"Drive carefully out there," she cautioned. "Don't get in the way of any airplanes."
"If I do, I'm sure you'll hear about it." He shrugged into the heavy topcoat. "Your stowaway sounds interesting. I'll try to drop by before I leave, to find out what it's all about." He hesitated, then added, "It'll give me a reason to see you again tonight."
They were close together. As one, each reached out and their hands touched. Tanya said softly, "Who needs a reason?"
In the elevator, going down, he could still feel the warm smoothness of her flesh, and hear her voice.

4

Joe Patroni--as Mel Bakersfeld had learned-was on his way to the airport from his home at Glen Ellyn. The cocky, stocky Italian-American, who was airport maintenance chief for TWA, had left his suburban, ranch-style bungalow by automobile some twenty minutes earlier. The going was exceedingly slow, as Mel had guessed it would be.
At the moment, Joe Patroni's Buick Wildcat was halted in a traffic tie-up. Behind and ahead, as far as visibility extended, were other vehicles, also stopped. While waiting, his actions illuminated by the taillights of the car in front, Patroni lit a fresh cigar.
Legends had grown up around Joe Patroni; some professional, others personal.
He had begun his working life as a grease monkey in a garage. Soon after, he won the garage from his employer in a dice game, so that at the end of the game they reversed roles. As a result, yotin- Joe became heir to various bad debts, including one which made him owner of an ancient, decrepit Waco biplanc.