Chapter 8
It seemed stupid to run and stupid not to. Jimmy couldn't make up his mind. Way-out kicks were fine, but he had no taste for winding up in jail, and when you figured out all the charges that could be brought against them, you'd need an adding machine to figure up the number of years you could get.
Trespassing, for instance. A mild sort of offense, and not very significant in itself.
Vandalism-destruction of private property. Though he hadn't participated in it himself, the others had made a shambles of that beautiful house. And he had been part of the group.
Theft. They must have taken at least a hundred dollars worth of liquor from the owner's private stock.
Assault with a deadly weapon. He hadn't taken out his knife, but the others had, and when you take out a knife and act like you're going to use it, that's a very serious charge.
And last but not least, the little matter of rape. Technically, he had done that, too. He hadn't touched the woman, and the girl, that crazy broad of a daughter who seemed delighted with everything that was happening, had begged him to take her. But she might not be eighteen, which would make that rape anyway. And the mother might force her to press charges anyway, if the pack got caught. If the pack got caught.
That was the whole thing in a nutshell. If the pack got caught, they might all be held responsible. In a sense, each individual was as guilty as the next. The whole thing had been a group kick, each member lending support to the other, to go further and further out, to do wilder and wilder things.
Jimmy understood this instinctively. By himself, any one member might have been much less daring. Each one had a position to maintain in the eyes of the others-he had felt that part of it keenly when the girl came swimming over to him. He still wasn't sure whether he would have forced her or not.
And now, he realized, he didn't want to find out. Not that way. Whatever he might do in the way of kicks he wanted to do on his own, for his own reasons not because he had to prove himself to others. And he realized also that there would be more of that, that running with the pack meant a constant test, proving yourself constantly in front of everyone else as a guy who wouldn't crack under any circumstances whatever.
It was crazy. It would be a lie to say that it wasn't fun, but it was also crazy.
Stupid.
If he got caught now, he would take whatever rap they threw at him and not rat on the others-but he was going to go it alone from here on in.
That was his decision.
He glanced back over his shoulder to see how much distance he had put between them, and noticed for the first time that there were only two lights following him now. Whose? Then it occurred to him that the road had forked off in several places in the ten or fifteen miles he had covered so far, and no doubt the group had split up for purposes of safety. Of course; that as it.
He breathed easier then, realizing they weren't chasing him. They had no reason to, really. He had convinced them that he was as far out as they were, so why should they be after him? The idea would be to go thirty or so miles, until they came to a fairly large city, each one traveling individually or in two's and then wait for the others, group up again. He had heard them talking about this kind of strategy once before.
The fact that he wasn't being pursued only made him drive faster. There would only be one big town before San Francisco, according to the map, and he could bypass it and go on.
Alone.
That was the way for him to travel, he decided. The girl had been right about one thing-he preferred being a loner. It might not always be as much fun, but at least you just had yourself to worry about. You got into trouble, you had nobody else but yourself to blame. Maybe he'd meet up with some of the guys in the Rattlers later, in San Francisco. And maybe they wouldn't like the way he had cut out on his own.
If they didn't, that was tough. Because that was the way he was playing it from here on in.
He felt better after making that decision. And he knew they'd never catch up with him between here and San Francisco. Not with the Harley under him, they wouldn't. It was the fastest thing on the road.
It was a beautiful sight, beneath him in the beginning light of dawn. You rounded a curve in the hills and there it was, spread out beneath you like a toy city
-the lights, the bay, the Golden Gate in the distance.
Tired, sleepless, he felt exhilarated by it, nevertheless. He had ridden many miles, stopping only once or gas and a sandwich in an all-night diner. He had ridden right on through the worst part of his fatigue, caught a second wind, and now he was here.
San Francisco.
God!
It was the kind of thrilling sight that made you forget all your troubles, that raised all your hopes and expectations so that you felt like a really new person.
It was beautiful.
Perfect.
Jimmy coasted down the steep incline slowly, taking in everything as the rosy light spread, in through the beginning suburbs of small houses with people just waking up in them, occasional stores, still closed for the night, past filling stations and tree-lined streets, bigger houses, outlying shopping districts ... He felt like he had to go straight to the heart of the city before he stopped, tired as he was.
And hungry. Famished. It was funny how you could be sleepy and hungry at the same time. The thought of a good plate of bacon and eggs and a hot cup of coffee made his mouth water.
Mouth watering, he stopped at a diner along the waterfront. It was a small, rough-looking place, but the smell of frying bacon came out through the swinging doors, and he could see the bay and white sails sparkling behind, having traveled down to the water's edge before he realized it.
He parked the Harley in front and went in.
The place was filled with merchant seamen and dock workers, having their breakfasts. Jimmy found a place along the plain wooden counter and sat down.
The waitress came over and took his order. She was a short slim dark-haired girl, and at first he paid no attention to her, giving her his order automatically. But when she smiled at him he noticed the whiteness of her teeth, and then he began to notice the rest of her as she moved gracefully behind the counter.
She was a strange looking girl. Petite, almost flat-chested, she wore her dark hair in straight bangs in front and long in back, drawn back over her delicate ears and held together by a band so that it formed a curious kind of pony-tail effect as it cascaded down between her narrow shoulders.
But it was her face itself that held his interest. Something about it made her different from most girls he had ever seen-a sort of fresh, boyish look, yet curiously feminine at the same time. Wide, doe-like brown eyes, a pert, delicate nose, a rather severe mouth that wore no lipstick at all. Instead of the customary white waitress uniform she wore a black and white striped short sleeve polo shirt and tight black bullfighter's pants, which made her look somewhat out of place. But she walked self-confidently and seemed not to be bothered at all by the rough language of stevedores and deck hands who shouted and swore and laughed noisily over their coffee and rolls.
His order came: a heaping plate of buckwheat cakes, dripping with maple syrup, small browned sausages, a tall glass of buttermilk and a mug of steaming black coffee.
It was delicious. Happy that he had hit on the idea of coming down to the waterfront to eat, he wolfed the food down, and by the time he had gotten to the coffee he felt pleasantly full and warm and so tired his eyes would hardly stay open, He caught himself actually nodding over the counter, the chatter of the customers around him becoming a soft lulling buzzing in his ears.
"Hey, wake up!" the young waitress said, shaking his arm and laughing at him.
His eyes popped open and he grinned stupidly. "Sorry. I was about to go off."
"Must have had a big night, honey."
"A big night on the road." he said, finding Ms words slurring together from a kind of intoxication of fatigue.
"Hey, you really are tired! I thought you were hung-over, the way you stumbled in here."
"Did I? Never noticed."
"If I were you, baby, I'd go home and hit the rack."
"Don't live here. Came down from upstate. Any good cheap hotels around here?"
"There's good hotels and there's cheap hotels, but they're not the same ones. Don't you know anyone in the city?"
He shook his head groggily.
"Well, I'd hate to see you get clipped. You look like a nice kid. Want me to find you a place to pad over for the day?"
She wasn't much more than a "kid" herself, but Jimmy appreciated the friendly offer.
"I don't want you to go to all that trouble," he said. "Besides, you're working."
She glanced at the clock and threw the rag she had been mopping the counter with into the sink. "Not as of now I'm not," she said. "And it's no trouble. I've been hung up in strange cities before and I know what a hell it can be when you're completely dragged. My name's Matilda, but my friends call me Matty."
He noticed for the first time as she came around the counter that she had a very nice figure, small breasts and shoulders, a narrow waist, and slim, prettily curved legs. She wore rope sandals on her feet and her toenails were painted orange.
He got up and paid for his meal at the cash register, noting with dismay how little money he had left. Somehow he had spent most of the forty dollars he had started out with in various places along the road without noticing it.
It might be a good idea to take her up on the offer after all.
"If you don't mind riding on the back of a motorcycle, I think I might just go along with your suggestion," he said.
"Crazy. I dig motorcycles, baby-only you better let me do the driving. You look like you're about to topple over."
He had to admit that she was right as he nearly tripped going out the doorway. He didn't like the idea of letting anyone jockey the Harley, and especially a girl, but the hot meal had made him so sleepy he could no longer trust his reactions.
"Can you?" he said doubtfully.
"Watch me."
She got on expertly, humped the starter and got it going as he slid into the saddle behind her, putting his arms around her ridiculously small waist.
She started away, controlling the machine like an expert. He had to admire her skill.
It was the last thing he thought about as, slumping against her surprisingly strong body, he fell dead asleep behind her.
"Where are we?" he said, his head jerking erect suddenly as they ground to a halt. They were in a funny looking area near the water, with crazy narrow streets, lined with tumbledown one and two story frame houses, some of which seemed to be falling apart. Sand and clumpy grass surrounded the houses and open lots with pieces of rusting junk could be seen here and there.
"North Beach, honey. Haven't you ever heard of it?"
"I don't think so."
"Wow, have you got a lot to learn! But this is the place, man-park your chopper out around back so nobody will steal. We have, um, a few dishonest people among us, unfortunately."
Jimmy got off and managed to wheel the machine around back of the faded gray clapboard shack, propping it under a stunted acanthus tree.
She led him up two flights of rickety back outside stairs, through an unlocked door into a low-ceilinged three room apartment that occupied the top floor of the tumbledown building.
"The bed's in there," she said, pointing to a doorway hung with frayed burlap curtains. "I've only got one, so you'll have to share it with me."
"This is your place?" he said, surprised.
"Not exactly," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I'm sort of borrowing it from a friend till I get enough bread together to rent a pad of my own. Artist-type, gone down to Mexico to paint and bring back a load of pot. You're not the modest type, are you?"
"I don't think so."
"Crazy. I've been working all night, sweets, and my feet have grown three sizes. So don't feel insulted if I fall right to sleep."
She made that sound so natural that he went into the tiny dark bedroom with her without further ado.
He tossed his jacket in the corner and sat on the bed, taking off his boots.
She began to undress in front of him.
His mind felt drugged, but he couldn't help watching her with interest. She seemed to have no false modesty about her at all. She pulled the polo shirt off and he caught a glimpse of naked, cute little breasts before she turned and began pulling down her toreador pants.
At least she wore panties. Sheer black nylon ones that were a bit raggedy. He stared at her as she bent over, feeling a little like a Peeping Tom.
She turned around then and caught him looking at her. An impish, sarcastic gleam came into her wide dark eyes.
"Come on, now," she said, "you're supposed to be dead tired, remember?"
Jimmy felt himself blushing a little. Her complete naturalness about everything made him feel clumsy, a little prudish.
"Well, uh, I guess I've just been up too long. Everything seems ... different."
She nodded. "I've been on no-sleep jags myself, honey. You can get pretty high that way. But I really don't mind you looking that much.
And to prove her words, she hooked her thumbs inside the elastic of her panties and pulled them swiftly down.
She had beautiful legs and hips. Petite. Trim.
Lovely.
"I've got the habit of sleeping nudie," she said. "I hope you don't mind."
"I don't mind at all, Matty."
"Good. Why don't you take your rags off too then? They look like they're stuck to you, man."
What the hell, he thought, and began drawing his sweaty tee shirt over his head, fatigue slowing his movements.
Just as the shirt cut his vision, he felt her slim little fingers tugging at the buckle of his wide motorcycle belt.
"Lie back, baby-I'll finish this for you. Go to sleep if you want to."
He did lie back, drowsiness immediately enfolding him like a thick warm blanket.
But he didn't drift off to sleep immediately. He felt her tickly little fingers undressing him, pulling down his pants, removing his socks-and finally, although it seemed to him unnecessary, his briefs.
Her hand patted him appreciatively.
"My, you're beautiful," she murmured somewhat matter-of-factly. "I'd like to do a study of you sometime. I sculpt, you know. Mostly nude figures, when I'm doing straight stuff. A man's body is much more interesting than a woman's."
He was both flattered and aroused, in a low-keyed way. Her hands brushed down his legs, feeling his muscles as though to test their form and tone, and strong flickers of desire wove through his increasing fogginess.
So pleasant, to lie like this in bed....
But the need for sleep was too strong in him. He drifted off, feeling her lithe little body slide onto the bare mattress next to him.
After that, he fell into a deep dark pit of dreamless sleep.
He had no idea what time it was when he finally awoke, but light was coming into the room, and as his eyes slowly opened to the vaguely familiar surroundings he judged from the slanting rays of sun corning through the window that it must be late afternoon.
Turning his head, he saw that he was not alone in the room either.
Matty was there, perched on a low stool with a sketch pad on her lap and a piece of charcoal in her hand. She glanced at him, made a few quick strokes on the pad and then tossed it and the charcoal onto a chipped dresser behind her.
Awake now, he realized she hadn't bothered to put any clothes on while he was sleeping.
Strange. He couldn't figure her out, but it wasn't hard to see that she was some kind of an arty beatnik chick who didn't give much of a damn about little formalities in life.
Like clothing, for instance.
"Hi," she chirped. "Awake at last, huh? I was borrowing that crazy physique of yours for a model while you were copping out. Can't afford professionals, hope you don't mind."
He didn't mind, but he discovered that his body was a little more alert than his mind. It had other ideas about how it should be used than as a model.
"Oh-oh," she clucked; "I see you're really waking up, Jimmy boy."
He grinned a little sheepishly. "Can you blame me? You ought to be a model yourself."
She came over to the bed and sat down.
"Yes, you would make one hell of a sculpture," she said, brushing him with her hand.
He reached for her, trying to pull her down to him. But she pushed herself away, resisting his attempt.
"No, baby doll; none of that now! You're leaping to big conclusions-but wrong ones, I'm afraid."
He leaned up on one elbow, angered at her resistance after the obvious temptation she had presented.
"Hell, I'm only human-what did you expect?"
"That, I guess," she smiled. "But we all have our own quirks, and since you're my guest you'll have to respect mine, baby."
"Then you'd better stop doing that," he said tensely, desire really worked up in him now by her continued stroking.
"Why? Don't you like that?"
"Sure, but...."
"I'm going to satisfy you, hon-but not that way. Relax."
"That's kid stuff though!"
"Better a kid than kidded."
"I don't get you."
"I'm not what you think I am. Look; you're broke and you need a place to stay for awhile; just let me be nice to you in my own way and you can pad over here as long as you like-okay?"
He sank back onto the mattress.
"Okay. Only I'd rather do something for you, too."
"You're doing plenty, dear. A free model, remember? And in return, I'll do this for you."
Her hands moved rapidly, working up a straining desire in him that gave him a strangely pleasurable agony not to touch her and make love to her while she stroked and caressed him. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.
"See? You do like that don't you."
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes...."
"And I don't mind this way. Or even," she said, her voice changing, "this."
He felt her lips then-cool moist, caressing lips. Small oval of a mouth. Automatically he reached to twine his hands in her rich dark locks of hair.
Crazy.
She made little sounds as she made love to him in her own peculiar style. "Mmmm."
"MMmmuhhh! "Ugggmmm!"
Crazy, wild little sounds as she worked, faster and faster, increasing his desire. Again and again. Faster and faster.
He groaned, turning on the mattress, past the point of wanting anything else now. She was so expert at this! Amazingly expert.
Her arms went around him and she held him and she seemed intent on exploiting his desire to the hilt. He groaned once more, the wind wheezing in his lungs.
And then that happened. Ka-boom!
A release so sudden and complete it wracked his whole body; then he fell back on the mattress in slack-limbed peace.
She got up and left him, padding on quick feet to the bathroom. He lay still on the bed for several minutes, listening to the sound of tap water running as his breathing slowly wound down to a normal tempo again.
She was good.
Damn good.
So damn good at that, she excited his curiosity as how good she would be at other things. And then he began thinking about her, why she was like that and how she got any pleasure herself from being that way.
That was all pretty crazy. But then, this whole place looked kind of crazy, full of strange people. He had glimpsed some of them that morning, waking up on the back of the motorcycle behind her-strange cats walking about in bare feet and wearing beards on their faces and rags on their backs, some looking very hungover and some looking as though they hadn't been to bed yet.
A beatnik colony, he guessed. That wasn't hard to figure out, and now that he thought about it he remembered reading about North Beach with its wild bohemian crowd, somewhere, in a newspaper or book or something.
And she was one of them; a beatnik chick. A very strange girl with very strange ideas about how to make love with a guy.
Well, he thought, sitting up and rubbing his eyes; it takes all kinds. And broke as he was, it would be a good idea to cool it here for awhile until he got a job washing dishes or something-anything to raise a small stake so he could move on again.
Why not?
He dressed himself quickly, his curiosity aroused about where he was and what new city sights and sounds there were that were worth exploring.
A good many, no doubt.
Matty was in the kitchen, making coffee with a little espresso rig, bending over a tiny two-burner gas stove. She had put on a loose robe that looked like a man's bathrobe. It was too big for her and it hung open in front, but Jimmy figured that this was for her a big step in the direction of feminine modesty.
"Hi, lover," she chirped. "Ready for some mud and rolls? That's all there is in this dump, I'm afraid."
Jimmy sat down at a marred maple kitchen table, scraping back one of the two chairs and watching her precise, mannish movements.
She served the coffee in a small cup, a deep dark liquid with a brackish taste, but not at all bad to drink for all its strength. A couple of margarined rolls appeared before him and he ate them quickly, satisfying his hunger if not his teste.
"Thanks," he said. "You treat me like a mother."
She pretended to look shocked. "Really? Wow, she must be quite a gal, honey."
Jimmy blushed. "I didn't mean that part. Uh, are you working tonight?"
"No, baby; I'm at that lousy gig six days a week and that's enough. Why?"
"I'm going to have a look at the city. Want to come?"
"Man, I've had a look at the city. Thanks anyway, though. You go on and have yourself a small ball. But don't be surprised if this place is mobbed tonight. Like it happens to be a Saturday night, which means tea party time hereabouts, in case you're not hip to the ways of the beach."
"Oh. You want me to stay away until a certain time?"
She laughed loudly, crumbs of hard roll spilling from the corners of her mouth.
"How polite! Listen, a party out this way means everyone in the world is invited, and everyone in the world usually comes. Just wander in any time and grab the nearest wine jug. If the noise bothers you, the wine will turn it off."
"It sounds wild."
She leaned across the table, her robe falling away from her child-like breasts, and rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand.
"See no evil, child," she said, "and there won't be any. But in case the scene is too much for your dewy young eyes, there's a shed out back with an old army cot in it. You can evict anyone in there if you really need to sack out that bad."
"Okay. I probably won't do that though. The party sounds like fun."
"You'll be a hit, man. All the girls will start thinking I've gone straight when they see your big gray eyes."
"Straight?"
"Just an expression, forget it. You'll learn to speak the language in no time, primitive. But do fall back here whenever you want to, baby-a new face is always a kick."
He got up then, set to leave. At the doorway, she offered her lips for a kiss, and he gave her one. But it seemed more like a polite or sisterly gesture than anything else.
"Take a bus, hon," she advised. "You don't want to be hanging around the city on that noisemaker. Besides, you might get stoned and end up in the bay or something."
"Will it be all right back there?"
"Don't worry-I'll shoot anyone who even looks at it."
"See you later then."
"Later."
He went down the stairs then, feeling alive and good, ready to dig whatever the night had to offer. Just as a cautionary measure he wheeled the Harley around back of the shed before leaving. He gave it a pat and took off down the street to find the nearest bus stop.
A bus headed into the city carat: along after a tan minute wait on the corner. Jimmy got on and found a seat near the rear next to the window, where he could watch the sights as the bus rolled along, connecting with a main avenue.
Riding and relaxing, he had time to think about his present situation.
It wasn't great in some ways. He had less than ten dollars left to his name, enough to fill the tank and buy some dry food and cigarettes if he decided to take off from the city in a fairly short time. Maybe it would be best to find a job here, work a couple of weeks, and then head either south or east, depending on how he felt about it when he was ready.
The thought of running out of money didn't bother him that much, however. He had never had trouble finding a job of one kind of another since he had been fourteen. And he had luck. Running into Matty right off the bat was a piece of luck, and he had been lucky in not getting involved in a number of scrapes on the way downstate.
Very lucky indeed.
Jimmy believed in his luck. Luck was more valuable than money anyway, he figured. Some of the things he had done, he could easily have gotten his fingers burned, but he had come away without so much as a scratch.
That was luck.
Not that he was superstitious or carried a rabbit's foot or anything like that. But, as Ron put it once, when you're "Making it," there isn't much that can stop you.
He felt like he was making it now, in his own way.
Free and easy as the breeze, copping in on a lot of crazy experience, knowing chicks like Margot and that girl back in the filling station a couple of hundred miles away.
Making it.
The thing was to stay out of trouble. He had come close, but he hadn't gotten burned, and now he knew better. Wild kicks were fine, but everything was a kick if you only looked at it that way-so why put yourself in the way of having all the kicks you wanted by doing stupid things which could land you in jail?
Matty was a kick. She treated him like a sister, except in bed, and there, strange as her ways were, she was one hell of a good kick. There was something about her that made him like her better than any chick he had yet met along the road. Maybe she was just teasing him, withholding the real prize like that. Or maybe she had a serious boy friend somewhere who she was saving herself for.
He'd have to check on that, he decided. She was so damn nice in every other way, a real sport who could hop a bike as good as any guy....
Suddenly he remembered Myra.
Myra would be down in San Jose by now. She had probably made it several days ahead of him, in fact, with all the hang-ups he had suffered on the way down.
But somehow Myra seemed remote from him now. He tried, but couldn't quite get a picture of her lace before his mind's eye.
Poor Myra!
But she was part of Coram; for all her sexy ways a sweet and innocent part of Coram, and he didn't feel very sweet or very innocent any more. He had seen and done things that would have shocked her to the core.
Still, he at least owed her a phone call.
Later for that, he decided. There was plenty of time. He didn't plan on leaving the city for at least three days, maybe a week, and he'd call her before he left.
The person he was really interested in was Matty, and as he rode the bus deep into the city, through the narrow crooked streets of Chinatown, he began to realize just how much he had wanted her to go with him.