The Triggerman Dance Read Online Free PDF

disease a man can get," said the salesman, glancing at John's mother. "Or a woman. This little craft will open up a world to you that you only suspected was there. Every minute in the air is like dreaming for an hour."
"Well put," agreed his father, rapidly signing away at the purchase agreement. "I wonder if we could dream our way into another six months of service?"
"I'll ask Herb, Mr. Menden."
"Appreciated, Lew."
His mother just laughed in the way that John had come to understand meant that she was humoring someone. In private moments, she had confided to John that her husband needed the airplane far worse than she did. John liked it when she laughed, the way her big teeth suddenly appeared and her rather stern face brightened up like the sun. His father was handsome, tall and exuded a majestic ego made charming by his cheerful good manners. Men always deferred to him, and John's schoolmates instinctively feared him. John liked the way his father and mother looked together.
He stood in the shade of the Martin building and watched his father taxi to the runway. The little Piper was painted bright yellow with red trim, and John's mother had opted for a tastefully theatrical costume—red silk scarf, aviator shades and a leather bomber's jacket—in which to make their maiden, craft-owning flight. John wondered why they couldn't have gotten a three-seater instead of a two, but he was used to the fact that his parents admitted him into their presence as a kind of formal offering. It was a warm formality, and John often sensed love in it. But it was never the kind of thing you just barged into.
His mother waved after she settled into the cockpit, and Lew helped them latch down. The propellor was a yellow, red-tipped blur. Accelerating down the runway, the little Piper emitted a determined, rising moan. It finally wobbled off the ground, looking to John as if it was lifting all the weight of the world.
For the hour they were gone, John threw his glider out on the tarmac, wondering if with just the right conditions it could rise high, ease into the slipstream of the Piper, and follow it wherever it might go. He decided the idea was dumb. It was hard enough just to get the foam ailerons to stay adjusted from one flight to the next.
So he sat on a bench and waited for the plane to return. He saw it when it was just a bright speck in the western sky, tilting its way down. After it landed he positioned himself on the tarmac and waved it in with the curt, martial motions of the ground-crews he much admired. His father smiled at him through the little side window, radio set still clamped to his head. The Piper rolled to a stop.
His mother climbed out, helped by Lew, and gave John a hug. Her face was warm against his and the silk scarf puffedlightly against his cheek. She smelled as always like her perfume—Chanel No. 5—and the leather of her jacket. She stood back as Lew helped John into the cockpit, where his father was assiduously making flight notes in a small book. His father extended his hand and John shook it.
"Off we go, son."
"Into the wild blue yonder."
"Get that shoulder strap nice and tight. Don't want my copilot falling out."
The radio burped non-stop static which his father, amazingly, seemed to understand.
Five minutes later they were lifting up into the sky. John was surprised how the airplane moved not only up and down and went left and right, but kind of twisted, too, as if pivoting on its belly. The engine worked hard, he thought, and the view was not as good as it could be because the windows were a little high up.
Looking down on Orange County, John noted that all of the tracts and lots and groves seemed a lot more organized than they did from the ground. From above, they were all part of a grand design. He saw a kidney-shaped swimming pool and wondered if you jumped and managed to land in the deep end of the pool— feet first, body stiff, arms to the side—would you live or not.
His father guided the plane out