found a pay phone in the lobby and fed it quarters until Trooper Tim came on the line.
Tim is the special trooper who serves the villages around Bethel so he’s a steady charter customer. He’s also a very good friend.
“Alex, when are you coming home? My hair’s turning gray.”
“What, you want me to pick up some hair dye in Fairbanks?”
“No, I want you to come back to work. Vickie has been sending me out with Pat.”
“Hey, Pat’s a fine pilot. One of these days he’ll be driving the jet when you go into Anchorage.”
“Yeah, the sooner the better. You know that sand spit where we land across the river from Sheldon Point?”
“So?”
“So, Pat and I landed there yesterday and we were both terrified.”
“Tim, Pat is a good pilot, what can I tell you?”
“Maybe he is, but I wish he wouldn’t turn pale when I show him where to land. What’s up?”
“If I send you a couple of drinking glasses counter-to-counter can you get them fingerprinted and cross checked?”
“If it will bring you home sooner. Prints belong to Saddam Hussein?”
“I have no idea, but I need to know. The glasses will be on the next jet.” The phone dinged for more quarters, but I was tapped out. It went dead, so I hung it up.
Angie was hovering by the coffee shop door. “Alex, I’m hurting, and I should go to work in a few hours.”
“Want to hit the Model Café for some real coffee?”
“That would help, and a Bloody Mary wouldn’t be bad either.”
“Check and cheque. The coffee shop at the Traveler’s Inn.”
We drove across town, and I was pleased to note there were no dents in the Buick. When you wake up with a fuzzy memory of the night before, there’s always some concern for the car. Venturing out on the highway in that condition would be tantamount to suicide or murder, but a few blocks in town are usually survivable. Not smart, just survivable. Most cars in Fairbanks have a crumpled fender or two, and no one seems to mind.
“How much rum did we drink last night?” Angie did look a little pale, which was alarming, considering her ancestry.
“I never count while the party is raging. It spoils the mystique, you know. Maybe six before they closed the Wagon Wheel Club. After that I have no idea.”
“We went to the Squadron Club so we could park at the hotel. You were driving mostly in the right lane and gave me a lecture about the drunk drivers on the road. Traveling with you certainly is educational. I’m amazed at how many occupations are open to women in this town.”
We parked at the Traveler’s, had Bloody Marys and a pot of real coffee, and the world did settle down. Normally I want nothing to do with vodka, but on the morning after, when it’s suitably mixed with tomato juice and Tabasco, it is prescribed by nine out of ten drunks.
Angie had returned to her normal hue and was even getting some sparkle back in her eyes. “Orders of the day?”
“I need to nip out to the airport. I want to get Jody’s underwear on the morning flight. Then, I guess I’ll stop by Interior and pick up my paycheck in case you want to lead me astray again tonight. Can I drop you at the station? It is your car.”
“No thanks, and I’m never touching alcohol again. Take me back to the room for two hours repair work and I’ll grab a cab to the station.”
“Your slightest whim is my edict. Do you need help standing up?”
***
I stopped at the strip mall on the way to the airport and scrounged a cardboard box and a pile of Styrofoam peanuts to pack the glasses. The airline obliged with the morning jet, but it doesn’t go to Bethel. Jets from Fairbanks to Bethel go by way of Anchorage, and with only two flights per day to Bethel, the glasses would arrive on the evening plane. I can’t complain about that schedule because it is good for the charter business, including my current residency in Fairbanks. Sending the glasses counter-to-counter costs a few extra bucks, but it’s the fastest way. I
Tim is the special trooper who serves the villages around Bethel so he’s a steady charter customer. He’s also a very good friend.
“Alex, when are you coming home? My hair’s turning gray.”
“What, you want me to pick up some hair dye in Fairbanks?”
“No, I want you to come back to work. Vickie has been sending me out with Pat.”
“Hey, Pat’s a fine pilot. One of these days he’ll be driving the jet when you go into Anchorage.”
“Yeah, the sooner the better. You know that sand spit where we land across the river from Sheldon Point?”
“So?”
“So, Pat and I landed there yesterday and we were both terrified.”
“Tim, Pat is a good pilot, what can I tell you?”
“Maybe he is, but I wish he wouldn’t turn pale when I show him where to land. What’s up?”
“If I send you a couple of drinking glasses counter-to-counter can you get them fingerprinted and cross checked?”
“If it will bring you home sooner. Prints belong to Saddam Hussein?”
“I have no idea, but I need to know. The glasses will be on the next jet.” The phone dinged for more quarters, but I was tapped out. It went dead, so I hung it up.
Angie was hovering by the coffee shop door. “Alex, I’m hurting, and I should go to work in a few hours.”
“Want to hit the Model Café for some real coffee?”
“That would help, and a Bloody Mary wouldn’t be bad either.”
“Check and cheque. The coffee shop at the Traveler’s Inn.”
We drove across town, and I was pleased to note there were no dents in the Buick. When you wake up with a fuzzy memory of the night before, there’s always some concern for the car. Venturing out on the highway in that condition would be tantamount to suicide or murder, but a few blocks in town are usually survivable. Not smart, just survivable. Most cars in Fairbanks have a crumpled fender or two, and no one seems to mind.
“How much rum did we drink last night?” Angie did look a little pale, which was alarming, considering her ancestry.
“I never count while the party is raging. It spoils the mystique, you know. Maybe six before they closed the Wagon Wheel Club. After that I have no idea.”
“We went to the Squadron Club so we could park at the hotel. You were driving mostly in the right lane and gave me a lecture about the drunk drivers on the road. Traveling with you certainly is educational. I’m amazed at how many occupations are open to women in this town.”
We parked at the Traveler’s, had Bloody Marys and a pot of real coffee, and the world did settle down. Normally I want nothing to do with vodka, but on the morning after, when it’s suitably mixed with tomato juice and Tabasco, it is prescribed by nine out of ten drunks.
Angie had returned to her normal hue and was even getting some sparkle back in her eyes. “Orders of the day?”
“I need to nip out to the airport. I want to get Jody’s underwear on the morning flight. Then, I guess I’ll stop by Interior and pick up my paycheck in case you want to lead me astray again tonight. Can I drop you at the station? It is your car.”
“No thanks, and I’m never touching alcohol again. Take me back to the room for two hours repair work and I’ll grab a cab to the station.”
“Your slightest whim is my edict. Do you need help standing up?”
***
I stopped at the strip mall on the way to the airport and scrounged a cardboard box and a pile of Styrofoam peanuts to pack the glasses. The airline obliged with the morning jet, but it doesn’t go to Bethel. Jets from Fairbanks to Bethel go by way of Anchorage, and with only two flights per day to Bethel, the glasses would arrive on the evening plane. I can’t complain about that schedule because it is good for the charter business, including my current residency in Fairbanks. Sending the glasses counter-to-counter costs a few extra bucks, but it’s the fastest way. I
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