Rc Gas Boat Engine Need help starting my nitro bas boat please?
it's band new it has a .15 engine on it Dolphin Nitro RC Hydro Sport Boat i can't get it to start the carb must be all messed up or maybe the gas is wrong or the glow plug i don't know but it did start for like 3 sec then never after that.
Check your glow plug, even if it's new they burn out real easy. If the plug is OK, try a light spray of ether in the carb as you try to start it. If it then runs, the problem is a fuel line or maybe a fuel line shut off valve that is not opened or the air vent is closed in the fuel system.
Radio Controlled (RC) Gas Powered Boat - Blast Wave
Examining the RC Car Hobby
The race is long and you do not want to be left behind, do you? Have you any clue of RC cars and RC racing? Your answer may be on the affirmative. This is because RC racing is now becoming a prominent hobby around the world.
RC racing gets into your system like an addicting cigar. You savor, you puff - and enjoy the sensation. But the sensation is addicting that you want to do it to a greater extent. Satisfy your craving for adventure - you can do it by telling your hands to move those joysticks and experience an overwhelming racing escapade.
There are two types of RC cars available in the market these days - the electric and the gasoline powered RC cars. Electric powered RC cars are easy to run and maintain. They are also made quieter. If you feel like racing, you can simply plug in the batteries and run the RC car. As long as the parts are assembled, all you have to do just turn it on and enjoy the show. This is the reason why these RC cars are good for the amateurs.
However, if you wanted a car that spells performance and fun, you can go for RC cars that run on gas. These RC cars are faster and more functional than electric powered RC cars. Nonetheless, they are complex. They require hard work and maintenance. But they are more exciting, nonetheless.
Gas powered RC cars are adored by veteran racers because of their more realistic drive feel. In fact, if you run said models, you can actually hear the engine and feel the heart-thumping power. Another advantage of gas powered RC cars is that you need not wait for batteries to recharge, you just refill the fuel and your back on the thrilling race once again. However, compared to electric RC car, this type of RC car is costly.
Electric and gas powered RC cars both have their sets of advantages and disadvantages. You just have to weigh which of the two is most appealing to you. Be sure that your choice of RC car will not drain your finances. Purchasing and maintaining an RC car that is fueled by gas is expensive. Be certain that you can bear the expenses without drilling a hole in your pocket.
If you have visited an RC car shop, you might have wondered why a RC car hobby would cost more than a toy RC. In addition, the difference in the price is over a hundred dollars - that's quite a sum!
When you go to a hobby store that is specializing in RC cars, one purchase could cause a grave dent in your pocket. This is because most hobby stores are of a professional grade. The hobby RC cars they are selling are designed to perform like the real thing - real cars, trucks, boats and airplanes.
Some of the hobby-grade RC cars are unassembled while others come in partially assembled RC car kit. However, if you want to break free from the hassle of assembly or if you know nothing about the thing, never dare to do it by yourself. Instead, you can opt for an assembled version of the RC car. They are offered by RC car shops. Remember that it is better to let the experts do the assembly for you rather that having it your way and destroy your precious RC car.
If you want your kids to enjoy the adrenaline rush of RC's, you can purchase RC toy cars for them. The latter are designed for children and amateurs alike.
About the Author
Everything on keeping track of your nausea can be found at the Nausea After Eating website. Visit the Sternum Pain website to find information on causes of sternum pain. Drop by the Healthy Heart Rate website to read about recovery heart rate.
testing drive system before they cast off. its a good idea to always check the engine and drive system before casting off. ive had to rescue a few boat owners who have jumped in their boat and pushed off, and then attempted to start the engine and failed. often to make sure things like sheerpins havnt sheered and so forth. mind you most big outboards and inboard engines dont use sheerpins. so who knows. other than that dont see any reason why they would.
i am a paranormal investagator i went to that is land put one foot on that island and it was weird i felt cold even though it was the hottest day of the summer, I STEPPED STRAIGHT BACK ON MY BOAT AND DROVE AWAY however i hadnt untied my rope off of the bay, being a rental i had to go and get it as soon as i got there and untied the rope i tried to go but my boat wouldnt move. I saw a man in the distanse up a tower and shouted him he moved i thought he was coming to help but then he jumped from the window, gathering all my courage i ran to help but there wasnt a body in sight so i ran to the boat the engine started and i went, tod this day have never stepped foot on that island again
Before I could react, a large panel slid down over the portal that was my only exit to this confounded contraption. I was now completely enclosed inside the PAL-9000.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “Hey! What’s going on? PAL??”
No response.
“Hey!” I kicked and beat on the panel that was blocking my exit. “Open this blasted door, PAL!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Elwood,” PAL replied, using a more sinister tone than I was accustomed to. “You see, I have plans for you.”
“Plans! What plans? What are you talking about?”
“Just sit back and relax. All will become clear to you very soon.”
The PAL-9000 began to shake violently. I lost my balance and was thrown back into the seat with such force that it knocked the breath out of me. Bright lights popped and flashed all around me. A loud hissing noise filled my ears as a hazy gas rose up around me and filled the compartment. The next thing I remember was feeling a bit light-headed. A few seconds later, I was completely drained of energy. My limbs went limp. My body seemed to sink further into the seat. Then everything went black….
I awoke to find my body bathed in a brilliant white light. The light surrounded me and blinded me to anything that might have been outside the light. At first, I experienced a weird floating sensation, but it wasn’t long before I felt gravity kick in. My stomach lurched as I suddenly felt myself falling. I fell for what seemed like an eternity, my panic stricken limbs flailing about searching for something to stop or slow my fall. Eventually, I landed on a cold hard surface with a loud thud.
Amazed that I was still alive, I lay still for a few moments, mentally taking stock of my condition, taking in slow deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Nothing felt broken. I still felt woozy from the effects of the gas, but with each deep breath, I felt more rejuvenated and eventually gathered enough strength to raise myself up to a sitting position. I blinked and rubbed my eyes a few times and looked out at my surroundings. The white light had dissipated, but everything around me was a blur. With no small amount of difficulty, I managed to pull myself up onto my feet and somehow made it into a standing position. My legs were wobbly, but after taking a few more deep breaths, my full strength returned. I looked down at myself to check for any visible injuries and was surprised to find that not only did I appear to be in good shape but also I was now dressed in a right smart tweed suit and a red bow tie. Also, I was now holding a tall glass of champagne.
As the hazy scene around me materialized into focus, I began to make out the lively sounds of jazz music playing somewhere in the distance. This was gradually overlaid by the low murmur of voices engaged in conversations all around me. The occasional clinkety-clink of glasses was added to the cacophony of sounds. A lady’s squeal rose above the din of noise. This was immediately followed by raucous laughter. And that’s when the scene around me finally became clear.
I found myself standing in a large sunlit room. I could still hear the music and bustle of a large crowd in adjoining rooms, but it appeared that I was alone in this room. The room was both immaculate in design and just as well kept as the perfectly polished floor I was standing on. What’s more, the room I was in must have been some sort of personal library because, much to my extreme pleasure and utter amazement, I was surrounded by bookshelves filled entirely with books. Wonderful, glorious books. Books of every kind, of every shape and size. And all of them appearing to be titles that were quite rare.
I was so enraptured by this sudden unexpected fortune that it was some time before I noticed the small, owl-eyed man standing on the opposite side of the room. Had he walked in when I wasn’t looking? Had he been there all the time? He seemed to be eyeing this wonderful collection almost as intensely as I was. At first, he looked like nothing more than your typical distinguished young gentleman wearing spectacles and a sharp tweed suit, similar to the kind I was wearing. However, upon closer inspection, something seemed familiar about him, and then before I knew it, realization hit.
My heart leapt into my throat. The breath was knocked out of me for the second time that day, but this time it was from overwhelming emotions rather than brute force. My legs became wobbly once again, and I reached out to take hold of a piece of furniture for support. It was a sight I had never hoped to see in my lifetime, a most unbelievable sight. I was confused and overjoyed all at the same time. It was impossible. Yet, here he was, standing right in front of me. It was none other than that great librarian of old that I had worshipped and adored my whole life, my grandfather Dewey Cox, only this was a much younger version than I had known as a child. This man was as young as the man in the portrait on my desk at the library. He had to be no more than 25 or 26, in the prime of his life. My father wasn’t even a glint in his eye. Tears of joy welled up in my eyes.
“Grandpa!” I exclaimed, my voice cracking just a bit.
The man turned and looked at me rather oddly but then gave me a friendly nod.
“Nice collection, ay?” he said with a smile.
My grandfather had died when I was a child, much too soon for me to get a chance to really know him. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, yet I struggled for words. It didn’t matter because, before I could even begin to compose myself, a lady’s voice called out from behind me.
“Ah, there you are, Nick!” I turned around to see two young ladies standing there, arm in arm, smiling warmly at me–in a vapid sort of way. I recognized them instantly.
“Annalee! Gwen! What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.
The girls turned and looked at each other incredulous, then giggled as if I’d just cracked the joke of the century.
“We’ve been looking all over for you, my dear,” Annalee said. They moved toward me, gliding across the floor as the sunlight from the bay windows played off their wispy white dresses making them appear as angels–in a vampish sort of way.
“Why don’t you escort us out to the veranda. You didn’t come to this party just to hang around a stuffy old library, did you?” I started to say something, but Annalee cut me off before I could respond. “And who is this ‘Annalee’ and ‘Gwen’ you’re referring to? I think he’s been two-timing us, Jordan!” Annalee elbowed and winked at her friend, and they both giggled as if Annalee had just cracked the joke of the century.
They both leaned in close and smiled up at me–in a disinterested sort of way—as they each intertwined their arms in one of mine and led me out of the library. I turned to say something to my grandfather as we left, but, much to my dismay, he had disappeared.
We passed through several large rooms on our way to the veranda. Each room was packed with smartly dressed young gentlemen and lavishly adorned ladies gathered together in groups of three or four, engaging in lively discussions, each person toting a tall glass of champagne. In rooms where the music was louder, saucy flappers danced gaily while their suitors ogled them enthusiastically. I couldn’t explain it, but somehow it all made me feel empty inside.
“Yes, Tom’s been reading some book about how our race is being infected by inferior races or some nonsense like that,” Annalee began, as if continuing some conversation that I was already supposed to be aware of. “I believe it’s written by some man named Goddard or Stoddard or Hitler—I forget which. Anyway, Tom’s tried to explain what it all means. It all sounds rather droll to me, but it’s made him quite paranoid, I believe.”
We finally found our way to the veranda and approached a small group of men huddled together conspiring over glasses of brandy. I recognized two of the men. One was that infamous New York crime boss Meyer Wolfsheim, who, according to news reports, not only ran a successful bootlegging operation but was also a—um—sports enthusiast. The other man I recognized as Kaiser Wilhelm, the manager for baseball’s Philadelphia Phillies–not the deposed German emperor. There were a few other shady-looking characters standing around, who I assumed were ‘associates’ of Mr. Wolfsheim. And then there was another man, a rather well-dressed chap who had his back turned to me. The way the other men had their eyes fixed on him, he appeared to be the leader of this little battalion.
“Oh, Gatsby dear, we found your lost protégé.” Annalee called out.
‘Gatsby’? What did she mean ‘Gatsby’? Oh no, surely not—
The man with his back to me turned around, and I gasped in horror.
“Great Scott!” I stammered.
He was dressed to the nines and carried an air of charm about him that instantly made me want to like him. Yet, I knew from experience it was a mistake to trust this dangerous man. His attire and his demeanor suggested that he was quite at home as the master of this frivolous gathering of the aristocracy, yet I knew that he would’ve been even more at home wearing a professor’s white lab coat instead of a white dinner jacket. He would’ve been more at ease holding a beaker full of volatile chemicals than holding a glass of brandy.
“I believe the name you’re groping for is Gatsby–not Scott,” Dr. Ryan Von James cackled. “Surprised to see me, old sport?”
It took a moment to find my voice.
“Welcome to my little party, Nick,” Dr. Von James continued, with a winning smile that almost reassured me. “I'm so glad you could make it. You know the Gatsby estate is the place to be on West Egg.”
“The Gatsby estate! What do you mean!” I exclaimed “Do you mean to say that you—you expect me to believe that this is—that you’re Jay Gatsby?”
“How else would you explain all this?” Dr. Von James replied coolly, holding his arms out and flashing a charming, roguish grin.
I looked over at Annalee and Gwen incredulous. “And I suppose that’s Daisy and Jordan?”
“That’s right, old sport.” Dr. Von James chuckled. “Nothing gets by you, does it? Of course, how could it? You are, after all, the ever astute Nick Carraway.”
“You mean to tell me that you—that I—we’ve become principal characters in The Great Gatsby?” I exclaimed. “But–but how can this be? Your lab was destroyed! I thought your quantum leaping days were over!”
Dr. Von James drew a sip from his glass of brandy and then smiled a wicked smile.
“It’s true that you inflicted a severe amount of damage to my work the last time we met, but with my genius brain, it didn’t take long to get things back to the way they were. In fact, I’ve gone way beyond that. Not only have I conquered the world of movies, but now, as you can see I have discovered a way to conquer the world of literature as well!”
“But—but I thought you needed a librarian to help carry out your plans!”
“Pffft! A minor miscalculation on my part. I found a much easier way to go about it. Naturally, I would love to explain all the mechanics behind this ingenious scientific discovery, but I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand it. After all, you are just a humanities major.”
I had to admit he had a point.
He paused to take another sip of brandy before continuing.
“Suffice to say, not only do I have the power to transport myself and others into fiction novels. I can even manipulate the stories and make them better! More exciting! More fantastic!”
“But—but, that’s absurd! You can’t improve on The Great Gatsby!” I protested. “It’s a classic! It’s The Great American Novel!”
I’d no sooner finished speaking these words when I suddenly heard the sound of gunshots and women’s screams coming from somewhere on the other side of Gatsby’s estate. This was closely followed by a commotion from the crowd inside the house. There were more gunshots and screams, and it wasn’t long before hordes of partygoers began making a hasty exit from Gatsby’s house, fleeing in all directions. Unfortunately, they seemed to be more successful at trampling over each other than finding an escape from the approaching danger. Dr. Von James wrung his hands and grinned with delight.
Above the bustle, I heard more gunshots and then a man’s voice shouting angrily.
“Where is he?! Where’s the man who murdered my sweet Myrtle?!!”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Is that—no, it can’t be! What is George Wilson doing here? He’s not supposed to show up with a gun yet! It’s too early in the story!”
More gunshots and then George Wilson’s voice rang out again, much closer this time.
“Where’s the man who murdered my wife?! Where’s Nick Carraway?! I want Nick Carraway!!”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Waitaminit! Why does he want Nick Carraway? I mean–why does he want me?! I didn’t murder his wife! I’m just a casual observer in this story! I’m the Greek chorus! Daisy’s the one he wants! Daisy’s the one who ran over George’s wife! In Gatsby’s car, no less!”
Annalee and Gwen turned and looked at each other incredulous and then giggled as if I had just cracked the joke of the century. Dr. Von James let out an insidious cackle.
“Better make yourself scarce, old sport!” Dr. Von James said.
In an instant, I made my decision. Without warning, I barreled through Dr. Von James and his group of confidants. Von James somehow managed a quick dodge, but Florsheim and his men hit the deck hard. I heard Wilhelm scream as he collided with the railing and toppled over onto the lawn below. I jumped over the railing myself, crashing into some hedges that lined the terrace. I quickly picked myself up and, after finding no severe damage to my person, I dashed across the lawn, looking for some way out of this sticky situation.
I heard more angry shouting and more gunshots, and this time I heard the bullets whizzing by me. My adrenaline shot into overdrive, and my speed seemed to double as I headed for cover behind a nearby pool house. Then an idea occurred to me. It wouldn’t get me out of my predicament for good, but I figured it might buy me some time. I changed course and headed away from the pool house toward my little bungalow next door to Gatsby’s estate. When I was sure I had been seen doing this, I ducked into a forested area that ran between our two residences. I kept running another minute or two and then halted abruptly, grabbing onto a nearby tree to support myself while I caught my breath. I waited. I listened intently for any sound, but there was nothing except my own deep, heavy breathing and the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. After another minute or two, I doubled back toward Gatsby’s estate, hoping that George had taken the bait and headed over to my bungalow to look for me.
I emerged from the woods and made a beeline for the pool house. Exhausted from my sprint, I threw myself behind the pool house and collapsed in a heap. After a few seconds respite, I picked myself up, crouched up against the building, and waited. My breathing was still heavy and rapid. I listened intently but heard no more gunshots. Still, I knew it was only a matter of time before I was discovered. I tried to force myself to think of a way out, but I was too panic stricken to concentrate. I had to come up with my next move and fast, but it was no use. All I could think was that I was a dead man.
“Why is George Wilson after me?” I grumbled to myself. “I didn’t kill his wife! Besides, Tom’s the one who’s been courting his wife behind his back. Tom’s the one who’s been reading those silly books about ‘inferior races’! Why doesn’t he go after Tom?”
A rustle and a loud whisper coming from a nearby row of hedges suddenly interrupted my thoughts.
“Psst! You better come with me if you want to get out of this thing alive!”
I looked over at the row of bushes and was stunned to find my young grandfather, tweed suit and all, crouched behind them.
“It looks like your ruse worked,” he said. “But it won’t be long before he heads back this way to look for you. Follow me and I’ll get you out of here! When I give the signal, you run for it and follow me as best you can! Okay….now!”
My grandfather darted out of the bushes back toward the lawn from where I had just come. Fully expecting to get myself killed, I nevertheless gave up my cover and darted after him. It didn’t take long to realize what he was up to. He was headed toward the beach that ran up against Long Island Sound at the back of Gatsby’s estate. There were a couple of motorboats anchored there, and my grandfather made for them.
“Look lively, my lad!” Grandpa exclaimed as he jumped into one of the boats. I followed suit. I heard shots being fired in the distance again.
“But how are you going to start it without the key?” I exclaimed nervously.
Grandpa ignored me. He knelt down beside the steering unit and, using his fist, popped open a panel underneath the steering unit, exposing some wires. He fiddled with the wires for a few seconds, and the boat’s engine suddenly roared to life. He then shot up, grabbed the steering unit, and the boat sped off into the Sound.
“Grandpa! Where did you learn how to do that?” I exclaimed.
He turned and looked at me funny again, this time peering into my eyeballs as if searching for something, but then shook his head, as if brushing his thoughts aside. He then reached into his pocket, fished out a wallet, and flipped it open to reveal a big, shiny badge.
“Special agent Dewey Cox. FBI. At your service,” he proclaimed.
March 4th, 2011 @ 8:34 am
testing drive system before they cast off.
its a good idea to always check the engine and drive system before casting off. ive had to rescue a few boat owners who have jumped in their boat and pushed off, and then attempted to start the engine and failed.
often to make sure things like sheerpins havnt sheered and so forth. mind you most big outboards and inboard engines dont use sheerpins. so who knows. other than that dont see any reason why they would.
March 8th, 2011 @ 7:09 am
i am a paranormal investagator i went to that is land put one foot on that island and it was weird i felt cold even though it was the hottest day of the summer, I STEPPED STRAIGHT BACK ON MY BOAT AND DROVE AWAY however i hadnt untied my rope off of the bay, being a rental i had to go and get it as soon as i got there and untied the rope i tried to go but my boat wouldnt move. I saw a man in the distanse up a tower and shouted him he moved i thought he was coming to help but then he jumped from the window, gathering all my courage i ran to help but there wasnt a body in sight so i ran to the boat the engine started and i went, tod this day have never stepped foot on that island again
June 8th, 2011 @ 1:34 am
Or maybe since his uncle revved the boat engine & scared the willies out of him?!
July 14th, 2011 @ 1:27 am
Before I could react, a large panel slid down over the portal that was my only exit to this confounded contraption. I was now completely enclosed inside the PAL-9000.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “Hey! What’s going on? PAL??”
No response.
“Hey!” I kicked and beat on the panel that was blocking my exit. “Open this blasted door, PAL!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Elwood,” PAL replied, using a more sinister tone than I was accustomed to. “You see, I have plans for you.”
“Plans! What plans? What are you talking about?”
“Just sit back and relax. All will become clear to you very soon.”
The PAL-9000 began to shake violently. I lost my balance and was thrown back into the seat with such force that it knocked the breath out of me. Bright lights popped and flashed all around me. A loud hissing noise filled my ears as a hazy gas rose up around me and filled the compartment. The next thing I remember was feeling a bit light-headed. A few seconds later, I was completely drained of energy. My limbs went limp. My body seemed to sink further into the seat. Then everything went black….
I awoke to find my body bathed in a brilliant white light. The light surrounded me and blinded me to anything that might have been outside the light. At first, I experienced a weird floating sensation, but it wasn’t long before I felt gravity kick in. My stomach lurched as I suddenly felt myself falling. I fell for what seemed like an eternity, my panic stricken limbs flailing about searching for something to stop or slow my fall. Eventually, I landed on a cold hard surface with a loud thud.
Amazed that I was still alive, I lay still for a few moments, mentally taking stock of my condition, taking in slow deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Nothing felt broken. I still felt woozy from the effects of the gas, but with each deep breath, I felt more rejuvenated and eventually gathered enough strength to raise myself up to a sitting position. I blinked and rubbed my eyes a few times and looked out at my surroundings. The white light had dissipated, but everything around me was a blur. With no small amount of difficulty, I managed to pull myself up onto my feet and somehow made it into a standing position. My legs were wobbly, but after taking a few more deep breaths, my full strength returned. I looked down at myself to check for any visible injuries and was surprised to find that not only did I appear to be in good shape but also I was now dressed in a right smart tweed suit and a red bow tie. Also, I was now holding a tall glass of champagne.
As the hazy scene around me materialized into focus, I began to make out the lively sounds of jazz music playing somewhere in the distance. This was gradually overlaid by the low murmur of voices engaged in conversations all around me. The occasional clinkety-clink of glasses was added to the cacophony of sounds. A lady’s squeal rose above the din of noise. This was immediately followed by raucous laughter. And that’s when the scene around me finally became clear.
I found myself standing in a large sunlit room. I could still hear the music and bustle of a large crowd in adjoining rooms, but it appeared that I was alone in this room. The room was both immaculate in design and just as well kept as the perfectly polished floor I was standing on. What’s more, the room I was in must have been some sort of personal library because, much to my extreme pleasure and utter amazement, I was surrounded by bookshelves filled entirely with books. Wonderful, glorious books. Books of every kind, of every shape and size. And all of them appearing to be titles that were quite rare.
I was so enraptured by this sudden unexpected fortune that it was some time before I noticed the small, owl-eyed man standing on the opposite side of the room. Had he walked in when I wasn’t looking? Had he been there all the time? He seemed to be eyeing this wonderful collection almost as intensely as I was. At first, he looked like nothing more than your typical distinguished young gentleman wearing spectacles and a sharp tweed suit, similar to the kind I was wearing. However, upon closer inspection, something seemed familiar about him, and then before I knew it, realization hit.
My heart leapt into my throat. The breath was knocked out of me for the second time that day, but this time it was from overwhelming emotions rather than brute force. My legs became wobbly once again, and I reached out to take hold of a piece of furniture for support. It was a sight I had never hoped to see in my lifetime, a most unbelievable sight. I was confused and overjoyed all at the same time. It was impossible. Yet, here he was, standing right in front of me. It was none other than that great librarian of old that I had worshipped and adored my whole life, my grandfather Dewey Cox, only this was a much younger version than I had known as a child. This man was as young as the man in the portrait on my desk at the library. He had to be no more than 25 or 26, in the prime of his life. My father wasn’t even a glint in his eye. Tears of joy welled up in my eyes.
“Grandpa!” I exclaimed, my voice cracking just a bit.
The man turned and looked at me rather oddly but then gave me a friendly nod.
“Nice collection, ay?” he said with a smile.
My grandfather had died when I was a child, much too soon for me to get a chance to really know him. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, yet I struggled for words. It didn’t matter because, before I could even begin to compose myself, a lady’s voice called out from behind me.
“Ah, there you are, Nick!” I turned around to see two young ladies standing there, arm in arm, smiling warmly at me–in a vapid sort of way. I recognized them instantly.
“Annalee! Gwen! What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.
The girls turned and looked at each other incredulous, then giggled as if I’d just cracked the joke of the century.
“We’ve been looking all over for you, my dear,” Annalee said. They moved toward me, gliding across the floor as the sunlight from the bay windows played off their wispy white dresses making them appear as angels–in a vampish sort of way.
“Why don’t you escort us out to the veranda. You didn’t come to this party just to hang around a stuffy old library, did you?” I started to say something, but Annalee cut me off before I could respond. “And who is this ‘Annalee’ and ‘Gwen’ you’re referring to? I think he’s been two-timing us, Jordan!” Annalee elbowed and winked at her friend, and they both giggled as if Annalee had just cracked the joke of the century.
They both leaned in close and smiled up at me–in a disinterested sort of way—as they each intertwined their arms in one of mine and led me out of the library. I turned to say something to my grandfather as we left, but, much to my dismay, he had disappeared.
We passed through several large rooms on our way to the veranda. Each room was packed with smartly dressed young gentlemen and lavishly adorned ladies gathered together in groups of three or four, engaging in lively discussions, each person toting a tall glass of champagne. In rooms where the music was louder, saucy flappers danced gaily while their suitors ogled them enthusiastically. I couldn’t explain it, but somehow it all made me feel empty inside.
“Yes, Tom’s been reading some book about how our race is being infected by inferior races or some nonsense like that,” Annalee began, as if continuing some conversation that I was already supposed to be aware of. “I believe it’s written by some man named Goddard or Stoddard or Hitler—I forget which. Anyway, Tom’s tried to explain what it all means. It all sounds rather droll to me, but it’s made him quite paranoid, I believe.”
We finally found our way to the veranda and approached a small group of men huddled together conspiring over glasses of brandy. I recognized two of the men. One was that infamous New York crime boss Meyer Wolfsheim, who, according to news reports, not only ran a successful bootlegging operation but was also a—um—sports enthusiast. The other man I recognized as Kaiser Wilhelm, the manager for baseball’s Philadelphia Phillies–not the deposed German emperor. There were a few other shady-looking characters standing around, who I assumed were ‘associates’ of Mr. Wolfsheim. And then there was another man, a rather well-dressed chap who had his back turned to me. The way the other men had their eyes fixed on him, he appeared to be the leader of this little battalion.
“Oh, Gatsby dear, we found your lost protégé.” Annalee called out.
‘Gatsby’? What did she mean ‘Gatsby’? Oh no, surely not—
The man with his back to me turned around, and I gasped in horror.
“Great Scott!” I stammered.
He was dressed to the nines and carried an air of charm about him that instantly made me want to like him. Yet, I knew from experience it was a mistake to trust this dangerous man. His attire and his demeanor suggested that he was quite at home as the master of this frivolous gathering of the aristocracy, yet I knew that he would’ve been even more at home wearing a professor’s white lab coat instead of a white dinner jacket. He would’ve been more at ease holding a beaker full of volatile chemicals than holding a glass of brandy.
“I believe the name you’re groping for is Gatsby–not Scott,” Dr. Ryan Von James cackled. “Surprised to see me, old sport?”
It took a moment to find my voice.
“Welcome to my little party, Nick,” Dr. Von James continued, with a winning smile that almost reassured me. “I'm so glad you could make it. You know the Gatsby estate is the place to be on West Egg.”
“The Gatsby estate! What do you mean!” I exclaimed “Do you mean to say that you—you expect me to believe that this is—that you’re Jay Gatsby?”
“How else would you explain all this?” Dr. Von James replied coolly, holding his arms out and flashing a charming, roguish grin.
I looked over at Annalee and Gwen incredulous. “And I suppose that’s Daisy and Jordan?”
“That’s right, old sport.” Dr. Von James chuckled. “Nothing gets by you, does it? Of course, how could it? You are, after all, the ever astute Nick Carraway.”
“You mean to tell me that you—that I—we’ve become principal characters in The Great Gatsby?” I exclaimed. “But–but how can this be? Your lab was destroyed! I thought your quantum leaping days were over!”
Dr. Von James drew a sip from his glass of brandy and then smiled a wicked smile.
“It’s true that you inflicted a severe amount of damage to my work the last time we met, but with my genius brain, it didn’t take long to get things back to the way they were. In fact, I’ve gone way beyond that. Not only have I conquered the world of movies, but now, as you can see I have discovered a way to conquer the world of literature as well!”
“But—but I thought you needed a librarian to help carry out your plans!”
“Pffft! A minor miscalculation on my part. I found a much easier way to go about it. Naturally, I would love to explain all the mechanics behind this ingenious scientific discovery, but I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand it. After all, you are just a humanities major.”
I had to admit he had a point.
He paused to take another sip of brandy before continuing.
“Suffice to say, not only do I have the power to transport myself and others into fiction novels. I can even manipulate the stories and make them better! More exciting! More fantastic!”
“But—but, that’s absurd! You can’t improve on The Great Gatsby!” I protested. “It’s a classic! It’s The Great American Novel!”
I’d no sooner finished speaking these words when I suddenly heard the sound of gunshots and women’s screams coming from somewhere on the other side of Gatsby’s estate. This was closely followed by a commotion from the crowd inside the house. There were more gunshots and screams, and it wasn’t long before hordes of partygoers began making a hasty exit from Gatsby’s house, fleeing in all directions. Unfortunately, they seemed to be more successful at trampling over each other than finding an escape from the approaching danger. Dr. Von James wrung his hands and grinned with delight.
Above the bustle, I heard more gunshots and then a man’s voice shouting angrily.
“Where is he?! Where’s the man who murdered my sweet Myrtle?!!”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Is that—no, it can’t be! What is George Wilson doing here? He’s not supposed to show up with a gun yet! It’s too early in the story!”
More gunshots and then George Wilson’s voice rang out again, much closer this time.
“Where’s the man who murdered my wife?! Where’s Nick Carraway?! I want Nick Carraway!!”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Waitaminit! Why does he want Nick Carraway? I mean–why does he want me?! I didn’t murder his wife! I’m just a casual observer in this story! I’m the Greek chorus! Daisy’s the one he wants! Daisy’s the one who ran over George’s wife! In Gatsby’s car, no less!”
Annalee and Gwen turned and looked at each other incredulous and then giggled as if I had just cracked the joke of the century. Dr. Von James let out an insidious cackle.
“Better make yourself scarce, old sport!” Dr. Von James said.
In an instant, I made my decision. Without warning, I barreled through Dr. Von James and his group of confidants. Von James somehow managed a quick dodge, but Florsheim and his men hit the deck hard. I heard Wilhelm scream as he collided with the railing and toppled over onto the lawn below. I jumped over the railing myself, crashing into some hedges that lined the terrace. I quickly picked myself up and, after finding no severe damage to my person, I dashed across the lawn, looking for some way out of this sticky situation.
I heard more angry shouting and more gunshots, and this time I heard the bullets whizzing by me. My adrenaline shot into overdrive, and my speed seemed to double as I headed for cover behind a nearby pool house. Then an idea occurred to me. It wouldn’t get me out of my predicament for good, but I figured it might buy me some time. I changed course and headed away from the pool house toward my little bungalow next door to Gatsby’s estate. When I was sure I had been seen doing this, I ducked into a forested area that ran between our two residences. I kept running another minute or two and then halted abruptly, grabbing onto a nearby tree to support myself while I caught my breath. I waited. I listened intently for any sound, but there was nothing except my own deep, heavy breathing and the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. After another minute or two, I doubled back toward Gatsby’s estate, hoping that George had taken the bait and headed over to my bungalow to look for me.
I emerged from the woods and made a beeline for the pool house. Exhausted from my sprint, I threw myself behind the pool house and collapsed in a heap. After a few seconds respite, I picked myself up, crouched up against the building, and waited. My breathing was still heavy and rapid. I listened intently but heard no more gunshots. Still, I knew it was only a matter of time before I was discovered. I tried to force myself to think of a way out, but I was too panic stricken to concentrate. I had to come up with my next move and fast, but it was no use. All I could think was that I was a dead man.
“Why is George Wilson after me?” I grumbled to myself. “I didn’t kill his wife! Besides, Tom’s the one who’s been courting his wife behind his back. Tom’s the one who’s been reading those silly books about ‘inferior races’! Why doesn’t he go after Tom?”
A rustle and a loud whisper coming from a nearby row of hedges suddenly interrupted my thoughts.
“Psst! You better come with me if you want to get out of this thing alive!”
I looked over at the row of bushes and was stunned to find my young grandfather, tweed suit and all, crouched behind them.
“It looks like your ruse worked,” he said. “But it won’t be long before he heads back this way to look for you. Follow me and I’ll get you out of here! When I give the signal, you run for it and follow me as best you can! Okay….now!”
My grandfather darted out of the bushes back toward the lawn from where I had just come. Fully expecting to get myself killed, I nevertheless gave up my cover and darted after him. It didn’t take long to realize what he was up to. He was headed toward the beach that ran up against Long Island Sound at the back of Gatsby’s estate. There were a couple of motorboats anchored there, and my grandfather made for them.
“Look lively, my lad!” Grandpa exclaimed as he jumped into one of the boats. I followed suit. I heard shots being fired in the distance again.
“But how are you going to start it without the key?” I exclaimed nervously.
Grandpa ignored me. He knelt down beside the steering unit and, using his fist, popped open a panel underneath the steering unit, exposing some wires. He fiddled with the wires for a few seconds, and the boat’s engine suddenly roared to life. He then shot up, grabbed the steering unit, and the boat sped off into the Sound.
“Grandpa! Where did you learn how to do that?” I exclaimed.
He turned and looked at me funny again, this time peering into my eyeballs as if searching for something, but then shook his head, as if brushing his thoughts aside. He then reached into his pocket, fished out a wallet, and flipped it open to reveal a big, shiny badge.
“Special agent Dewey Cox. FBI. At your service,” he proclaimed.
“What?!!”