CHAPTER SIX

“W OOP!” I grabbed my stomach.

“YIGG!” Cros grabbed his jaws.

“Hey, how do ya stop this thing? We’re shootin’ up too fast!”

“Tell me about it!” I said.

“Then do somethin’! Look down there, we’re leavin’ Mamma Earth!”

“I’m tryin’ t’ figure out the controls,” I said. “All these gauges an’ levers an’ switches. Here, maybe this one’ll work  ”

“Which? Where?”

“Right here. The UPGAS MODULATOR.”

This lever was set as high as it could go in RISE position, and Crosley grabbed it and yanked it all the way down to PLUMMET. And the second he did, the blimp switched from going straight up to going straight down like it had bounced off the bottom of the sky.

“GRUK!” Cros grabbed his jaws again. “JOHN, DO SOMETHIN’!”

“Keep your cookies, Cros.” I pushed the lever back up to HOVER-LOK and the blimp stopped with a bump right in the middle of the air.

“Jeeks,” gulped Crosley. “Talk about thrills and adventure!” He straightened his vest and his yellow jacket. “Ain’t ya glad I stopped us shootin’ up like that? We mighta been on some asteroid by now!”

“We took off before we knew how,” I said. “Here, let’s figure out these controls before we make a single nother move.”

“Sounds like a plan t’ me,” breathed Crosley.

I pointed at the UPGAS MODULATOR: “We know exactly what that sucker does. Now how do ya guess we make the blimp go forward?”

“Right there,” pointed Crosley. “That button that says ENGINE START. Lessee what  ”

“UT! Don’t push it yet! Wait till we know what we’re doin’!”

“Right, buddy. Yeah, you’re right.”

I started going over the controls one at a time  

“Okay, there it is, Cros. Over by you, the THRUST lever. See, it goes from FLOAT all the way t’ FLANK SPEED.”

Crosley looked: “Yeah, an’ these pedals down here say AIR BRAKES.” He sat up: “Ya guess maybe we’re checked out now?”

I looked around the cockpit: “Okay, I guess that oughta do it. You wanna push the starter button or me?”

“I don’t mind in the least,” grinned Crosley. “Ya ready?”

“Ready for Freddy.” I held onto my steering wheel: “Well? Go ahead.”

“What ya mean go ahead? Didn’t ya see me push the thing?”

“I wasn’t lookin’.”

“I pushed the button an’ nothin’ happened,” said Crosley.

“Push it again,” I said.

“Right  ”

Crosley held the button down a long time and nothing happened again. We sat there and looked at each other.

“Maybe we left out a step,” I said.

“Maybe the battery’s dead,” said Crosley.

“I don’t think it has a battery,” I said.

“Hm! Lemme try an’ get in my thinkin’ position  ”

Crosley scrunched down in his seat and got his front feet behind his head and his back ones up against his steering wheel. Then he shut his eyes like he always does, but when he did this time, his foot brushed against the control panel.

“HAR  ?”

We shot off like a rock out of a slingshot  !

“YiGG! John! GAK! What  ?”

“Sit up an’ pull your big foot away! You’re pushin’ the THRUST lever!”

The lights of the Borough were flying by underneath us in a blur, but you know what? The blimp was quiet! There wasn’t a sound or a vibration or anything, and it was almost like the Borough was sliding off under us as fast as it could slide and we were just floating there.

But Crosley pulled his feet back now and yanked on the THRUST lever, and I stepped on my AIR BRAKES and the Borough slowed down under us and stopped.

“Wow!” I let out a big breath. “Now I see why they call ‘em racin’ blimps!”

“I don’t get it,” said Crosley. “The motor didn’t even come on.”

“Somethin’ sure did. Look, we’re already out on top of the River!”

“Har? Where?” Crosley looked down at the curvy black ribbon and covered his eyes: “Lissen, don’t let’s sit here. All that water’s makin’ me liverish!”

“Relax, Cros, here, I’ll move us  ”

I nudged the THRUST lever forward and turned my steering wheel.

“You can look now. The River’s back in the rear-view mirror.”

Crosley sat up and peeked between his claws and saw the Borough sliding along underneath us again.

“Woo!” he said. “Sorry about that, but this ain’t no place t’ hafta start doin’ the Black Bottom.”

“Why are ya worried about that? Ya got your antidotes.”

“Can’t help it. All that water erodes my sense o’ wellbein’. Besides, it takes ‘em two minutes t’ work.”

“Okay, so which way do I steer now?”

“Rodney Oglesby’s hot dog cart.”

“So tell me what direction, would ya please?”

“Yeah, okay,” Crosley pointed. “Ya see that TV tower way out there like at eleven o’clock?”

“Ya mean if straight ahead is twelve?”

“Yeah.”

“See all them skyscrapers right before that, all around in a square, like?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, North Park’s inside there, an’ Rodney’s right on one o’ the corners. First lemme try the train whistle t’ make sure it works.”

Crosley pulled the cord hanging over his head and a giant shriek rushed out of the blimp. We grinned at each other and I turned us toward the skyscrapers and added more THRUST, and off we slid, quiet as smoke, over all the streets and buildings.

“I’m gonna boogie back t’ the treat machine,” announced Crosley after we set our course. I was having fun just looking out the window. The Borough lights looked all peach-colored through the aviation glass.

“What flavor ya want, buddy?”

“Huh?”

“What flavor frozen yogurt ya want?”

“Uh, Wild Raspberry, I guess. If we got it.”

I got busy working the UPGAS MODULATOR to get us over a row of microwave towers we were coming up on. Then I looked around.

“Hey, Cros, I didn’t know you were a yogurt man.”

Cros was almost to the back of the cabin: “I am if it’s my flavor, buddy. Ya can count on it.”

He was gone another half a minute and then I heard him yell: “John! Goodness gracious! Excelsior! Put the blimp in HOVER-LOK an’ com’ere an’ look!”

I unstrapped myself and scooted back to the back. Cros had the cover off the motor box and was staring down inside.

“Take a peek in there,” he pointed. “I guess that explains why we never heard nothin’.”

I looked in: “Cros! It ain’t even a motor! It’s just a big horseshoe magnet!”

“You’re tellin’ me!” said Crosley. “An’ don’t say ain’t neither.”

“Okay, yeah, but look! The blimp must run on magnetic force. It must just draw itself t’ wherever it’s goin’!”

“That’s exackly what I’m thinkin’,” said Crosley. “The steerin’ wheel points the magnet in whatever direction ya wanna go. Look here at the metal tag on the motor box  ”

 

“Fantastic,” I said. “I’ll see ya when ya get back from the treat machine.” I went up to the cockpit and got us going again. A minute later here came Crosley with one red cup and about fifteen white ones.

“Cros, what in th’  ?”

“Here’s your Wild Raspberry, buddy. An’ here’s a spoon.  Har? What ya starin’ at?”

“I’m starin’ at  How many yogurts is that?”

“Somethin’ wrong?” he blinked. “They had my flavor.”

I checked our course and locked the steering wheel: “Pineapple cheesecake frozen yogurt?”

“Naw,” grinned Crosley. “That ain’t been invented yet. But they had the very next best thing. Look  Crusted Crème Fro-Madge!”

“Crusted Crème who?”

“Fro-Madge. It’s swamp lingo for cream cheese.”

I held up my hand: “Wait! Don’t tell me. That’s the main thing that goes in pineapple cheesecakes.”

Crosley plopped down in his pilot seat: “Ol’ buddy, did I ever let on that you wasn’t sharp as a crate o’ brand-new straight razors? Tell the truth now  ”

“Nope, Cros, ya never did.”

“Naw, John, an’ I ain’t about t’ start. Awright, ya wanna eat yours first an’ let me drive?”

I looked out through the windshield: “You go first, Cros. I got a feelin’ I won’t hafta wait too long.”

“Ya got a deal,” said Crosley.

And in the time it took me to steer around a flock of wild geese and get us back on course, our recycle bucket between the seats got filled full with empty white frozen yogurt cups, and lids too, and a spoon.

Crosley’s eyes were tight shut: “Woo! (Grup!) My teeth’s froze! Woo!”

“Ha! Serves ya right. Why do ya always hafta eat so fast?”

Crosley ran his tongue over his teeth: “It’s my growlin’ green gustibus juices, man. When they say eat, I gotta eat an’ no messin’ around  Here, I’ll take the controls while ya eat your Wild Whateveritiz.”

“Okay, it’s your blimp now. But look up ahead there, ya better go on an’ raise the UPGAS MODULATOR.”

“Check,” said Crosley. “Yeah, here come the skyscrapers.”

I sat back and ate my frozen yogurt, and Cros pushed up on the UPGAS LEVER, and we rose. When we got high enough, he levelled off and pulled way back on the THRUST, and we floated right over the row of skyscrapers.

Then he hit the AIR BRAKES and put the blimp in HOVER-LOK and pointed down: “Right there’s North Park, chief.”

I leaned over: “Hey, yeah, ya can’t see it till you’re right over the top of it.”

North Park was a big dark splotch with little white lights sprinkled through it. Little toy cars and tiny people inched along on the street and sidewalk that went around it.

“Ya wanna do the honors, John? Ya done with your snack?”

“Man, that was good.” I crunched my cup down on top of all of Crosley’s. “Show me Rodney Oglesby’s hot dog stand.”

“Awright,” he pointed. “See down there on the nearest corner? Here, take the blimp binoculars  That purple-an’-white-striped umbrella there, see it?”

I aimed the binoculars down through the floor window: “Yeah, there it is.”

“That’s Rodney. He’s set up right underneath.”

“Copy that,” I said, and I pulled down on the UPGAS and we started sinking.

Okay: Think for a minute about floating down through a gigantic elevator shaft with the sides made out of all kinds of steel and stone and about eight million windows. And stuff going on inside the windows and the park rising up at you till pretty soon you can make out all the trees and walkways and lamps that are a lot more than specks now and  Right. That’s how it looked, floating down through the middle of all those skyscrapers.

“How’s right here, Cros?”

“Yeah, this is perfect. Go on an’ set the HOVER-LOK.”

I raised the UPGAS MODULATOR to the slot between RISE and PLUMMET and the blimp stopped thirty feet over the purple-and-white-striped umbrella.

I looked over at Crosley and he grinned and rolled down his window  

“Rodney Oglesby forgot t’ wash his feet this month!”

We both giggled and watched the umbrella, but nothing happened.

“Yeah, an’ he makes his hot dogs outta ol’ mattress pads!”

Nothing still happened. The umbrella just sat there.

“Awright, John, lessee if this flushes him out  ”

I held my ears and Crosley leaned back and cut loose with everything he had:

“RODNEY OGLESBY (HARUMPH) iS A DORK!”

The chain saw blast made the umbrella quiver and flutter.

“Am not.”

“HAR?” Crosley jerked around in his seat.

“Anybody ever tell ya ya could crush boulders with those pipes ya got?”

“WHO SAID THAT? WHA  ?”

We looked in the back, and there stood this orange-haired fat guy with big dark glasses, wearing a scuzzy sweatshirt with BLACK WATCH on it.

Crosley’s jaw dropped all the way to his belt: “How in the name of all the cats in Central Bulgaria  ?”

The fat guy pointed to his ears with both hands: “Ya didn’t need t’ be yellin’. Halloo there, John laddie, I’m really pleased t’ meet ya.”

I unstrapped myself and went and shook hands with him: “You too, Rodney. You look just like your picture.”