Wingmen (9781310207280) Read Online Free Page B

must have set some kind of speed record getting
into town, getting drunk, picking up the girl, and bringing her
back here—all in a little over an hour. No one in VF-8, not even
Deadly Deal himself, could do that.
    The girl was
probably a prostitute. She wore a shiny black dress that hit her
legs at the knees and had a loose, low-cut top. A large island
flower was pinned over her left ear, and she wore more make-up than
Fred had seen on any two people at the same time. She was not, he
decided, beautiful; but to most of these men she might look it.
    “This lady,”
the j.g. was trying to say, amid pealing laughter and derisive
punches, “this lady can—” He lost his train of thought and stood
there, leaning on her shoulder and staring, glassy-eyed. Someone
handed him a bottle and he drank. Wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand, he tried again. “This lady can—can—”
    “I bet she
can,” someone called out, and everyone else in the room dissolved
into hooting laughter. The j.g. took another drink and kneeled to
set the bottle on the floor. When he tried to stand up again, he
couldn’t. He slowly sagged to the floor and lay down at the feet of
his fellow pilots.
    “What is it,
honey?” someone asked. A hand reached out and caressed the girl’s
knee, slid up her leg, and pulled up the shiny skirt. The girl
switched her dress and tried to move away, but the other pilots had
moved in and surrounded her.
    “What can you
do that’s got poor Fritzi here so excited?” A dark brown shoe
prodded the inert form on the floor. It stirred and moaned.
    “I guess I’d
better go.” The girl spoke in a classic, dumb-blonde falsetto.
    The red-faced
pilot who’d greeted Fred at the door ambled up to the girl and
draped himself over her. “Did poor old Fritzi here give you any
money, honey?” His voice oozed with concern.
    “Well,” said
the girl, looking at the floor.
    “Well,” said
the man, “I think he did.” With a very agile thumb and forefinger
he plucked a folded ten-dollar bill from her cleavage.
    “That’s mine,”
said the girl, and she snatched it back.
    At her feet,
Fritzi moaned again and struggled to his hands and knees. His head
swung ponderously back and forth. He spoke, and the room quieted to
take in his words. “She can tie. A knot. In a cherry stem. Without
using her. Hands.” He struggled to his feet. A small red bottle
dropped from his shirt to the floor. His face ashen, he ran for the
door and was gone.
    “What the hell
does she use if she doesn’t use her hands?” someone asked.
    Fred slapped
Frank Hammerstein on the knee and climbed to his feet. “I know what
she uses and I can do it, too.” Thirteen faces turned to look at
him. “And I can do it faster than she can.” The liquor in his belly
was giving him amazing courage.
    “Ten bucks on
the broad,” someone said immediately.
    “Well,” said
Fred, “is there a cherry in the house?” Someone gave the girl a
gentle shove and she fell into Fred’s arms. The entire room erupted
into howling laughter.
    “Captain
Fitzsimmons picked some up on the way over here,” said the girl,
and she bent to pick up the little red bottle. The party now was in
hysterics over Fritzi’s new rank, and it was some time before the
room could be shouted into silence.
    Then the
contest could start. It was decided, of course, that the girl would
go first. A man with a watch quickly emptied a chair of its
occupant and she sat in it. A cherry was taken from the jar, the
stem removed, and the self-proclaimed official held it up. “Where
do you want it, sweetheart?” he asked. She held her hands behind
her back and opened her mouth. The official slipped the stem
between her teeth (which Fred noticed were slightly bucked), and
she worked her lower jaw animatedly for a few moments. Then the
stem, tied in a knot, re-emerged from her teeth. The official held
it up to the light and said, “Well, I’ll be goddamned.” The pilots
applauded