invited him in when he knocked.
After looking at Frank for a moment the man frowned down at the papers he'd been looking at.
Àll the regular charter planes are filled,' he said. 'There are also twenty or thirty private planes operating out of this airport and a few are unofficially selling seats to passengers. The going rate is five thousand dollars a seat.'
Àny of them going to New York?' Frank asked eagerly.
`None going north,' the manager replied. 'Most are going to the Bahamas or West Indies. One or two of the bigger ones to South America.'
`Then I want to buy a plane and hire a pilot.'
`No one will fly you to New York.'
`Money talks,' said Frank.
`Not very loudly as far as heading north is concerned.
The manager squinted up at Frank. 'May I ask why you're so hot to get to what's left of New York?' he asked. `Family.'
Àhhh,' the manager said and shook his head. 'Well, I can't help you. The private planes are housed in C and D Hangars at the west end of the field. If someone wants to sell a plane that's where they'd be.'
When Frank got to Hangar C there was a flurry of activity: two small planes being worked on, one being pushed out of the hangar, and three or four clusters of people talking. Frank began asking people who might sell him a plane to fly north.
`There's only one guy here I know of who said he'd let his plane go north if the money was right,' one man told him, ànd that's Tommy Trainer over in Hangar D.'
'How'll find him?' Frank asked.
`Little guy. Wears a natty white suit,' the man answered. `He owns the two-engine Beechcraft over in the back corner. But, Buddy, you don't think you're going to make it north and back through what's happening up there, do you?'
Frank wheeled and headed off to Hangar D. Tommy Trainer was a flashily dressed little man with dark, slicked-down hair and an absurdly large cigar. He was checking his Beechcraft with a mechanic when Frank found him. After listening to Frank explain what he wanted to do; the little man just continued to stare at him and chewed lightly on his unlit cigar.
`Well, suh,' he said in the dignified drawl of a southern gentleman completely in contrast to his bookmaker appearance. Àh'd like to help you, I really would. But I believe the general opinion is that it's dangerous travelling north these days. I believe there's just a bit of risk involved. Wouldn't you agree, suh?'
À lot of risk,' Frank said. 'I'll pay accordingly.' `That's right generous of you, suh, and I appreciate it. I'll tell you what,' he continued in his southern drawl, 'I can't charter you my plane 'cause the insurance doesn't cover it, you know, but I'll sell you the plane. Let's see. One hundred thousand dollars. How does that sound, suh?'
`What about a pilot?'
Ì believe I might be able to obtain you a pilot for . .. yes, for another twenty.'
Frank, who sometimes quibbled over the price of a twenty-five-cent sinker, felt a flash of anger. The beat-up plane couldn't be worth more than twenty-five thousand dollars and the pilot would be doing at the most a half-day's work.
Ìt's a deal,' he said.
Ìn cash, gold, or silver,' said Tommy Trainer.
Frank frowned, his forward momentum checked. He
looked at Tommy Trainer. Wherethe hell could he get the •
money?
`Where's. the nearest bank?' Frank finally asked. `Bank!' Tommy Trainer exclaimed. 'It's a little late for banks, I'm afraid.'
Frank stared at him uncertainly.
Ì'll be back,' he said.
On the short drive from the airport into Salisbury Frank realized that it wasn't going to work. He needed a plane this instant, and the banking system, even in the best of times, was not used to producing a hundred and twenty thousand dollars in an instant. In these times .. .
The situation turned out to be worse than he had imagined. Most banks hadn't even opened. The two that were, were mobbed with long lines outside their doors. And he realized, of course, that there was no phone or teletype contact with either of his New
After looking at Frank for a moment the man frowned down at the papers he'd been looking at.
Àll the regular charter planes are filled,' he said. 'There are also twenty or thirty private planes operating out of this airport and a few are unofficially selling seats to passengers. The going rate is five thousand dollars a seat.'
Àny of them going to New York?' Frank asked eagerly.
`None going north,' the manager replied. 'Most are going to the Bahamas or West Indies. One or two of the bigger ones to South America.'
`Then I want to buy a plane and hire a pilot.'
`No one will fly you to New York.'
`Money talks,' said Frank.
`Not very loudly as far as heading north is concerned.
The manager squinted up at Frank. 'May I ask why you're so hot to get to what's left of New York?' he asked. `Family.'
Àhhh,' the manager said and shook his head. 'Well, I can't help you. The private planes are housed in C and D Hangars at the west end of the field. If someone wants to sell a plane that's where they'd be.'
When Frank got to Hangar C there was a flurry of activity: two small planes being worked on, one being pushed out of the hangar, and three or four clusters of people talking. Frank began asking people who might sell him a plane to fly north.
`There's only one guy here I know of who said he'd let his plane go north if the money was right,' one man told him, ànd that's Tommy Trainer over in Hangar D.'
'How'll find him?' Frank asked.
`Little guy. Wears a natty white suit,' the man answered. `He owns the two-engine Beechcraft over in the back corner. But, Buddy, you don't think you're going to make it north and back through what's happening up there, do you?'
Frank wheeled and headed off to Hangar D. Tommy Trainer was a flashily dressed little man with dark, slicked-down hair and an absurdly large cigar. He was checking his Beechcraft with a mechanic when Frank found him. After listening to Frank explain what he wanted to do; the little man just continued to stare at him and chewed lightly on his unlit cigar.
`Well, suh,' he said in the dignified drawl of a southern gentleman completely in contrast to his bookmaker appearance. Àh'd like to help you, I really would. But I believe the general opinion is that it's dangerous travelling north these days. I believe there's just a bit of risk involved. Wouldn't you agree, suh?'
À lot of risk,' Frank said. 'I'll pay accordingly.' `That's right generous of you, suh, and I appreciate it. I'll tell you what,' he continued in his southern drawl, 'I can't charter you my plane 'cause the insurance doesn't cover it, you know, but I'll sell you the plane. Let's see. One hundred thousand dollars. How does that sound, suh?'
`What about a pilot?'
Ì believe I might be able to obtain you a pilot for . .. yes, for another twenty.'
Frank, who sometimes quibbled over the price of a twenty-five-cent sinker, felt a flash of anger. The beat-up plane couldn't be worth more than twenty-five thousand dollars and the pilot would be doing at the most a half-day's work.
Ìt's a deal,' he said.
Ìn cash, gold, or silver,' said Tommy Trainer.
Frank frowned, his forward momentum checked. He
looked at Tommy Trainer. Wherethe hell could he get the •
money?
`Where's. the nearest bank?' Frank finally asked. `Bank!' Tommy Trainer exclaimed. 'It's a little late for banks, I'm afraid.'
Frank stared at him uncertainly.
Ì'll be back,' he said.
On the short drive from the airport into Salisbury Frank realized that it wasn't going to work. He needed a plane this instant, and the banking system, even in the best of times, was not used to producing a hundred and twenty thousand dollars in an instant. In these times .. .
The situation turned out to be worse than he had imagined. Most banks hadn't even opened. The two that were, were mobbed with long lines outside their doors. And he realized, of course, that there was no phone or teletype contact with either of his New
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