from Santa Claus. He ought to be around in this lot." A pause, then more aggressively, "Any other damnfool stupid notions?" Glancing at Danny, Mel shook his head. He recognized the speakerphone voice as belonging to a senior foreman who had probably worked continuously since the present snowfall started. Tempers wore thin at times like this, with gopd reason. Usually, after an arduous, snow-fighting winter, airport maintenance and management had an evening stag session together which they called "kiss-and-make-up night." They would certainly need one this year. Danny said reasonably, "We sent four Payloaders after that United food truck. They should be through, or almost.»«They might be-if we could find the frigging truck.»«You haven't located it yet? What are you guys doing –having a supper and ladies' night." Danny reached out, turning down the speakerphone volume as a reply slammed back. "Listen, do you birds in the crummy penthouse have any idea what it's like out on the field? Maybe you should look out the windows once in a while. Anybody could be at the goddam North pole tonight and never know the difference.»«Try blowing on your hands, Ernie," Danny said. "It may keep 'em warm, and it'll stop you sounding off." Mentally, Mel Bakersfeld filtered out most of the exchange, though he was aware that what had been said about conditions away from the terminal was true. An hour ago, Mel had driven across the airfield. He used service roads, but although he knew the airport layout intimately, tonight he had trouble finding his way and several times came close to being lost.
