1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway Read Online Free Page A

applied the plaster. Randy thanked her, then reached for his Scotch and waved the glass in Harry’s direction.
    ‘Thanks, pal. They were after my guitar. I ran into them a mile back. I got away. I was just that bit faster than they were. If it hadn’t been for you I’d have lost my guitar and my job.’
    Harry sipped his Scotch, then asked, ‘Where are you heading for?’
    ‘Paradise City. You on the road too?’
    ‘Yes and going the same way.’ Harry turned to Morelli. ‘How about that apple pie I was promised?’ He looked at Randy. ‘Have you eaten yet? The special here is tops.’
    Randy said he would have the special and the two men went over to Harry’s table and sat down while Morelli bustled into the kitchen. Maria began cutting up more bread.
    ‘If you are heading for Paradise City we could go together,’ Randy said, looking hopefully at Harry. ‘It’s safer for two than for one.’
    ‘Sure,’ Harry said. ‘Glad to.’
    Maria came over with a plate of spaghetti and a vast slice of apple pie topped with ice cream. She set the plates down.
    ‘Dad says it’s all on the house,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘And the room too.’
    ‘Oh, now . . . look . . .’ Harry began, embarrassed, but Maria shook her head.
    ‘That’s what Dad says and what Dad says goes.’
    She went back into the kitchen.
    Harry looked at Randy and lifted his shoulders.
    ‘Nice people . . . they didn’t have to do that.’
    ‘I don’t know I reckon you saved their restaurant. Those junkies were stoned. If there’s anything I can do to even the score just name it,’ Randy said earnestly. ‘If I had lost my guitar, I’d really be in a fix. I rely on it to make a living.’ He forked up some spaghetti then went on, ‘I’ve got a nice job waiting for me at Paradise City. This makes the third season I’ve worked there: a nice, high-class restaurant, lots of style, run by a Mex and his daughter. A bit like this set up here, but much more style and the daughter . . . He rolled his eyes. ‘She has to be seen to be believed.’
    He ate for a moment. ‘Say! This is some spaghetti!’
    Harry nodded.
    ‘Some pie too. When do you reckon to start work?’
    ‘As soon as I get there.’ Randy paused, swallowed, then asked, ‘Are you looking for a job?’
    ‘Yes. What chance do I have? I’m not fussy what I do.’
    Randy regarded him thoughtfully.
    ‘I might get you fixed up with Solo . . . he runs this restaurant: Solo Dominico. He will be hiring staff pretty soon. Can you swim?’
    ‘Swim?’ Harry grinned. ‘I guess that’s about the one thing I can do well. I was a winner of a bronze medal at the last Olympics for free style and diving.’
    Randy gaped at him.
    ‘The Olympics! For God’s sake I You’re not putting me on?’
    ‘No . . . straight.’
    Randy twiddled more spaghetti onto his fork.
    ‘When you were in the Army, did you get to Vietnam?’
    ‘Served my three years out there . . . what’s that to do with it?’
    Randy laughed and patted Harry’s arm.
    ‘Then I can guarantee you a job. Solo’s son is serving out there. The old man will flip his lid for the chance of talking first hand to a guy just back, and besides, he has to hire a lifeguard for his beach . . . it’s compulsory by law to have a qualified swimmer and he has a hell of a job finding anyone for the job. Those who can swim well don’t want to do the chores . . . setting up the umbrellas, keeping the beach clean, serving drinks: those who’ll do the chores can’t swim.’ Randy grinned. ‘Would a job like that be okay with you? He won’t pay much, but it’s dead easy and the food is terrific.’
    ‘It’d suit me fine. But maybe he’s already fixed up.’
    ‘It’s my bet he isn’t. The season doesn’t start for another week. Solo is careful with his money. He won’t look for anyone until the last moment.’
    ‘What’s your job with him?’
    ‘I take care of the bar and do a couple of singing spots at dinnertime and