31
Earl had wanted to garner as much attention for the act as they possibly could. Unfortunately he had gotten the attention he craved, and then some. Catching the eye of the Department of Commerce in particular earned the flying circus a citation and a hefty fine. Pollux, the remaining biplane, was to be impounded until Earl could resolve the citation in court and pay the corresponding fine.
“Where are they taking Pollux?” Ava asked, watching as men came to collect the flying circus’s remaining Stearman. The men were loading it onto a flat, wide trailer bed and chaining it down. They were going to transport the plane on the trailer bed, not fly it, Ava realized.
“Somewhere in San Francisco, I heard,” Louis replied. “I guess . . . that’s the end of our flying circus act . . .”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Harry argued. “Earl can be pretty resourceful when he wants to. Maybe he’ll think of something. Maybe he’s even got something up his sleeve.”
“Hah, ‘up his sleeve,’” Ava murmured. “Speaking of that . . . I don’t suppose you know a magic trick to make a disappearing airplane reappear?” It was a joke, but her heart was only half in it, and it came out sounding flat.
“Not yet,” Harry replied, straining to maintain a positive note. “But I’m workin’ on it.”
He had managed a jovial tone, but no one laughed. Together the three of them watched the Stearman being hauled away with a sick feeling, as though the biplane were a faithful old horse being sold to the glue factory.
Unsure what to do, the now-airplaneless barnstormers continued to travel together. Since the plane had been impounded in San Francisco, Earl insisted it would be best to remain nearby: By staying in the city, they would stand the best chance of getting the Stearman back. He convinced the group to cross the Golden Gate, promising to find “inexpensive accommodations” for them.
Once over the bridge they headed to the wharf, circling around the Embarcadero, under and past the Bay Bridge, until they reached a gloomy stretch of industrial settlement along the shore of the bay that faced east. Across the water, the lights of Oakland glimmered, while all around them stevedores operated the great dry docks that hauled entire transoceanic liners and pan-Pacific cargo ships out of the water for repairs.
“There can’t be a place to camp the caravan around here,” Ava complained quietly to her mother, but Cleo only put a finger to her lips and shook her head, not wanting to anger Earl. Despite the fact that he was the one to blame, Earl was the sort of creature who, when down and out, snapped unexpectedly, and with sharp teeth.
As they ventured farther into the industrial bowels of San Francisco, Earl claimed he knew a fellow, a longshoreman whose acquaintanceship Earl never bothered to explain. After asking around at the dry docks, he found the gentleman in question, and the longshoreman directed them to a disused warehouse.
“No one will bother ya there, and I’ll even offer ya a discount,” the longshoreman said. He proceeded to accept a few greenbacks from Earl, behaving as though he owned the warehouse, though Ava was not entirely convinced this was the case.
However, the warehouse was empty, just as the longshoreman had guaranteed, and it had cost them even less than borrowing a farmer’s field, so there was that. It was an enormous, echoing cavern of a place, large enough for them to park the caravan inside and even large enough for them to light an open fire without the hazard of smoke inhalation. Though huge, it was rickety, red with rust. It smelled of mildewed tarps, diesel, rotted wood, and putrefying kelp. The tin roof was riddled with holes; during the daytime, light shone in like a series of artificial stars.
Earl smiled and attempted a grand, conciliatory note.
“I realize it’s hardly a fit place for a lady,” Earl said to Cleo, “but if I can just buy some time to come up with a plan, I’m certain I’ll have us out of here and back on the open road in no time . . .”
Hutch, Buzz, Louis, and Harry had it the worst. Sleeping inside a caravan parked in a damp warehouse was one thing. Sleeping on the packed dirt of the warehouse floor was another matter.
“Christ only knows what kinds of diseases these rats got. You two young’uns ought to put your bedrolls in the truck bed of the Model A and sleep there,” Hutch advised Louis and Harry, after noting the number of rats that skittered across the warehouse floor during their first night. A few days later, Buzz and Hutch began sleeping elsewhere, closer to the heart of the city’s downtown. Buzz found he could usually charm his way into the warm beds of various ladies (and happily did so), while Hutch was content to board in the old rooming houses left over from the old forty-niner days.
Still, the group reconvened a few times a week, holding their breath for the moment when Earl might announce a definitive plan to get the Stearman back.
Unceremoniously, the day came and went for Earl to go down to the courthouse to address the citation the flying circus had been given.
Ava had assumed that Earl would remind everyone of the date and require the whole lot of them to go with him: Earl was always one for a loud parade cheering his name. At the very least, Ava thought Earl would demand her mother be at his side, as Earl typically instructed Cleo to dress to the nines whenever he thought it might help curry favor with those who mattered.
So it was a surprise to Ava when Earl didn’t remind anyone of the date, and went alone. The only clue he’d even gone came at suppertime, when he stared into the campfire they’d built and muttered to Ava’s mother, “Can you believe . . . they wouldn’t lower that fine one red cent . . .”
“What was that, dear?” Ava’s mother asked, and Earl slowly, grudgingly described a visit to the courthouse as well as to several different bureaucratic offices dotted about the city. According to Earl, none of them would take pity on him or the plight of his flying circus.
Ava exchanged a look with both Louis and Harry. Sure enough, Earl had been absent all morning and afternoon, but no one had suspected he had been off seeing about official business. He had come back stinking of cigar smoke and cheap beer. Ava had simply assumed he’d been at a long day of his usual poker games.
Finally, a week or so later, the moment they were all waiting for arrived: Earl had hit upon a plan. He waited until they had all gathered: Ava and her mother, Louis and Harry, and Buzz and Hutch.
“I’m afraid the only solution to get the Stearman out of impound is to pool our money once again,” Earl announced, opaquely referring to the incident in Sonoma. Earl knew better than to bring it up too directly; he was hardly the hero of that episode, and he was, in short, asking for a donation to their group cause now.
“I dunno, Boss . . .” Hutch said. “Do you really think that’ll work? Will it be enough? And we’ll have enough to get back out on the road? What’s to stop ’em from keeping an eye out for us and issuing us another citation?”
“I’m afraid it’s our only chance,” Earl answered. “Unless you already have another job lined up?”
Hutch shook his head. Working as an instructor had never suited Hutch; he needed the open road. The only other job he’d settled into was driving cattle—but once the Depression hit, ranchers had all been too hard up to pay a decent wage anymore.
Earl saw his cue to continue. “I took the liberty of counting what’s in the strongbox,” he said, “and it appears, between all of us, we have just enough to pay the impound fee . . .”
Louis raised an eyebrow at this. That was suspicious: What were the odds? “I don’t know,” he piped up, shaking his head. “What if we hand over the money to the impound officers but they don’t budge, or they claim it’s not enough? Some of us need that money . . .”
Ava cast a sympathetic glance in Louis’s direction. She knew the losses Louis had taken during their stay in Sonoma had caused some sort of row with his brother.
“It does seem like a gamble,” Hutch said. He cleared his throat and frowned—the sign that Hutch was about to consent to something. “But, hell, I figure we’d better go all in with this thing. I’m in with my share.”
“I’m in, too,” Buzz said. He looked around and shrugged. “Flying for this outfit has been the most fun a fella can have. Might as well try to turn every last stone to keep ’er going . . .”
The group was silent. Hutch and Buzz were in. Louis was on the fence. Now all heads swiveled in Harry’s direction.
“Well, Crane?” Buzz prompted. “Looks like you gotta cast your vote.”
Harry frowned, looking thoughtful. He glanced around the circle, from face to face. He paused for a moment when he got to Louis, a flicker of apology in his expression.
“I say we at least let Earl try,” Harry agreed in a quiet voice. “If there’s a chance we can get the plane back, well, then I guess the truth is, I want to know we tried.”
“That’s the spirit!” Earl said.
Lower and more confidentially to Louis, Harry said, “I don’t want to put you in a pickle, Louis, but shouldn’t we give it a chance? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to us. I know you had plans for that money, but there never woulda been any money to keep in the first place if it weren’t for Earl and Buzz and Hutch—and the planes, right?”
Louis said nothing. He only looked a little gray and defeated. He swallowed.
“Are you in, Eagle?” Buzz asked him directly.
Louis hesitated for a moment, then nodded.