The Expendable Man (3 page)

The bus depot was on the other side of the highway at the western end of town. Hugh pulled around the corner of a side street and stopped the car. “You stay here,” he directed Iris. “I'll see what I can find out.” He reached for his jacket and put it on.

She was gazing into her purse mirror although there was not even reflected light there. “Hurry up will you? I'm hungry.”

He took the keys from the ignition. “I'll hurry.” He couldn't make it fast enough to be rid of her, to be solitary and safe again.

He waited on the side of the darkened road for passing cars—it seemed a long time—then cut half on a run across to the depot. A dumpy woman in a yellow cotton dress was behind the ticket counter. She was talking in a desultory fashion with three workmen seated at a table in the lunch section. All of them became silent at Hugh's entrance.

He walked over to the woman. “Are there any buses to Phoenix tonight?”

“They run all night.” Unsmiling, she indicated the posted schedule.

He didn't let his expression change as he studied it. But inside, his smile of relief was so broad, he put his hand to his face in fear it might break through. There was an eastbound bus at ten fifty-five. Time for Iris to get something to eat, not too much time to wait after. He had no doubt but that the ticket woman would make certain everyone was aboard when the bus pulled out.

“How much?” he asked her.

“One way or round trip?”

“One way.”

“Six thirty-eight.”

He took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. The woman pushed the small bit of cardboard and his change across the counter. He said, “Thanks,” and left the place. Again he had to wait to cut across the highway, hoping that those inside the depot weren't watching to see where he was headed. They couldn't see Iris from here, he'd parked the car far enough around the opposite corner to make sure of that.

He wasn't certain she'd be waiting but she was there. As he opened the car door, she greeted him with the complaint, “Didn't you bring nothing to eat?”

He got into the car and closed the door. He said, “There's a bus to Phoenix at ten fifty-five. Here's your ticket.”

She took the pasteboard as if it were dirty.

“Put it in your purse so you won't lose it.”

“I won't lose it,” she said unpleasantly. But she complied, unearthing a red plastic wallet from the handbag, and putting the ticket into the zipper compartment. “Now what am I supposed to do, starve?”

He consulted his watch in the dash light. “It's nine-thirty. You have plenty of time to eat something.”

She continued unpleasant. “What do I use for money?”

“How much do you have?”

She emptied the change compartment into her hand. “Seventeen cents.”

“That's all?”

She opened all of the wallet compartments. “That's all.” She pulled out the pockets of her slacks. “You want to look in my jacket?” She shoved it at him but he didn't touch it. “You can't even buy a hamburger with seventeen lousy cents.”

From his pocket, he took the change from the ten. Anything to be rid of her before the local law or a busybody wondered why they were parked here. He said, “Here's three dollars and sixty-two cents. The ticket was six thirty-eight. That's ten dollars you owe me.”

Her fingers clutched the three bills and she held her hand palm up for the change. Ungraciously she said, “Thanks.”

“There's a café a few doors from the depot. It looks better than their lunch stand.”

She was gathering up her belongings.

“Whatever you do, don't miss that bus.”

She didn't say anything. She opened the door of the car and backed out, holding the handbag and traveling case against her. She pushed the door shut with her foot. She looked in at him and again said, “Thanks,” as if she hated to say it.

He watched until she had darted across the highway and was headed toward the restaurant he'd pointed out to her. He then drove on, and only then did he remember that he'd failed to get the address or phone number of her aunt. He shrugged. Good-bye to ten bucks, ten hard-earned bucks. He couldn't regret too much; he'd have paid out more than twice that to be free of Iris Croom.

He followed the dark country street to its intersection, rounded the block, and returned to the highway. Now that he was rid of her, there was no reason why he shouldn't go on to Phoenix. No reason save that reaction had set in and he knew he was too tired for the long drive. He'd been on night duty for the past month. Last night he'd doubled his job with duty today, a trade to get away early this afternoon. He wouldn't be a safe risk on the road.

He drove the few blocks through the town. There was a large chain motel near the eastern end. He'd stayed there before. He hoped there'd be a vacancy tonight, you never knew. Sometimes even when the sign said there was one, the last unit had been rented just before you arrived.

The vacancy sign was lighted. He turned the car down the circular driveway. Although it was almost three years since he'd been here, he recognized the young woman inside the office. There was nothing distinctive about her. On the street he wouldn't have known her, but in her own setting she was remembered. He was relieved to see her on duty. She'd been a pleasant hostess before, he didn't expect her to be changed.

She wasn't. There was a vacancy and she didn't up the price for him. Five dollars. After he'd taken his kit bag into the room, he was just too tired to drive back downtown and try to find a place where he could eat. It could have been that he was less tired than he was afraid he might come upon Iris again. He settled for an aspirin. Hunger would not keep him awake. He was trained to fall asleep when his head was put to a pillow.

He woke at seven when a loud-mouthed man and woman took off from the next-door unit. He wasn't exactly rested but he couldn't get back to sleep. There was a compulsion to be on his way before any more trouble could develop. And by now he was ravening for food. He shaved, showered, put on fresh linen, replaced his kit in the car trunk, and was ready to leave.

The morning air was cool. Later the sun would be intense but at this hour there was only golden warmth, the color of summer wheat. He drove out to the highway and headed back toward the town to find a restaurant. He changed his mind when he saw the supermarket. Swinging the car into the lot, he went in and bought a quart of milk and a package of six cinnamon rolls. He could have breakfast while he rolled along. It could be better than greasy-spoon food.

He had the car serviced at a nearby station and was on his way. He was as hungry as his passenger had been last night. Before he reached the old bridge that spanned the Colorado, he'd finished a couple of rolls and half the milk. The river was full and lush and green, from green-white winter snow of northern mountains, from spring rains that never fell on this parched earth. Even this early, there were little sunbrowned, near-naked boys splashing along the green banks.

He rolled the car down the other side of the bridge and across the state line to the Arizona inspection station. There were a couple of cars ahead of his under the long sheds. He pulled up. Not until he inched under the roof did he see Iris. She was waiting at the side of the road, just beyond the inspection tables. If possible she looked shabbier than she had last night, unwashed, her hair done up in pin curlers under the dirty scarf, the oversized jacket draped on her shoulders. Her dirty sandal rested against the small traveling bag; the white plastic handbag was clutched to her.

He knew why she was waiting. She thought she could force him to take her along to Phoenix. He wondered if she'd cashed in the ticket and spent the money or if she was saving it to spend in Phoenix. He wondered where she'd spent the night.

He heard the usual questions, “Any fruit? Citrus? Plants?”

“None,” he said.

The inspector considered the answer suspiciously. “Let me see in your trunk.” He was a fat, sour-looking man, the kind who'd like to make something of Hugh's picking up a dirty blond teen-ager. He'd resented the big white Cadillac the moment that Hugh drove up in it. A second inspector lounged in the doorway of the station.

“Certainly,” Hugh said. He got out of the car, not looking toward the girl, and went around to the rear. He opened the trunk. It was as neat as the interior of the car, the way he liked it. His large suitcase, the car case, the kit bag, his doctor's bag, his father's golf clubs. Tools at the side by the spare tire. If he ignored Iris, she might not have the nerve to approach him. Not after pocketing the bus ticket and not using it.

“What's in that one?” the inspector snapped.

“I'm a doctor.” Hugh unlatched it. “It's my medical bag.”

“Any dope?”

“No, none.” Because he'd thought of this inspection when he was packing, he had removed emergency packets for which he had registrations, permits, the works. He was aware that such legalities could make little or no difference to a small-town official bent on trouble.

“Open the other bags.” Not please, not even in intonation.

Seething inwardly, Hugh complied. If this big wart-hog threw his clothes around, Hugh decided he would find a way to carry his complaint up to the governor's office.

The man didn't. He snorted at the neatly packed cases and said, “Okay.”

Hugh closed the trunk and started around again to the driver's seat. He hadn't quite reached it when he heard the call.

“Dr. Densmore!” Iris was hurrying over to the car. “Dr. Densmore,” she shrilled. “I thought I recognized you.” On her face was a sickly-sweet innocent smile.

The inspector stopped in his tracks and turned to watch.

“Oh, Dr. Densmore”—she was deliberately speaking too loud—“would you give me a lift to Wickenberg, oh, please? I must have missed my ride and if I don't get there this morning I'll lose my job and I don't know what my mother will say.”

Both inspectors were watching, listening; suspicion like hoods over their faces. There was absolutely nothing Hugh could do to escape her. To refuse would have been worse than to accede. He couldn't say he was not going to Wickenberg, there was no way to miss it in this direction.

He spoke politely but aloofly, as if she were the daughter of a man he'd known not well, possibly in a business way. “Why, certainly, Iris. Get in.”

Smug triumph flashed in her eyes but the inspectors couldn't see that. She climbed in the car with her belongings and he set it in motion, conscious of the officials following the license plate out of sight. When they were on the road, he asked her, “Why didn't you take the bus?”

“Waste all that money when I could hitch?”

“What did you do with the ticket?”

“Turned it in. I told the lady my plans were changed.”

“I suppose you told her I was your chauffeur.”

She giggled. “I didn't say nothing about you. I just said I was visiting friends and had decided not to leave yet.”

“You're a practiced liar, aren't you?”

“I manage.”

“What did you do with the money?”

“Don't worry.” She yawned. “You'll get it back. From my aunt, remember?”

“I'll get it back if I have to tell her the whole story. Where did you sleep last night?”

She giggled again. “I didn't. I met up with some kids who knew some of the Indio kids I know. We just kicked around.” Her laugh was nasty. “First we spotted your car at that snazzy motel where you stayed. So I knew you hadn't lied to me about staying in Blythe and that I could get a ride to Phoenix with you this morning.”

“And if I'd said no?”

“You couldn't. I fixed it so you couldn't.” She knew what she'd done, could boast of it. She was an evil little girl. She went on slyly, “I knew why you wouldn't take me on to Phoenix last night. You didn't want to cross the state line with me. So the kids took me out there this morning and I walked across. You got nothing to worry about.”

She hadn't known last night. Some of the “kids” must have put her wise.

“What about those inspection officers? What do you think they thought?”

“They thought I was waiting for some friends to give me a ride to work. Then when you came along—you heard me.”

“Do you think they believed you?”

“Who cares? Blobs they were. Both of them. Blobs. I'll never see them again.”

But I will, Hugh said silently. Every time I visit the Phoenix relatives. And every time I pass this station, I'll be suspect. He didn't say it to her. Whether she spoke it or not, her reaction would be: Who cares? She was interested only in her own affairs. He took another bun from the package and began to eat it.

“Food!” she cried. “Can I have some?”

“Didn't you eat last night?”

“I didn't eat nothing this morning. I'm starved.”

She didn't deserve it but he handed the rest of the rolls to her. “You can have these but you can't have my milk. I didn't get any dinner.”

“Why not? Didn't you have any more money?”

“By the time I'd taken care of you and found myself a room, I was too tired to do anything but fall in bed.”

“At least you got to sleep.” She munched on the bun sloppily. “Maybe I ought to sleep now but I'm not a bit sleepy.”

“You will be later. Or did you take a pep pill?”

“Of course I didn't.” she retorted indignantly. “Where would I get one of those?”

“I thought maybe one of your new friends might have given you one.”

She licked one finger. “You're teed off at me, aren't you?”

“Don't I have a right to be?” He drank what was left of the milk.

“I don't know why. I didn't do nothing to you. Unless it's the bus ticket that's bugging you. You'll get your money. Just relax. You'll get it.”