Excerpt from The Last Pilot by Benjamin Johncock, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

These two men could fly right up your ass and tickle your eyeballs and you'd never know why you were farting shock waves, Pancho said. Get the hell out of my bar.

May took out a cigarette, lit it, looked around, shook his head.

You're gonna get clobbered and you're too stupid to see it comin.

He turned and left.

Harrison reached Grace and whispered, c'mon, let's get out of here.

Anyone else got something they want to get off their chest? Pancho said. Good. Where was I?

You were sayin Bridgeman flies like a mouse fart, someone shouted. There was laughter.

Grace smiled at her husband.

What? No. I just got here, she said.

I want you to forget everything you think you know about flying airplanes, Pancho said, not that you know that much, and raise your glasses, your bottles, your asses—I don't care what—to that ol demon. May he piss his pants when he sees you coming.

There was a cacophony of clattering glass.

Let's just hope, Pancho continued, that going supersonic don't turn them funny in the head, or—she winked at Harrison across the room—the balls.

What the hell was that? Grace said, turning to her husband.

Honey—

I saw that; that wink she gave you. What the hell, Jim?

She stared at him, eyes slick with tears.

Gracie—

She pushed the door open and left.

Christ, he said, and followed.

It was cold outside. The veranda was empty.

Goddamn it, Harrison called after her. Wait up.

Grace spun around.

I'm so mad I'm spittin nails right now, she said.

She doesn't know, sweetheart, she doesn't know.

That's our business, Jim, our marriage. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

I know.

Having kids, that's private; you and me—it's none of her goddamn business.

Let me speak to her.

No. I don't need you to speak to her, I'm plenty able to do that myself.

Where you going?

Where do you think I'm going?

Grace!

He ran after her. The back door to the kitchen was open. She ducked inside.

Grace, honey, stop, please.

In the kitchen, Minnie was turning six fat steaks on the grill. They smoked and crackled. She looked around.

Shit, sorry, Minnie, Harrison said.

Where's Pancho? Grace said.

Hello, Mrs. Harrison, Minnie said. What you all doin back here?

Sorry, Minnie, hi, is this the door to—

The door opened.

What the hell are you both doin back here? Pancho said. Party's out front.

It's none of your goddamn business! Grace said.

What ain't? Pancho said.

Jim and me; having kids.

Hon—Harrison said.

We can't.

Can't what?

Have kids, Grace said. We can't have children.

Pancho stared at her.

We're seeing the doc on Monday, Harrison said. Gettin some results. We don't know that for sure.

Well we sure as hell don't have any now, Grace said, and it sure don't look likely to change anytime soon.

Gracie, Pancho said, throwing her large arms around her slim frame. I had no idea. I'm so sorry. She held Grace tight, whispering something in her ear that Harrison couldn't hear. Grace was nodding her head. They parted.

Don't think I've ever seen you embrace anyone before, Pancho, Harrison said.

Shut your mouth, Pancho said.

Grace wiped her eyes with the undersides of her thumbs.

Right? Pancho said to her.

She nodded.

What? Harrison said.

None of your business, Pancho said. Between women. You'll tell me how you get on on Monday?

Excerpted from The Last Pilot by Benjamin Johncock. Copyright © 2015 by Benjamin Johncock. Excerpted by permission of Picador. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.