"WHERE EAGLES DARE"

SYNOPSIS: IN VIC'S NON-STOP QUEST FOR THE CORPULENT KINGPIN OF crime in Far East L.A., he has been shot at, beaten, drugged, humiliated, blown up, assaulted, and nearly ravished in a fan room. Today's exciting episode finds him on Steel Beach, ready for a final showdown with his arch nemesis…

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The great winged shadow had crashed into the deck inches from my head. There was a rooster-tail of sparks as a giant hook reached out to gather me up. It hopped over me and an odd thick wire that stretched over the black surface. The airplane roared on with the sound of a thousand screaming locomotives. The Fat Man had attempted to pluck roe from the ship in a last desperate effort to save his lard-laden body.

 

It was the only thing that fit the facts. The plane had been moving too fast to stop. I knew now I had to deal with terror from the air as well as his minions of crime below. Nothing would stop me now, though. He had my dander up. Nothing short of a massive bribe could stop me from exacting my vengeance.

I stood up and cased the situation. The Fat Man was up here hiding somewhere amongst the sleek jetliners. I held the big chopper close to me and started the search. I walked back to the blunt end of the big

 

 steel building, looking under the parked airplanes. I didn't see his fat legs anywhere. While I was standing there, another airplane tried to grapple me. I saw him coming and arced a few rounds in his general direction. I was gratified to see him swoop off in a steep climb. That would teach the birdmen not to trifle with the Kid. I turned and strode boldly toward the pointy end. I sleuthed each conceivable hiding spot.

Finally, my exacting methods paid off.

Under a big bird with a rounded bulbous nose, I saw a pair of two-toned wedgies with two huge tree-like legs leading into them. The Fat Man had horrible taste in socks. They were electric purple, and the hounds-tooth checked trousers were pulled as tight as sausage skins. I had my man. The long hard trail had come to an end. "All right. Porky, the jig's up. Trot them fat gams out here and grab sky."

"What?" he squeaked.

"Get out here. Lard Ass!"

I saw the feet move, and slowly he moved his elephantine body into my field of vision. I kept the chopper on his enormous midsection, where the tan and green sports jacket made a feeble attempt to join itself across his huge belly. That gut was a monster. It began where his chins started to leave off, and spread down in an imposing curve to his trunk-like thighs. His chins were all quivering at different tempos, one to a boogie-woogie beat, several to the mambo and the cha-cha. Sweat rolled down his plump nose and stained his jacket like he was under a

 

 rain cloud. I had to think fast. I had my quarry - now what was I going to do with him?
I heard running footsteps. I wheeled and loosed a hail of lead. "All right. Fat Man, get in the plane." I moved over to him and poked his belly with the chopper. It sank in about six inches. He yelped in terror.

"You can't mean it. Socotra. For God's sake . . . ."

"Shut your yap. Fat Man. I can handle it. I had a ride in a bi-plane one time at the County Fair. It can't be any different out here. Move!"

 I poked him again, and he began to lift himself up the frail little ladder that hung down the side of the jet. It bowed under his weight. I creased his massive buttocks with a bullet, and it looked like two elephants fighting inside his trousers. He hit the top of the ladder and fell into the side-by-side cockpit. I scrambled up after him, past the big number "06" painted on the side. I climbed into the cockpit and lit up a Lucky Strike. The controls were complicated way beyond the little Steerman bi-plane. I was pressed up against the Fat Man's huge bulk. He had fallen in headfirst and was jammed there with his feet waving out of the cockpit. Men were running toward the airplane.

I reached down and pulled out the choke. I located the ashtray, waggled the gearshift out of "Park" and selected "Fly". I tapped the gas pedal - one of those big chrome barefoot-shaped custom jobs. I reached down and turned the key in the ignition. The engines roared to