tow truck winch. A second tow truck was connected to the toppled trailer. The third tow truck was behind the trailer, ready to push.
The driver from the big transport unit, which, despite its overturning, was only partially damaged, groaned as he watched what was happening. "My bosses ain't gonna like this! That's a near-new rig. You're gonna tear it apart."
"If we do," a young state trooper told him, "we'll be finishing what you started."
"Wadda you care? Ain't nothing to you I just lost a good job," the driver grumbled back. "Maybe I should try for a soft touch next time---like bein' a lousy cop."
The trooper grinned. "Why not? You're already a lousy driver."
"You figure we're ready?" the lieutenant asked Patroni.
Joe Patroni nodded, He was crouching, observing the tautness of chains and cables. He cautioned, "Take it slow and easy. Get the cab section sliding first."
The first tow truck began pulling with its winch; its wheels skidded on snow and the driver accelerated forward, keeping the tow chain straining. The overturned transport's front portion creaked, slid a foot or two with a protesting scream of metal, then stopped.
Patroni motioned with his hand. "Keep it moving! And get the trailer started!"
The chains and cable between the trailer axles and the second tow truck tightened. The third tow truck pushed against the trailer roof. The wheels of all three tow trucks skidded as they fought for purchase on the wet, packed snow. For another two feet the tractor and trailer, still coupled together, as they had been when they rolled over, moved sideways across the highway to an accompanying ragged cheer from the crowd of onlookers. The TV camera was functioning again, its lights adding brightness to the scene.
A wide, deep gash in the road showed where the big transport had been. The tractor cab and the body of the loaded trailer were taking punishment, the trailer roof beginning to angle as one side of the trailer dragged against the road. The price to be paid---no doubt by insurers---for reopening the highway quickly would be a steep one.
Around the road blockage, two snowplows---one on either side like skirmishers---were attempting to clear as much as they could of the snow which had piled since the accident occurred. Everything and everyone, by this time, was snow covered, including Patroni, the lieutenant, state troopers, and all others in the open.
The truck motors roared again. Smoke rose from tires, spinning on wet, packed snow. Slowly, ponderously, the overturned vehicle shifted a few inches, a few feet, then slid clear across to the far side of the road. Within seconds, instead of blocking four traffic lanes, it obstructed only one. It would be a simple matter now for the three tow trucks to nudge the tractor-trailer clear of the highway onto the shoulder beyond.
State troopers were already moving flares, preparatory to untangling the monumental traffic jam which would probably occupy them for several hours to come. The sound, once again, of a jet aircraft overhead was a reminder to Joe Patroni that his principal business this night still lay elsewhere.
The state police lieutenant took off his cap and shook the snow from it. He nodded to Patroni. "I guess it's your turn, mister."
A patrol car, parked on a shoulder, was edging onto the highway. The lieutenant pointed to it. "Keep close up behind that car. I've told them you'll be following, and they've orders to get you to the airport fast."
Joe Patroni nodded. As he climbed into his Buick Wildcat, the lieutenant called after him, "And mister... Thanks!"
PART TWO Chapter Two
CAPTAIN VERNON DEMEREST stood back from the cupboard door he had opened, and emitted a long, low whistle.
He was still in the kitchen of Gwen Meighen's apartment on Stewardess Row. Gwen had not yet appeared after her shower and, while waiting, he had made tea as she suggested. It was while looking for cups and saucers that he had opened the cupboard door.
In front of him were four tightly packed shelves of bottles. All were miniature bottles of liquor---the ounce-and-a-half size which airlines served to passengers in flight. Most of the bottles had small airline labels above their brand names, and all were unopened. Making a quick calculation, Demerest estimated there were close to three hundred.
He had seen airline liquor in stewardesses' apartments before, but never quite so much at one time.
"We have some more stashed away in the bedroom," Gwen said brightly from behind him. "We've been saving them for a party. I think we've enough, don't