Manhunt. Volume 4, Number 6, June, 1956

Hitch-Hiker by Roland F. Lee

“Nothing like an automobile for it. Nobody can ever prove a thing.” And he showed Baylor how.

Baylor could hear the beating rhythm of the jukebox music as he stood in the brilliant sunlight soaking in the heat. Like an oasis on the highway, the small restaurant, the bar and the filling station pulsed with life and normalcy.

Looking around, Baylor breathed in deeply, then shook himself like a healthy animal brimming over with vitality and good spirits. A deep appreciation of things welled up in him and brought a smile to his lips as he sauntered toward the bar. A girl in a white frock flounced out of the restaurant and ahead of him into the bar, her hips swaying in time to the music. At the door she glanced backward and Baylor’s grin broadened.

The bar was dark, its air-conditioning modified and made fragrant by the smell of beer. The bartender was absently tapping his fingers on the red plastic to the rhythm of the “Jersey Bounce.” Two couples were sitting at tables. The girl Baylor had seen was at the bar trying to look absorbed in thought. Baylor guessed she was about eighteen. The only other customer was a youth dressed in a sport shirt and slacks. Baylor ordered a glass of beer from the dreaming bartender and settled back into the cool darkness. From time to time the girl shot a glance at him, to his amusement. Completely relaxed, he was content to be a spectator.

“Going far?”

Baylor turned slowly and studied the youth two seats away. He saw a mop of brown hair, wide blue eyes, regular features and a mouth that seemed to pout slightly.

“At least to El Centro,” said Baylor, turning back. He felt a twinge of uneasiness, but couldn’t explain why.

“Want a lift? I saw the guy drop you off.”

Baylor turned again, and again an off-chord spoiled the mood of the day. “Okay,” he said and finished his beer.

The youth finished his in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the bar. They walked out into a heat that hit them like a wave. The youth paused, blinking in the sun.

“Want to take her?” he asked, jerking his thumb back.

“Why?”

The pouting mouth broke into a sly grin, but the eyes remained blank. “Why ever? We could—” Then he stopped, sizing Baylor up. “She goes for you.”

“No. I want to get on.”

Baylor felt a mixture of repulsion and curiosity. As he walked toward the car, a scarlet and cream convertible of the latest make, he reflected enviously that this youth ten years his junior owned a car like this while he himself had to bum rides.

The youth appeared irritated by Baylor’s refusal to take the girl. He spun the rear wheels on the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust, and pulled out onto the highway ahead of a car going in their direction. The driver of the other car honked furiously, but the youth tromped down on the accelerator and the powerful engine pulled them forward.

“What are you trying to prove?” Baylor asked.

The youth grinned. “Didn’t scare you, did I, Pop?”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“Nah, I didn’t think you’d scare. That creep thought he could beat me out on the road.” The youth giggled a bit and Baylor looked up sharply at the sound. But the youth lapsed into silence. Watching him covertly, Baylor only gradually became aware that a cloud had passed over the sun. The brilliance was gone. Far ahead over the long, empty road he could sec a hawk wheeling in the now gray sky, its black, ragged wings moving effortlessly. For a second he had the curious fancy that the hawk had cast the whole landscape into shadow.

They were all alone on the road now, going seventy-five Baylor saw. The engine droned. The sudden change in light, the loneliness, the hawk, all somehow gave him the feeling of being transported into a different world. He looked at the driver again, studying the clean-cut features, the slightly petulant mouth.

“This your car?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Buy it yourself?”

“Partly. The old man put up most of it. I had to work like hell on the old cheapskate before he’d do it, though.”

Baylor fell to meditating on the probable story behind these words. Then he realized that the car was swinging very gradually over to the left-hand lane. He looked ahead and saw about three hundred yards away a dog trotting placidly in the left lane. The dog’s back was to them.

“Watch out!” Baylor cried, but the driver seemed not to hear.

Baylor grabbed for the wheel, but the youth knocked his hand off. He saw the dog turn just as they were on top of him. There was a sickening thud, a yowl, one wheel bounced over something and they were gone. Baylor whirled around to see something flop crazily in the road, then lie still.

Baylor was looking into the grinning face of the youth. “Yep,” the youth was saying, “there’s nothing like an automobile for it. Makes it perfectly safe. Nobody can ever prove a thing.”

Baylor shook his head to clear his brain. “When you stop this car,” he said, “I’m going to beat the hell out of you.”

The youth seemed undisturbed. “No you won’t, Pop. For one thing, you couldn’t. For another, I’m a minor. They’d throw the book at you.”

“And they’ve never thrown the book at you?” Baylor felt suddenly helpless and the youth, sensing his advantage, prepared to enjoy it. He giggled again, a giggle which made Baylor’s neck crawl.

“Nah! Nothing but warnings, just warnings and take away your license. Some stuff! Then some boob’d give me a lecture — who the hell did he think he was, telling me what to do?”

Baylor began debating with himself. He could turn the youth in to the highway police, but what good would that do?

As though reading his mind, the driver said proudly, “Wouldn’t do any good to report me. I’d just deny it. Besides, they all try to understand me. I’m just a kid with problems.” He looked to see if Baylor understood.

Baylor gripped the door hard. “But you understand them better than they understand you, eh?”

“You ain’t so dumb, Pop,” said the youth, pleased that his cleverness was appreciated. “You ain’t so dumb at all.” He appeared to weigh something in his mind. Then he continued. “But, hell, what’s a dog anyway? A dog’s nothing. Nothing at all. Now—” he estimated his rider quickly. “Now, the real sport is...” He turned and Baylor at last saw some expression in the eyes.

“Good God! You don’t mean — people?”

The youth was exultant at the shocked attention he was getting. “Takes nerve, though, Pop. Takes real nerve.”

Baylor was almost shaking. “Listen, you little misbegotten-yellow bastard, you let me off at that next bar up there, you hear?”

“I hear you, Pop,” snapped the youth. “But watch who you’re calling names. I don’t like it.”

The convertible whipped into the gravel drive and skidded to a halt before the bar. The youth grinned at Baylor who felt himself damp with sweat. “Got any parting words of advice for me, Pop?”

Baylor stopped with the door open. “I got one thing for you,” he said. His right fist smashed into the driver’s mouth. The youth gave a cry of pain, blood flowed, and Baylor barely saw the knife in time. He brought the edge of his hand down on the youth’s wrist, knocking the knife to the floor. Baylor picked it up and hurled it away. To his amazement, the youth was sobbing.

“What’d you hit me for? I didn’t do nothing to you! You had no call to do it!”

“You mean you don’t know?” asked Baylor, incredulous.

The youth gunned the car, and Baylor made a mental note of the license as it sped away. For a full minute he stood quiet, then roused himself as he felt the hot rays of the sun again. The sunshine hurt his eyes.

Inside another jukebox was playing and a girl’s laughter tinkled faintly. He turned and went into the bar, trying to recapture in the scent of the place that same quality he had sensed earlier. A blonde in a white uniform was leaning on the bar.

“What’ll it be, mister?” she smiled. “You look like you’re sick. Come on sudden?”

“Yeah, real sudden.” Baylor sat down and grasped the girl’s warm hand. “I just need something to hang onto,” he said. “Give me a beer.”