Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 229

1 Comment

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 229

…It may have been fun to witness from the ground, but there is no way I am going to crash a perfectly good airplane…

Photo by Richard Lund

Photo by Richard Lund

Samuel Goldwyn Jr. swoops in to provide an up-to-the-minute update on what it’s like out in the stadium proper, “The place is packed Connie girl. Billy has just knocked their socks off with his sermon set-up. Man, can that man get a crowd riled up!”

He loves the good theater, provided by a good man, right out the pages of the Good Book.

“It’s time to saddle up. The filmed interviews are rolling as I speak… and I might add Ace old boy, that plane crash of yours? Worth the price of admission!! Any time you want to do that again, for more movie footage, me or my dad would love to film it.”

CrashLanding

“I just got the Angel back in the air and Billy is getting tired of bus rides, so I will take a pass.”

“How about our plane and no passengers…?”

“No, no and did I mention absolutely not!? It may have been fun to witness from the ground, but there is no way I am going to crash a perfectly good airplane.

“I was just saying,” you can’t blame a guy for trying. “But seriously, we need to get those carriages out into the good-light, which is perfect this time of the day!”

The time has come to enter the coliseum, an arena of battle where good and evil are on a collision course. It isn’t often that neither side in a conflict knows exactly what the other is planning. Like enemy submarines patrol the same water, trying to be as quiet as possible, even in normal conversation, lest they give away their position or tip off what they have planned.

The only being who knows what is going on is God Himself, and maybe a couple angels. Everybody else is just ???guessing???


Constance Caraway P.I.

 

Forever Mastadon


page 193 (end Ch. 19)

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 179

Leave a comment

Constance Caraway P.I. ~ Episode 179

…”Okay, Miss Coriander, I’m ready to roll.” Right girl, wrong spice…

“I think something big is about to happen,” the ever alert private eye warns the documentary maker.

More awake and suddenly motivated he moves to his equipment bag to retrieve his last 35mm blank, slapping in a fresh two thousand feet into the front reel chamber.

“Let’s get outside for a better angle,” she notices that he has airport credentials that give him freedom of movement. “I’m with him,” she tells a security guard who is guarding access to the tarmac. “Here comes an arrival, there hasn’t been one in 30 minutes and it should be the busiest part of the day.”

“Okay, Miss Coriander, I’m ready to roll.” Right woman, wrong spice.

The entire passenger cabin has assumed the head-in-lap position, no use looking out the windows now. “Brace yourselves for a rough landing…” Ace has briefed them on what the airport expects of them upon touchdown, panic is not an option. He reminds them that it his skill that will determine the outcome and nothing else. What he doesn’t tell them is that because of the sharp descent angle they will be doing the equivalent of a swimming pool belly flop.

He throttles the new turbine engines back to the minimum required RPMs to stay airborne as he clears the perimeter fence and goes full flaps after that. After the two front wheels are weighed down by the descending fuselage, they curl up like a petunia at sunset and the only thing between the bottom of the plane and the cold concrete is five foot layer of air, which disappears after the skilled flyer shuts down the engines, makes a sharp right turn and takes the aircraft into the wet grassy soil and ultimately to the end of available real estate.

Chain_Link_Fence

The only thing left between the screeching plane and Central Avenue is a chain link fence, which stretches out to its max, but stops forward progress when the wings finally contact the reinforced barrier. Ace gives a friendly wave at the stopped line of cars that was headed east on Central… those going west go around the scene like The Blue Ridge Angel is a fallen tree. Places to go you know.


Constance Caraway P.I.

Forever Mastadon


page 151