As he cruised at 7,000 feet on his way back to his base in Burbank, Jake Hammer couldn’t stop grinning as his happy thoughts seemed to race along with his airplane.  Maybe 1930 hasn’t been that a great year for the country, but so far it’s been just aces for me.  His grin widened even farther when he remembered how the hospital representative’s jaw dropped when he told him he could deliver the urgently-needed medicine to San Francisco in just 90 minutes.

     “Why, that would mean your plane was going—“

     “Yep,” Jake cut him off, “Lady Luck can do 300 miles an hour.  No problem.”  Jake absentmindedly patted the instrument panel.  Lady Luck’s twin Rolls-Royce Merlin V-12s were singing at 4000 rpm; the sky was clear and calm.  It was perfect flying weather.  An idea popped into Jake’s head.  Well, there was no harm in trying, he thought, as he increased the throttles in his left hand to full military power and pulled back on the yoke.  Lady Luck immediately went into a steep climb, each engine straining directly upward with all its 1680 horsepower.  Jake gritted his teeth against the 3G force pulling at his cheeks and jaw.  As the plane reached an angle of 80 degrees, Jake suddenly cut the power down to stall speed.  Using his right foot on the rudder pedal to kick the nose over to port, and adjusting the ailerons to keep her from rolling over, Jake waited a second or two for the plane’s response.

     “C’mon baby,” he said.  Then it happened: With the plane hanging vertical in the sky, the starboard wing began its slowly accelerating cartwheel over the port wing.  As soon as the plane completed its flat vertical turn, Jake quickly returned the power to full, and he and Lady Luck came screaming back to earth, hugging furiously like two lovers on a roller-coaster operated by a maniac.  Jake let the screaming dive consume and energize him until he reached 2000 feet, when he pulled out of it and set the throttle to cruising speed.  Jake unabashedly enjoyed the thrill.  He always did.  He was a born aviator.

     In just a few minutes he was over the Lockheed plant in Burbank.  More than once he had watched as workers hurriedly threw a tarp over some project out on the tarmac when they heard him coming.  They knew who he was of course, and they had certainly given Lady Luck a complete going over when his father had acquired her as a prototype from a foreign government.  Still, Jake knew they held their secrets closely at Lockheed.  But anyway today was quiet.  He was on his glide path as he flew past the sign at the edge of his landing strip, visible from the road below:

                                                                      Hammer Flying Services

                                                             Jacob Hammer, Owner and Aviator

                                                       “When you need to put the hammer down.”

     As he taxied up to the hangar, he could already see his mechanic, Miguel “Sparks” Gonzalez, hard at work welding a cowling.  He climbed out of the cockpit and greeted his sweating mechanic who had lifted his thick welding helmet.

     “Hey Sparks!  Things ok here?”

     “Hi boss.  You’re back early.  Yeah, things have been quiet.”  Miguel wiped his hands on a rag.  The tight sleeves of his shirt had ridden up to reveal his hard, coiled, biceps. “I’ll get that cowling welded up and we’ll get it back on the Lady this afternoon.  Should be worth at least a couple more mph.”

     Jake reflected for a second on how lucky he was to have Miguel working for him.  Miguel could have ended up anywhere after losing a brother in the Cristeros War in 1926, and fleeing Calles’ hated regime in Mexico.  But he didn’t talk about it much.  Jake had a sudden impulse to engage him. “Hey, you know what?  It’s Fluty versus Cabrera on the undercard tonight downtown.  Still want in on that action?”

     Miguel smiled, “No amigo, I need to send my pay home.  Besides, since you don’t know how to pick ‘em, it’s too easy to take your money.”

     They would have enjoyed this banter a little longer, but the staccato drum beat of a large horse being ridden hard became impossible to ignore.  “Bet I know who.” was all Miguel said before turning back to his work.  Outside, Jake greeted the rider, who had already dismounted from the panting animal before it stopped.  It was Penny Landers, the daughter of Rex and Helen Landers, owners of the spread adjacent to Jake’s parents’ ranch, where his airfield was located.

     “Hi Penny,” Jake said, smiling broadly, “A tad on the sticky side to be riding Racer so hard isn’t it?”  Jake liked Penny in a vague way, even though she was a frequent and generally pointless interruption to his work.  Still, he had to admit the sight of her wasn’t hard to take:  Warm brown curls framed her startlingly blue eyes; her tanned face was appealingly flushed.  She saw his smile and raised him: There was no equaling her brilliant display of human dentition.

     “Hi Jake.  Racer doesn’t mind the heat, he just likes to go fast.  Don’t you, big fella?” She rubbed the gigantic horse’s muzzle.  “We were moving a herd when I saw your plane and I thought I would just stop by for a second.  Were you out on another important job?”

     “Well, I suppose you could say--” Jake started in, but she cut him off.

     “Because,” she said, “I was thinking that there might be some other things to do around here besides fly airplanes and herd cattle.  Don’t you think so Jake?”  There was just a hint of an imploring expression on her pretty face.  Jake started to fumble for a response, when he was interrupted by the bellowing of a hundred head of cattle and the confused shouts of the cowhands who were trying to get them back under control.

     “Can’t believe they’ve busted out again,” Penny said, as she began to bite her lower lip.  “Listen, I have to go back and help.”  She had already turned Racer around, and begun to move off as she swung effortlessly into the saddle.  Once aboard the massive horse, who was quickly picking up speed, she stood in the stirrups, the muscles in her toned thighs visibly tensed as she used them to steady herself.  While standing, she looked back over her shoulder and flashed Jake one more incendiary smile before she and her mount disappeared into the dust.

     “Heck of a rider, I’ll give her that.” Jake said out loud to no one in particular.

     Jake had returned to the hangar for no more than 10 seconds before the phone rang.  Miguel answered.  “Yes, he’s right here.” Miguel handed him the receiver, silently mouthing the caller’s name—“Madame Zhu.”

     “Yes,” Jake said after a few seconds.  “Yes, I can meet with you immediately.  Right, it’s a pleasure to do business with you Madame Zhu.”  Not more than 2 minutes later, Madame Zhu’s spotless 1930 Chrysler Imperial limousine rolled up to the hangar.  Jake wondered where she could have possibly placed the call; there were no public telephones anywhere in the vicinity.  He waited in the hangar and watched.  Madame Zhu’s liveried driver sprang out of the vehicle’s front, open, compartment, and held the door while Madame Zhu negotiated the few steps between the car and what Jake presented as his “office” in the hangar.  The driver trailed behind her, his expression somewhat apprehensive, Jake thought.  The driver carried a brown-paper wrapped object that was about the size of a brick.  Jake put a smile on his face.

     “Madame Zhu! Always a pleasure!”  Jake held out his hand, which was ignored.

     “Mr. Hammer, so good to find you here today,” she looked down briefly, and then back up as she squarely met his gaze.  “It seems I need your services again!  This would involve a brief flight; your destination is a quiet airstrip near LA.  The map coordinates are printed directly on the wrapper.  For your timely cooperation, I will increase your fee.”  She cocked her head, and stared at him plainly and appraisingly.

     Jake was immediately aware once more of her impossible and ageless beauty, her high, angled cheekbones and perfect skin, pale to the point of translucence.  Her jet black hair was cut in an angled sweep over her face, an effect that hid her eyes ever so slightly—eyes whose irises were as black as her pupils.  Jake had known her for a year, but he had never gotten over the effect of those eyes.  Now Madame’s Zhu’s Asian features were composed, guarded, and calculating.  She gave her head a little shake, a movement that created a sinuous slow-motion waving in her hair, and accentuated the aroma of her perfume, an intoxicating and mysterious scent that Jake had never identified on any other woman.

     “Well,” she finally said, “can you do it or not?”  There was just a brief latency as Jake brought his mind back to the business at hand.

     “Sure, Madame Zhu, sure I can.”

Instantly the driver was at her side handing Jake the wrapped object.

     “You are a very useful man, Mr. Hammer.  I like useful men.” She immediately turned and swept majestically out of Jake’s shabby office.

     Jake couldn’t help but wonder:  What was in the package?  And why was the delivery so urgent?  But he snapped himself out of it.  None of his business really.  And besides, a job was a job.  “Miguel,” he said, looking over at his obviously worried mechanic, “Gas the plane.  I’m going up.”