waiting while you’re still up in the wild blue yonder. So don’t you worry about that. Once you’ve landed you’re on velvet.
    When the plane lands and the doors are opened I stand as upright as is possible between my own seat and the back of the seat in front and wear the Dagenham family’s commotion while they get themselves sorted, holding up the flow behind them as they play pass the parcel with their Adidas bags. Finally, Christ knows how, they manage to get themselves in the aisle and the queue starts to move and eventually I’m let in and I get to the door and the stewardess smiles and hopes I’ve enjoyed my flight, and I nearly tell her, but I don’t.
    Outside the sunshine’s like a multibarred electric fire. The dry heat tingles through my mohair and I can feel the warmth of the runway through the soles of my shoes. I adjust my sunglasses and the bunch of us weave our way towards the airport buildings, and inside we mix in with a crowd off an earlier flight, gathered round the oval conveyor belt, gazing at its monotonous emptiness. Of course, the Dagenham crowd have to show everybody they’vebeen through it all before by making a production of settling themselves down to wait on some of the airport furniture. While they’re doing that I go to the sunlight end of the lounge and look out into the brightness and see if there are any signs of Wally. There’s a line of coaches and beyond the coaches a line of hoardings black against the sun, but no Wally, at any rate, not in my line of vision. I turn away and look round to see if there’s a bar or anything but there’s nothing and I begin to wish I’d brought some of the duty free stuff on the plane, to pass the time by keeping myself stoked up. And there’s some time to pass because the luggage from the first flight doesn’t spill