Trouble on His Wings by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online

bothering to
take off his clothes. A muddy Mississippi ran down the drain and his small
bright face began to show through its camouflage.
    Johnny threw his
stained self down on the silken bedspread and wrapped his fingers around the
phone. “Gimme New York, Bryant 9-3300. I’ll hold on.” He sat there listlessly,
hearing the round whir of sound which shot his call through to Chicago, then to
New York. He heard the buzz of the ringing at the office. “Felznick. This is
Brice.” He got Felznick. “This is Johnny. I’m in Coeur d’Alene.”
    â€œYou got the
pictures?” said Felznick eagerly. “One of them towns almost burned! Did you get
it?”
    â€œSure I got it. I got
everything. I got aerial shots at dusk, and then the engine choked, when the
smoke got too much for the carburetor, and we smeared in right ahead of the
crown fire.”
    â€œYou get the crash?”
said Felznick eagerly.
    â€œSure. And then I got
the animals heading out from the blaze, and then, with water up to my neck, I
got the crown fire leaping over this creek we stumbled into.”
    â€œJohnny, you are a
genius! A genius! You can come back to New York. I raise your pay! I always
said there never was such a cameraman . . .”
    â€œWait,” said Johnny.
“A big tree, afire, fell down right across the pool and smashed the DeVry to
smithereens and knocked out the . . . knocked the other can into the drink. I
haven’t got a single shot, not even the remains of the burn.”
    There was silence at
the other end of the phone. And then there was a long, heartfelt sigh.
    â€œI did my damndest,”
said Johnny. “That was all I could do.”
    â€œBrice,” said
Felznick. “Brice, I am being calm. I am being very cool, Brice. I am not going
to say more than this. . . .”
    â€œI quit!” said Johnny.
    â€œThe hell you do!”
screamed Felznick. “You’re fired! A twelve-thousand-dollar plane, and you lose
your pictures! You’re fired. I never want to hear of you, see you, speak to
you! Never! I won’t pay your bills! You can sue for your pay and to hell with
you! Don’t ever come close to me again! Never!” There was a bang as he slammed
the phone on the hook.
    Johnny hung up slowly,
looking at the girl. “How do you feel?”
    She gave him a game
grin. “Okay. A little hungry.”
    â€œEat hearty,” said
Johnny. “This may be our last meal, and we may have to wash dishes for that.”
    â€œYou mean—”
    â€œI’m fired. Irish is
fired. We’re in the soup, Jinx.” He got up and walked into Irish’s bathroom,
stepping over the edge of the tub and joining Irish under the shower. The lampblack fell from him in inky waterfalls. Irish sat on the edge of the tub,
wringing the water out of his coveralls.
    â€œWe’re fired,” said
Johnny.
    Irish gave a start as
though he’d been shot. His mouth hung open and he stared straight ahead.
“Fired?”
    â€œAnd no pay,” said
Johnny.
    â€œWhat’ll we do to pay
our hotel bill?” gulped Irish.
    â€œYou figure it out.”
    There came a knock on
the door and the girl hastily put on her helmet and answered it. Three waiters
began to move five tables, all snow-white-napkined and groaning with food, into
the room. The bellhop had a stack of boxes in his arms.
    â€œThe haberdashers sent
these up with their compliments,” said the bellhop. “Some silk bathrobes and
stuff. Gee, I bet it was awful hot up at that fire.”
    She didn’t dare speak
and betray her woman’s voice and so she only smiled and happened to glance
down. The bill was protruding from under a plate and the figure on it was so
heavy it showed through the back. Thirty-nine dollars.
    A waiter gravely took
the slip and handed it to Johnny under the shower. Johnny signed it and the man
withdrew.
    â€œYou got any money, Irish?”
said