Barton Williams’sBoeing 737 rolled to a stop at the Hopkins private terminal in Cleveland, Ohio, and the whine of the engines wound down. The interior of the aircraft was luxuriously appointed. There were two bedrooms, two full baths with showers, and a dining room seating eight. But the master bedroom, which took up the entire rear third of the plane, with a king-size bed and a fur throw and mood lighting, was where Barton spent most of the flight. He needed only one flight attendant, but he invariably flew with three. He liked company. He liked laughter and chatter. He liked young, smooth flesh on the fur, with the mood lighting low, warm, reddish, sensual. And, hell, forty thousand feet up in the air was the only place he could be sure he was safe from the wife.

The thought of the wife dampened his mood. He looked at the parrot standing on the perch in the living room of the plane. The parrot said, “You kidnapped me.”

“What’s your name again?” Barton said.

“Riley. Doghouse Riley.” Speaking in a funny voice.

“Don’t be smart with me.”

“My name is Gerard.”

“That’s right. Gerard. I don’t much like it. Sounds foreign. How about Jerry? That suit you?”

“No,” the parrot said. “It doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s stupid. It’s a stupid idea.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “Is it really?” Barton Williams said, with a hint of menace in his voice. Williams knew this was a mere animal, but he was not accustomed to being called stupid-especially by a bird-and no one had done so in many, many years. He felt his enthusiasm for this gift cooling.

“Jerry,” he said, “you better be getting along with me, because I own you now.”

“People can’t be owned.”

“And you ain’t people, Jerry. You’re a damn bird.” Barton stepped close to the perch. “Now, let me tell you how it’s going to be. I’m going to give you to my wife, and I want you to behave, I want you to be amusing, I want you to compliment and flatter her and make her feel good. Is that clear?”

“Everyone else does,” Gerard said. He was mimicking the voice of the pilot, who heard it from the cockpit and snapped his head around to look back. “Jesus, I get sick of the old fart sometimes,” Gerard continued.

Barton Williams frowned.

Next he heard a precise imitation of the sound of jet engines in flight, and superimposed on that, a girl’s voice, one of the flight attendants: “Jenny, are you going to blow him or am I?”

“Your turn.”

Sigh. “Oh-kay…”

“Don’t forget to take him his drink.”

Click of a door opening and closing.

Barton Williams began to turn red. The bird continued:

“Oh, Barton! Oh, give it to me! Oh, you’re so big! Oh Barton! Yes, baby. Yes, big boy! Ooh I love it! So big, so big, aaaaaah!”

Barton Williams stared at the bird. “I believe,” he said, “that you will not be a welcome addition to my household.”

“You’re the reason our kids are ugly, little darlin’,” Gerard said.

“That’s enough from you,” Barton said, turning away.

“Oh Barton! Oh, give it to me! Oh, you’re so big! Oh-”

Barton Williams threw the cover over the bird’s cage.

“Jenny, honey,you’ve got family in Dayton, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Williams.”

“You think anybody in your family would enjoy a talking bird?”

“Uh, well, actually-yes, Mr. Williams, I’m sure they would love it.”

“Good, good. I would appreciate it if you delivered him down there today.”

“Of course, Mr. Williams.”

“And if by some chance,” he said, “your family is not appreciative of feathered companions, just have them tie very heavy weights to his legs and drop him in the river. Because I never want to see this bird again.”

“Yes, Mr. Williams.”

“I heard that,” said the bird.

“Good,” Barton Williams said.

After the old man’slimousine had gone, Jenny stood on the tarmac holding the covered cage. “What am I going to do with this thing?” she said. “My daddy hates birds. He shoots ’em.”

“Take him to a pet store,” the pilot said. “Or give him to somebody who’ll ship him to Utah, or Mexico, or someplace like that.”

Refreshing Pawswas an upscale store in Shaker Heights. There were mostly puppies in the store. The young guy behind the counter was cute, maybe a little younger than Jenny was. He had a good body. She walked in carrying Gerard in his covered cage. “You got any parrots?”

“No. We just have dogs.” He smiled at her. “What’ve you got there? I’m Stan.” His name tag saidSTAN MILGRAM.

“Hi, Stan. I’m Jenny. And this is Gerard. He’s an African grey.”

“Let’s have a look at him,” Stan said. “You want to sell him, or what?”

“Or give him away.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“Owner doesn’t like him.”

Jenny whipped off the cover. Gerard blinked, flapped his feathers. “I’ve been kidnapped,” he said.

“Hey,” Stan said, “he talks pretty good.”

“Oh, he’s a good talker,” Jenny said.

“Oh, he’s a good talker,” Gerard said, mimicking her voice. Then: “Stop patronizing me.”

Stan frowned. “What’s he mean?”

“I am surrounded by fools,” Gerard said.

“He just talks a lot,” Jenny said, shrugging.

“Is there anything wrong with him?”

“No, nothing.”

Gerard turned to Stan. “I told you,” he said, emphatically. “I’ve been kidnapped. She is involved. She is one of the kidnappers.”

“Is he stolen?” Stan asked.

“Not stolen,” Gerard said.“Kidnapped.”

“What kind of accent is that?” Stan asked. He was smiling at Jenny. She turned sideways, to show him her breasts in profile.

“French.”

“He sounds British.”

“He came from France, is all I know.”

“Ooh la la,” Gerard said. “Will you please listen to me?”

“He thinks he’s a person,” Jenny said.

“Iam a person, you little twit,” Gerard said. “And if you want to hump this guy, go on and do it. Just don’t make me wait around while you wiggle your assets in front of him.”

Jenny turned red. The kid looked away, then smiled back at her.

“He’s got a mouth on him,” Jenny said, still blushing.

“Does he ever swear?”

“I never heard him do that, no.”

“’Cause I know someone who might like him,” Stan said, “as long as he doesn’t swear.”

“What do you mean, someone?”

“My aunt, out in California. She’s in Mission Viejo. That’s Orange County. She’s widowed, lives alone. She likes animals, and she’s lonely.”

“Oh, okay. That could be okay.”

“You aregiving me away?” Gerard said, in a horrified tone. “This isslavery! I am not something yougive away. ”

“I have to drive out there,” Stan Milgram said, “in a couple of days. I could take him with me. I know she’d like him. But, uh, what’re you doing later tonight?”

“I could be free,” Jenny said.