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“Because you’re perceptive?”
Von und zu Aschenburg laughed and then put his hand on the bandage on his side.
“Goddamn it! I told you to stop!”
“And I said everybody out!” Mother Superior snapped.
[THREE]
El Plumerillo Airfield
Mendoza, Mendoza Province, Argentina
1105 22 October 1945
Three station wagons drove onto the tarmac and stopped between the red and shot-up SAA Lodestars.
Willi von Dattenberg got out of the middle station wagon. And so did Elsa von Wachtstein.
Well, I guess the new girlfriend came to see him off, Clete thought.
If you think about it, it’s sort of nice—her being a widow and all, and a friend of the family—that they’ve hit it off like that.
Von Dattenberg went to the rear of the station wagon and started to pull out the heavy case holding the Admiral Byrd cold-weather gear. Security guards rushed to help him load it into the SAA Lodestar.
And then Martha Howell got out of the station wagon.
And I guess she came to see Jimmy off.
Well, why not? He’s always been like another son to her.
And then Miss Marjorie Howell got out of the station wagon.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Squirt,” Clete called. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
“What the hell does it look like, you sonofabitch?” Marjie replied.
She quickly scanned the tarmac and found Jimmy Cronley, who had just about finished his walk-around inspection of the SAA Lodestar.
She went up to him.
“You sonofabitch! You really were going to leave without saying good-bye.”
She kicked him in the shin and, when he bent over, she slapped his face.
Clete stood with Martha Howell, watching the scene.
“What is that, true love?” he said.
“Shut up, Cletus,” Martha Howell replied.
After a moment, she then said, “Well, I’d say that’s what it looks like, wouldn’t you?”
Marjie and Jimmy were now clutching each other tightly.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” Clete said.
