Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 07 - Tubby Meets Katrina by Tony Dunbar Page A
Authors: Tony Dunbar
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any place to put down,” Flowers cried, but he was already fluttering lower.
“Could I go down on a rope?”
“Yes and no. There’s a lanyard and a saddle behind you, but the winch may not be strong enough to pull you back up.”
“Let’s try it and see.” While the prop wash animated the tree tops below, Tubby scrounged around the tiny compartment behind his seat and organized the ropes. He tested the electric winch, and it buzzed to life.
“Seems to be okay,” he said. He strapped himself into the saddle. He opened the hatch door on the deck.
“You sure you want to try this?” Flowers asked doubtfully. “You ain’t no young stud.” One hundred feet under the skids, a woman in a chenille bathrobe waved at them frantically, trying to stand on steeply pitched shingles.
“Just get me as close as you can,” Tubby said. “I happen to be a former rugby player.” He had seen heroes do this on television before, and he felt heroic, having survived the Convention Center. It also seemed that the world had revolved many a time since he had last practiced law.
Flowers put the bird about forty feet above the woman, who was shouting at them. Some kind of creature was on the roof with her. It was a small dog, yapping and trying to keep its footing.
“Geronimo.” Tubby smiled and eased himself through the hatch. He climbed onto the strut while Flowers fought to keep the Airodream level. The winch gave him slack. He let his feet dangle, then slid his legs into space. For a minute he held onto the strut as if it were a trapeze bar, then let go. He swung in the wind, and the winch slowly lowered him down. When his feet hit the roof he stumbled and would have toppled into the water lapping the gutters if he hadn’t been tugged up short by the lanyard around his waist and shoulders.
The woman understood that they were trying to rescue her, but she didn’t know what to do. The dog was frantically skittering from one end of the roof to the other.
Teetering on the slope, Tubby unbuckled himself carefully, deafened by the rotor noise. The woman looked like his sweet old Aunt Nellie, if Aunt Nellie had been left out in the sun to cook for a couple of days. Her rosette face radiated hope when he approached with the contraption, and she feigned modesty when he fastened it around her legs and waist.
“What about Pookie?” she asked sweetly in his ear. “I can’t leave without Pookie.”
“Okay.” Tubby crawled on his knees along the crown of the roof. “Here, Pookie,” he sang. The dog was not cooperating. She retreated along the ridge tiles then feinted left and ran right to get around this strange intruder. She momentarily lost her footing and almost plopped into the water, but at the last second she clawed her way back to the top and scampered to her owner. The woman made the catch and gathered Pookie to her breast.
“Up you go,” Tubby said, and he made his thumbs up to Flowers.
The winch jerked the woman about two feet off the roof. She screamed and Pookie went flying. The dog landed on the pitched shingles and listlessly wobbled closer to her doom. The screaming woman was pulled higher and higher.
“Here, Pookie,” Tubby called desperately. Looking up he saw the woman’s bedroom slippers disappear into the helicopter. On his rump he slid toward the dog, but too late. It flopped into the gray-green chop.
The sudden bath seemed to energize the dog, however, and Pookie flailed at the drip edge until she found purchase. As if pursued by frenzied hounds she clawed her way straight up the roof and hopped into Tubby’s arms.
“You are one smelly critter,” he said happily.
The dog remained attached to Tubby while the rope and saddle came back down and as he clumsily used his other hand to get himself buckled in. When that mission was accomplished he signaled Flowers. The line went taut, lifting Tubby to his tip-toes, and then stopped.
Inside the helicopter, the woman wanted to know if that man had
“Could I go down on a rope?”
“Yes and no. There’s a lanyard and a saddle behind you, but the winch may not be strong enough to pull you back up.”
“Let’s try it and see.” While the prop wash animated the tree tops below, Tubby scrounged around the tiny compartment behind his seat and organized the ropes. He tested the electric winch, and it buzzed to life.
“Seems to be okay,” he said. He strapped himself into the saddle. He opened the hatch door on the deck.
“You sure you want to try this?” Flowers asked doubtfully. “You ain’t no young stud.” One hundred feet under the skids, a woman in a chenille bathrobe waved at them frantically, trying to stand on steeply pitched shingles.
“Just get me as close as you can,” Tubby said. “I happen to be a former rugby player.” He had seen heroes do this on television before, and he felt heroic, having survived the Convention Center. It also seemed that the world had revolved many a time since he had last practiced law.
Flowers put the bird about forty feet above the woman, who was shouting at them. Some kind of creature was on the roof with her. It was a small dog, yapping and trying to keep its footing.
“Geronimo.” Tubby smiled and eased himself through the hatch. He climbed onto the strut while Flowers fought to keep the Airodream level. The winch gave him slack. He let his feet dangle, then slid his legs into space. For a minute he held onto the strut as if it were a trapeze bar, then let go. He swung in the wind, and the winch slowly lowered him down. When his feet hit the roof he stumbled and would have toppled into the water lapping the gutters if he hadn’t been tugged up short by the lanyard around his waist and shoulders.
The woman understood that they were trying to rescue her, but she didn’t know what to do. The dog was frantically skittering from one end of the roof to the other.
Teetering on the slope, Tubby unbuckled himself carefully, deafened by the rotor noise. The woman looked like his sweet old Aunt Nellie, if Aunt Nellie had been left out in the sun to cook for a couple of days. Her rosette face radiated hope when he approached with the contraption, and she feigned modesty when he fastened it around her legs and waist.
“What about Pookie?” she asked sweetly in his ear. “I can’t leave without Pookie.”
“Okay.” Tubby crawled on his knees along the crown of the roof. “Here, Pookie,” he sang. The dog was not cooperating. She retreated along the ridge tiles then feinted left and ran right to get around this strange intruder. She momentarily lost her footing and almost plopped into the water, but at the last second she clawed her way back to the top and scampered to her owner. The woman made the catch and gathered Pookie to her breast.
“Up you go,” Tubby said, and he made his thumbs up to Flowers.
The winch jerked the woman about two feet off the roof. She screamed and Pookie went flying. The dog landed on the pitched shingles and listlessly wobbled closer to her doom. The screaming woman was pulled higher and higher.
“Here, Pookie,” Tubby called desperately. Looking up he saw the woman’s bedroom slippers disappear into the helicopter. On his rump he slid toward the dog, but too late. It flopped into the gray-green chop.
The sudden bath seemed to energize the dog, however, and Pookie flailed at the drip edge until she found purchase. As if pursued by frenzied hounds she clawed her way straight up the roof and hopped into Tubby’s arms.
“You are one smelly critter,” he said happily.
The dog remained attached to Tubby while the rope and saddle came back down and as he clumsily used his other hand to get himself buckled in. When that mission was accomplished he signaled Flowers. The line went taut, lifting Tubby to his tip-toes, and then stopped.
Inside the helicopter, the woman wanted to know if that man had
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