the time for payback
had come.
But what the hell. This was real joe.
“Shit yeah, I’m superstitious as hell,” said A-Bomb.
“What’s the matter, Chief? You worried we’re going to break your planes?”
“You guys? Nah.” Clyston nodded at the Tinman, who
bent over an old toolbox below one of the workbenches. He opened it and removed
a small, silver cross.
“Es got, no hurt,” said the Tinman, holding the small
piece of metal in front of him as if it were a holy relic.
“What’s that?” asked A-Bomb.
“Kind of a good-luck charm the Tinman wants you to
have,” explained the capo as the Tinman carefully handed over the small medal
to A-Bomb. “St. Christopher’s Cross. Came from St. Peter’s. Blessed by the Pope
in 1502.”
“No shit. Were you there, Tinman?”
The Tinman said something unintelligible to A-Bomb.
Clyston only smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was.”
A-Bomb turned the small pieces of metal over in his
hand. It was tarnished and worn smooth. It had definitely been around.
“What’s the deal?”
The Capo gave him a half-wink. “Karma thing. Morale.”
“Iff will kept Cap G wholk,” said Tinman.
Clyston was still grinning. Obviously, this was a
morale kind of thing for the Tinman’s benefit, part of some sort of elaborate
capo plot to keep the old-timer churning.
The things you had to do to be top sergeant.
“He wants you to give it to Captain Glenon,” said the
capo. “Go ahead, have some more coffee.”
A-Bomb eyed the pot but stayed where he was. “That’s
going to be a problem,” he told them. “Doberman gets kind of touchy about
superstitious stuff. You know him, Chief. He won’t even take souvenirs, right?”
The Tinman’s face had begun to grow red, and he looked
obviously agitated. He started to say something, but Clyston put his hand up,
silencing him immediately.
“Thing is, Captain,” said the Capo, “I’d appreciate it
if you talked to him about.”
“I can’t make him do something he doesn’t want to do,”
said A-Bomb.
“If you say you’ll ask him, that would be enough,”
said Clyston, glancing at Tinman to make sure he was in agreement.
The old-timer nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” A-Bomb told them. Tin Man
nodded some more. Obviously satisfied, he drifted off to another part of the
shop, while A-Bomb helped himself to another cup of coffee.
“So where’s my cross?” he asked Clyston. “Don’t I need
karma, too?”
The capo made a face. “You don’t believe in that
superstitious crap, do you, Captain?”
“Nah,” said A-Bomb. “All I need is a good cup of joe.
Mind if I fill my thermos? This is the kind of stuff you want to be drinking
when you blow something up.”
###
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Doberman told A-Bomb
when he mentioned the cross an hour or so later. They were suiting up for their
mission.
“See the thing is, Tinman’s kind of superstitious is
what I think,” said A-Bomb. “And Clyston has to keep him happy because the
colonel’s sending him to Al Jouf. . .”
“Why does he have to be happy?”
“Dog, Tinman pretty much bends metal with his eyes,
you know what I’m talking about? The guy really knows his shit.”
“He’s a fucking loony bird.”
“Yeah, but he’s gonna keep us in the air. Maybe he’s a
shaman or something. Yeah, gotta be.”
“It’s all superstitious bullshit,” said Doberman. “I
don’t believe in that crap.”
“How about that penny you carry around?”
As the words left his mouth, A-Bomb realized he had
made a major mistake, but it was too late to take them back.
“That’s different.” Doberman’s face was so hot his
bristle-top hair seemed to flutter with the heat. “That’s fuckin’ different.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean nothin’.”
“You think I’m lucky? I got the fuckin’ luck of Job. I
busted my ass to learn to fly. I studied and practiced, that’s what I did.”
“That’s what I’m talking
had come.
But what the hell. This was real joe.
“Shit yeah, I’m superstitious as hell,” said A-Bomb.
“What’s the matter, Chief? You worried we’re going to break your planes?”
“You guys? Nah.” Clyston nodded at the Tinman, who
bent over an old toolbox below one of the workbenches. He opened it and removed
a small, silver cross.
“Es got, no hurt,” said the Tinman, holding the small
piece of metal in front of him as if it were a holy relic.
“What’s that?” asked A-Bomb.
“Kind of a good-luck charm the Tinman wants you to
have,” explained the capo as the Tinman carefully handed over the small medal
to A-Bomb. “St. Christopher’s Cross. Came from St. Peter’s. Blessed by the Pope
in 1502.”
“No shit. Were you there, Tinman?”
The Tinman said something unintelligible to A-Bomb.
Clyston only smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was.”
A-Bomb turned the small pieces of metal over in his
hand. It was tarnished and worn smooth. It had definitely been around.
“What’s the deal?”
The Capo gave him a half-wink. “Karma thing. Morale.”
“Iff will kept Cap G wholk,” said Tinman.
Clyston was still grinning. Obviously, this was a
morale kind of thing for the Tinman’s benefit, part of some sort of elaborate
capo plot to keep the old-timer churning.
The things you had to do to be top sergeant.
“He wants you to give it to Captain Glenon,” said the
capo. “Go ahead, have some more coffee.”
A-Bomb eyed the pot but stayed where he was. “That’s
going to be a problem,” he told them. “Doberman gets kind of touchy about
superstitious stuff. You know him, Chief. He won’t even take souvenirs, right?”
The Tinman’s face had begun to grow red, and he looked
obviously agitated. He started to say something, but Clyston put his hand up,
silencing him immediately.
“Thing is, Captain,” said the Capo, “I’d appreciate it
if you talked to him about.”
“I can’t make him do something he doesn’t want to do,”
said A-Bomb.
“If you say you’ll ask him, that would be enough,”
said Clyston, glancing at Tinman to make sure he was in agreement.
The old-timer nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” A-Bomb told them. Tin Man
nodded some more. Obviously satisfied, he drifted off to another part of the
shop, while A-Bomb helped himself to another cup of coffee.
“So where’s my cross?” he asked Clyston. “Don’t I need
karma, too?”
The capo made a face. “You don’t believe in that
superstitious crap, do you, Captain?”
“Nah,” said A-Bomb. “All I need is a good cup of joe.
Mind if I fill my thermos? This is the kind of stuff you want to be drinking
when you blow something up.”
###
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Doberman told A-Bomb
when he mentioned the cross an hour or so later. They were suiting up for their
mission.
“See the thing is, Tinman’s kind of superstitious is
what I think,” said A-Bomb. “And Clyston has to keep him happy because the
colonel’s sending him to Al Jouf. . .”
“Why does he have to be happy?”
“Dog, Tinman pretty much bends metal with his eyes,
you know what I’m talking about? The guy really knows his shit.”
“He’s a fucking loony bird.”
“Yeah, but he’s gonna keep us in the air. Maybe he’s a
shaman or something. Yeah, gotta be.”
“It’s all superstitious bullshit,” said Doberman. “I
don’t believe in that crap.”
“How about that penny you carry around?”
As the words left his mouth, A-Bomb realized he had
made a major mistake, but it was too late to take them back.
“That’s different.” Doberman’s face was so hot his
bristle-top hair seemed to flutter with the heat. “That’s fuckin’ different.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean nothin’.”
“You think I’m lucky? I got the fuckin’ luck of Job. I
busted my ass to learn to fly. I studied and practiced, that’s what I did.”
“That’s what I’m talking
Similar Books
