At Dewitt's End Read online

  “Pleeaase!” cries Willie. He pauses and purses his lips.

  “Cupcake, get the man his wheelie-chair. Mister Nick-, uh, The Man said to be extra careful and nice, remember?”

  T. P. runs to retrieve Dewitt’s wheelchair as Willie and Dewitt wait patiently. He returns and stows it. T. P. is out of breath. He has to struggle just to get into the van.

  “Water! Water!” shouts T. P.

  Willie begins driving. At the street, he puts his right blinker on. The van pauses for a moment. It then turns left.

  Inside the van, with Dewitt safely tucked in the cargo space, Willie drives carefully out of Georgetown, figuring on heading toward the bridge near the Lincoln Memorial and into Virginia. Dewitt figures it’s time to get some better understanding of what is going on.

  “Thank you, T. P., for getting my wheelchair. Hey, it’s kind of stuffy in here, though, boys. We got long to go?”

  Willie speaks.

  “Several days if you don’t cooperate. In this nice van. Or, if you are willing to cooperate, say, four hours, ‘in the friendly skies.’”

  Dewitt wonders if Willie means United Airlines. He offers a gambit.

  “Commercial?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” says Willie.

  “That’s right, Colonel,” intones T. P. “So, you know that commercial, too?”

  T. P. begins singing, “Fly the friendly skies... ”

  Dewitt is exasperated.

  “Oh, boy,” he says.

  Willie shakes his head and says, “T. P., I think he meant... Oh, never mind.”

  Dewitt begins to sing.

  “Off we go, into the wild, blue yonder. – Uh, how does that go again?”

  Willie, laughing, says, “Now don’t tell me you forgot your own Air Force anthem, ‘Colonel Wernel’?”

  At this, T. P. whispers to Willie, “I thought you said his name was Houston.”

  “What?” asks Willie. “Oh, I get it. It is, T. P., it is.”

  Although Dewitt is helplessly going along for the ride now, he figures that he may as well make the best of these high jinks.

  “Perhaps this silver bullet will help to identify me,” he says, in his best Lone Ranger voice.

  “What? What you say?” wonders Willie.

  “Uh, later. I’ll explain later. For now, I’m going get some rest, partners. Night, boys!”

  “Nighty, night, then!” says T. P.

  The boys smile while driving along, exuding in their capture of their prize “Colonel” who they are taking to Nickels and the Gov. They pass a highway sign stating: “Welcome To Maryland.”

  “Hey,” says T. P., “I can mark down a new state!”

  Willie shakes his head.

  “Shut up, you moron!” he says. “Uh, Colonel. Do you know how to get to that place called Dull International?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Arriving, finally, at the “Dull” International airport, Willie, T. P. and Dewitt make their entrance and move toward a ticket counter. Willie has contrived for “Jesse” a stupid-looking disguise, just in case the kidnapping has been reported: Dewitt wears a ski cap, dark glasses and a fake, oversize goatee.

  While T. P. struggles with the luggage behind them, Dewitt propels along in his wheelchair as he talks with Willie.

  “So I just have to keep quiet?”

  “That’s right, Colonel. We don’t want nobody suspicious.”

  “Yeah, right,” Dewitt sighs and shakes his head. He pretends a falsetto accent. “I veel co-operate, Monsieur.”

  Willie livens up.

  “Hey, ‘Pink Panther,’” he notes. “Good movie. Seen ‘em all. – And so’s you know, we have you reserved under a fake name.”

  “Who, King Tut?” Dewitt drolly replies, pulling on his fake beard.

  By now, T. P. has caught up with the twosome. Out of breath, he answers.

  “Douglas. Douglas D. Douglas. That was Willie’s idea, so we could all remember. – Water! Water!”

  Dewitt whispers to himself, “Bet I can guess what the ‘D’ stands for.”

  As a perky young ticket agent begins their check-in, T. P. comes up confidentially to Willie.

  “Willie,” he asks quietly, “you get rid of your gun?”

  “What?”

  “-get rid of your gun?”

  “Huh? I ain’t chewing any.”

  T. P. is exasperated. He speaks a little louder.

  “Yer gun, not your gum!”

  The ticket agent looks up, wondering. She glances at a security guard who is casually drinking coffee in the distance.

  Willie looks at the young lady and then at T. P.

  “Ohhh,” he intones. “My gum!” and begins to chew vigorously. He looks again at the agent and chews even harder and then swallows conspicuously. He opens his mouth and points inside it.

  “Don’t worry, all gone,” he says to the ticket agent. She just shakes her head and keeps typing on her computer to finalize the soon-to-depart threesomes’ tickets. Willie glowers at T. P. and wags a finger.

  “Sorry, Willie,” announces a contrite T. P., in an unrehearsed but very familiar refrain.

  The commercial flight that is carrying Dewitt, Willie and T. P. flies over the Rockies into a new morning. Dewitt sleeps soundly in a middle seat between the others. A flight attendant comes up and speaks to the two boys.

  “Will you gentlemen be needing assistance other than my getting your friend’s wheelchair ready when we land?” she asks.

  “Uh, no, thanks, Miss,” says Willie. “We’ll handle it ourselves. We just have to get our friend back to the, uh, Reservation. Uh, in time for uh, uh... ”

  “The service,” pipes up T. P.

  Willie looks at T. P., wondering what in the world he’s on about. The flight attendant nods as she tries to be understanding.

  “The service?” she asks.

  Willie looks at her and then back at T. P.

  “Uh, yes,” T. P. continues. “Our, uh, cousin here has, that is, we all lost our maiden aunt and we are flying to the funeral. It’s today.”

  T. P. looks at Willie to see if this idea holds water. Willie just rolls his eyes in disbelief.

  The flight attendant is confused: Dewitt looks nothing like the other two.

  “This man is your cousin?” she asks.

  T. P. looks at Dewitt and realizes what she is implying. His eyes widen. He continues.

  “I mean, that is, our cousin-in-law. His mother married my mother – I mean, our mother. – That is, Willie and me. We’re, uh, brothers.”

  Willie squirms, upset with this nonsensical attempt.

  The flight attendant wonders, “His mother married your mother?”

  T. P. still hasn’t caught on.

  “Uh, yes,” he replies, “and we – well, of course, we weren’t born then. She hadn’t had neither Willie or, nor, or me.”

  Smiling a little, the flight attendant asks, “Which she?”

  “Uh, er... ,” T. P. stammers.

  “I tell you what,” she continues, “I’m just going to let you guys rest. It’s been a long day.”

  She calmly walks away, shaking her head and holding her hand up to her forehead.

  “Why didn’t I just go straight to bartending school?” she quietly asks herself.

  Willie looks at T. P.

  “Sorry, Willie,” T. P. grovels.

  Willie speaks softly in sing-song.

  “His mother married our mother. Oh, man!”

  T. P. is chagrined.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back in Atlanta, David and Eddie have enjoyed a fine dinner at Trey and Sylvia’s apartment. David is speaking.

  “... So the deer steps out of the woods and says, ‘That’s the last time I do that for two bucks’.”

/>   “Oh, David,” laughs Sylvia, “you’re hilarious. And you’ve certainly had your share of experiences!”

  “Well, thank you, thank you,” pipes David. “And thanks for this delicious dinner. Hey, I’m going to have you guys over for dinner this Thursday. It’s just two days until Thanksgiving!”

  Sylvia is hesitant and Trey and Eddie shuffle nervously in their seats.

  “David,” she says, “at your little motel room near the school?”

  “No,” beams David. “It will be at my new apartment. I’m moving tomorrow!”

  The three friends ad-lib their congratulations, but look at each other in concern about David’s cooking.

  David says, “I’ll call Mom. Get some recipes. Everything!”

  There is more hesitancy as Eddie asks, “Recipes? You, uh, cook, then?”

  “Cook?” wonders David. “Can’t be that hard.” He throws his hands up like a magician. “Presto! Recipes from Mom! Presto! Food on the table!”

  David looks around and wonders, “You guys do want to come, don’t you?”

  With exaggeration, Sylvia replies positively, “Why, of course, we do, David! Why, what could be better than to share the giving of thanks with our friend for whom we give thanks for being a thankful addition, uh, you know, to our...”

  Eddie saves the day by adding, “...our sometimes thankless lives as junior medical students!”

  Everyone relaxes and they all toast the thought. Then Sylvia moves the evening forward by announcing, “Well, then. I’ll get dessert ready. And, look, it’s almost time to watch Dr. D.’s brother on TV.”

  Sylvia goes into the kitchen as Trey turns on the television. The “top” of the hour of the CNN News Special begins. The boys watch in the living room and Sylvia from the kitchen the show’s host, Bernard Shaw, announce the evening’s agenda.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s special on ‘Aviation in the Coming Millennium.’ I’m your host, Bernard Shaw, in Atlanta. There has been a dramatic development in Washington tonight which relates to our story, but which seems to take it in a completely new direction.”

  A picture of Jesse is superimposed on the television screen.

  “Colonel Jesse Houston, an expert in new avionics for the Defense Department, was to appear on our show this evening. But, as our Washington correspondent, Wolf Blitzer, tells us in a report we are breaking right now, it appears, and I repeat, it appears, that Colonel Houston has been kidnapped!”

  Sylvia stands open-mouthed in the kitchen, holding the dessert tray. David and Eddie move closer to the television as Trey goes and puts his arm around Sylvia. They watch, speechless, as Shaw continues.

  “Wolf, if you can hear me, tell us what is going on there in Washington at this hour.”

  On the screen pops up Wolf Blitzer. He’s outside in the cold, blowing into his hands and looking at his watch. The screen goes back to Shaw.

  “Wolf, can you hear me? Wolf! If you can hear me, tell us what’s going on in Washington tonight with the possible kidnapping of one of the nation’s and one of the U. S. Navy’s top experts on... Wolf! Wolf!”

  The screen again shows Blitzer blowing on his hands and pressing his ear microphone. He begins to blow the cold air out of his mouth, making “smoke rings.”

  Suddenly, there is an “interrupt” on the screen and suddenly Shaw is on the screen from Atlanta, at a loss for words. He recoups.

  “Well, it appears I’m crying ‘Wolf’ for no reason. Uh, pun intended. I think. As we await technical corrections, we pause for these messages.”

  Shaw cups his hand to his ear mic.

  “When we come back, a story of how the Thanksgiving Day Parade in Philadelphia has made one young filly – Is that Philly, as in resident, or filly, as in horse? My monitor isn’t helping me right now.”

  Shaw shakes his head in exasperation as he concludes, “We’ll be right back.”

  Instead of a commercial break right away, the TV shows Wolf Blitzer blowing “smoke rings” in Washington.

  In the living room, the four medical students stare at the television set in shock and disbelief.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dewitt and T. P. wait in front of a small commercial airport out West, their luggage beside them. A taxi pulls up and slows, but T. P. motions it on. A limo pulls up but T. P. motions it along also. Then there comes an unmistakable engine sound that causes Dewitt to look to his left, his eyes widening in disbelief and terror: Willie is driving up on a huge black Harley-Davidson motorcycle, complete with sidecar and a pull-along trailer at the back!

  Shortly thereafter, with luggage and wheelchair neatly tucked into the trailer and Dewitt safely ensconced in the sidecar, Willie pulls onto an Interstate highway as T. P. sits behind him holding on, as seems usual, for dear life.

  On a high desert highway, with the Rocky Mountains stretching magnificently in the distance, and having driven for some time with no other vehicles in sight, Willie slows the big “hog” and steers it to the side of the road. He looks over at Dewitt, who mouths a “Now what?” as the engine dies.

  “I’m sorry, Colonel. We’re about to get to places which you may later recognize, so we are going to have to put you ‘out’ for awhile.”

  Dewitt looks over at T. P. who shrugs “Sorry”, holds up a filled syringe and needle, then hands it to Willie.

  “Oh, come on,” sighs Dewitt. “You know I can’t let you do that. Who knows what’s in that thing. I mean, I really gotta fight you on this one.”

  T. P. and Willie reach over for Dewitt’s arm. The three struggle and the two Indians finally capture and lock Dewitt’s forearm. Willie thrusts the needle – but it happens to find T. P.’s forearm instead.

  “Ouch!” cries T. P.

  The struggle ends. Everyone becomes gentlemanly again.

  “Willie,” says T. P., rather groggily, “I’m getting very, very slee-“

  He slumps against the sidecar. Willie looks over at Dewitt who just assumes a “Hey, these things happen” pose.

  He says, “Just drop him on my lap, Willie. I’ll take good care of him.”

  “You know,” Willie says to Dewitt, “nothing else could possibly go wrong with my day.”

  “Oh, yeah?” asks Dewitt. “Wellll, ‘Just as you thought it was safe to go back in the water.’”

  “Hey, that’s from ‘Jaws 2,” isn’t it?” notes Willie.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good movie. I like movies. You like movies, Colonel?”

  “Yes I do, Mister Motorcycle,” says Dewitt, laughing. “But, you know, about there not being anything else that could go wrong?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Taking a deep breath, Dewitt begins to inform Willie, “Well, I’ve got something to tell you that just may not ‘make your day,’ so to speak.”

  “Yeah? Clint Eastwood. Good movie. – Uh, what sort of thing, Colonel?”

  “Well, first of all, you’re going to have to stop calling me ‘Colonel,’ I’m afraid.”

  As Dewitt explains, Willie motors along, a little swerve of the motorcycle the only indication that the message has been delivered: Willie and T. P. have captured the wrong man.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Huge turkey cutouts and banners announce Thanksgiving specials at the Winn-Dixie grocery store where David is shopping. Inside, the checkout girl processes his grocery cart. Already half unloaded and scanned are a large bag of M&M’s, potato chips, two bunches of bananas, a huge jar of mayonnaise and two loaves of white bread. The bag girl looks at the checkout girl with an amused expression. She says:

  “Looks like someone likes banana sandwiches – or has a pet monkey!”

  David is still unloading his cart.

  “I love banana sandwiches. I could live on ‘em, really live on ‘em.”

  The bag girl responds sotto voce,
“Looks like you do!”

  Next the checkout girl pulls a huge turkey from the cart. She rings it up and wonders aloud.

  “Thank goodness these don’t come in bunches! I guess one’s enough, eh?”

  “Oh, that’s not all for me, not all for me,” David says. “I’m having my friends over for Turkey Day dinner, over for dinner tomorrow.”

  “You must have lots of friends,” says the checkout girl.

  David is hesitant.

  “Uh, well, my mom said get a large turkey and roast it for a few hours or something. I want to have enough.”

  “Right!” beams the checkout girl. “How many will you be serving?”

  David looks up, thinking. He silently counts “one to four” by opening out the fingers of one hand. Then he does the same with the other hand, keeping the first hand open.

  The checkout girl nods knowingly.

  “Eight,” she says.

  “No, uh, four,” David says. “Four altogether, including me, of course.”

  The two girls look at each other, suppressing laughs.

  “You should have a few sandwiches left!” says the checkout girl.

  The bag girl is giggling.

  “For the summer!” she mutters to herself.

  “Okay, what’s next?” asks the checkout girl.

  From a second cart David pulls some shrink-wrapped pasta and a five-pound bag of Irish potatoes.

  “Starches,” he says. “Mom said to serve starches with turkey.”

  The bag girl inquires, “Your mom is helping, then?”

  “Well, yes, sort of. I called her back home. She gave me these recipes, these great recipes. You know, set the oven to four-fifty. Cook for twenty minutes a pound. Always stab potatoes before you ‘nuke’ ‘em. Stuff like that.”

  “Those were her recipes?” asks the checkout girl, incredulous.

  “Yeah. I think she got them out of a book. She never really cooked. Our maid did the cooking. But mom wants to be helpful now that I’m away and on my own.”

  The checkout girl just shakes her head and looks at the register.

  “That comes to forty-seventy-six total.”