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

one at lunchtime. This restaurant is pretty snazzy. Solo gets a lot of the Cadillac trade: it isn’t a dump like this.’
    ‘Sounds fine,’ Harry finished his apple pie, sighed contentedly and sat back to light a cigarette.
    ‘How long do you reckon it’ll take to get there?’
    ‘Depends if we have luck in getting rides. I’m a nightwalker. It’s safer that way. These hippies travel by day. By walking at night, we’ll avoid them, but there is less chance of getting a ride. I’d say three days if we have luck, four if we don’t.’
    ‘Well, I’m in no rush,’ Harry said. ‘I like the idea of walking by night . . . less hot. I sure got burned today.’
    ‘That’s it. We can walk faster and further at night. Look, suppose we start tomorrow evening, around seven? We can keep here, take it easy all day and then walk all through the night.’
    Harry nodded. The idea appealed to him. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
    ‘I’ll fix it with the girl.’
    He went over to the bar where Maria was washing glasses.
    ‘We figure to leave here tomorrow evening. Would that be all right with you and your Dad?’ he asked.
    ‘After what you’ve done for us,’ Maria said seriously, ‘anything’s all right with us. If you two want baths, the water’s hot . . . if there’s anything else, just ask.’
    ‘A bath would be fine.’
    ‘I’ll go up and fix the bed. Do you want a bath now?’
    ‘Why not? I’ll come up with you.’
    He went over to Randy who was about to start on the pork chops Morelli had brought from the kitchen. He told him he was taking a bath and they’d meet sometime during the following morning.
    Morelli again shook hands with him and again thanked him for saving his restaurant. He watched Harry mount the stairs with Maria.
    ‘That’s a fine man,’ he said to Randy. ‘That’s a man I’d like to have for a son.’
    ‘You’re right,’ Randy said and cut into his chop. When Morelli had returned to the kitchen, Randy paused in his eating, his expression suddenly thoughtful. Suppose Solo wouldn’t hire this guy? he thought. There were times when Solo was pigheaded and couldn’t be persuaded. After all, Randy told himself, Harry had saved his life and his guitar. He had better check. When he had finished his meal, he shut himself in the telephone booth and called Solo’s restaurant. He spoke to Joe, the negro barman who told him Solo wasn’t there.
    ‘This is important, Joe,’ Randy said, squirming with impatience. ‘Where can I call him?’
    Joe gave him an out of town telephone number.
    ‘Where’s that, for God’s sake?’ Randy demanded, scratching the number on the wall of the booth with his fingernail.
    ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Joe said. ‘It’s only if it’s important.’
    Randy broke the connection, inserted more coins in the box and dialled the number.
    Solo’s deep, growling voice came on the line.
    ‘Yes . . . hey? Who is it?’
    ‘Remember me?’ Randy said. ‘Randy Roache. I’m on my way. I’ve got you a lifeguard, Solo . . . an Olympic champ. Now listen . . .’
     

Chapter Two
     
    T hey had been walking now for some three hours.
    The moon hung in the cloudless sky casting black shadows and sharply lighting the white dust road. The air was still and hot, and on either side of the road dense mangrove thickets made a solid black wall.
    They walked silently: Harry just ahead: both of them preoccupied with their thoughts, but aware of each other and contented not to be alone.
    They had left Yellow Acres soon after 19.00 hours. Each had been given a large wrapped parcel which Morelli had said was a little snack in case they became hungry during the walk. There had been a lot of hand shaking, and Harry had promised to look in on his way back.
    He was now thinking of Maria, comparing her to the girl he had spent two nights with in New York who continually called him ‘Ducky’, chain smoked even when they were making love and was as full of boring problems