Chapter Twelve
Arriving, finally, at the “Dull” International airport, Willie, T. P. and Dewitt make their entrance and move toward a ticket counter. Willie has contrived for “Jesse” a stupid-looking disguise, just in case the kidnapping has been reported: Dewitt wears a ski cap, dark glasses and a fake, oversize goatee.
While T. P. struggles with the luggage behind them, Dewitt propels along in his wheelchair as he talks with Willie.
“So I just have to keep quiet?”
“That’s right, Colonel. We don’t want nobody suspicious.”
“Yeah, right,” Dewitt sighs and shakes his head. He pretends a falsetto accent. “I veel co-operate, Monsieur.”
Willie livens up.
“Hey, ‘Pink Panther,’” he notes. “Good movie. Seen ‘em all. – And so’s you know, we have you reserved under a fake name.”
“Who, King Tut?” Dewitt drolly replies, pulling on his fake beard.
By now, T. P. has caught up with the twosome. Out of breath, he answers.
“Douglas. Douglas D. Douglas. That was Willie’s idea, so we could all remember. – Water! Water!”
Dewitt whispers to himself, “Bet I can guess what the ‘D’ stands for.”
As a perky young ticket agent begins their check-in, T. P. comes up confidentially to Willie.
“Willie,” he asks quietly, “you get rid of your gun?”
“What?”
“-get rid of your gun?”
“Huh? I ain’t chewing any.”
T. P. is exasperated. He speaks a little louder.
“Yer gun, not your gum!”
The ticket agent looks up, wondering. She glances at a security guard who is casually drinking coffee in the distance.
Willie looks at the young lady and then at T. P.
“Ohhh,” he intones. “My gum!” and begins to chew vigorously. He looks again at the agent and chews even harder and then swallows conspicuously. He opens his mouth and points inside it.
“Don’t worry, all gone,” he says to the ticket agent. She just shakes her head and keeps typing on her computer to finalize the soon-to-depart threesomes’ tickets. Willie glowers at T. P. and wags a finger.
“Sorry, Willie,” announces a contrite T. P., in an unrehearsed but very familiar refrain.
The commercial flight that is carrying Dewitt, Willie and T. P. flies over the Rockies into a new morning. Dewitt sleeps soundly in a middle seat between the others. A flight attendant comes up and speaks to the two boys.
“Will you gentlemen be needing assistance other than my getting your friend’s wheelchair ready when we land?” she asks.
“Uh, no, thanks, Miss,” says Willie. “We’ll handle it ourselves. We just have to get our friend back to the, uh, Reservation. Uh, in time for uh, uh... ”
“The service,” pipes up T. P.
Willie looks at T. P., wondering what in the world he’s on about. The flight attendant nods as she tries to be understanding.
“The service?” she asks.
Willie looks at her and then back at T. P.
“Uh, yes,” T. P. continues. “Our, uh, cousin here has, that is, we all lost our maiden aunt and we are flying to the funeral. It’s today.”
T. P. looks at Willie to see if this idea holds water. Willie just rolls his eyes in disbelief.
The flight attendant is confused: Dewitt looks nothing like the other two.
“This man is your cousin?” she asks.
T. P. looks at Dewitt and realizes what she is implying. His eyes widen. He continues.
“I mean, that is, our cousin-in-law. His mother married my mother – I mean, our mother. – That is, Willie and me. We’re, uh, brothers.”
Willie squirms, upset with this nonsensical attempt.
The flight attendant wonders, “His mother married your mother?”
T. P. still hasn’t caught on.
“Uh, yes,” he replies, “and we – well, of course, we weren’t born then. She hadn’t had neither Willie or, nor, or me.”
Smiling a little, the flight attendant asks, “Which she?”
“Uh, er... ,” T. P. stammers.
“I tell you what,” she continues, “I’m just going to let you guys rest. It’s been a long day.”
She calmly walks away, shaking her head and holding her hand up to her forehead.
“Why didn’t I just go straight to bartending school?” she quietly asks herself.
Willie looks at T. P.
“Sorry, Willie,” T. P. grovels.
Willie speaks softly in sing-song.
“His mother married our mother. Oh, man!”
T. P. is chagrined.