The Expendable Man

by Dorothy B. Hughes

“Are you going to Phoenix?” she asked.

  “I am.” He was ready for the question, he had been expecting it. “But I’m not going through tonight. I’m stopping over in Blythe.”

  “Do you have friends in Blythe?”

  “No, but I’m too tired to drive through.” Actually it was true. “I’ve been on night duty.” Although he’d wanted to walk in on the family tonight, it would be just as well to have some rest and be ready for tomorrow.

  “I wish you were driving through.” She tied the scarf around her head again, and put on the heavy school jacket. “I’m going to sleep,” she announced.

  “It’s only eight o’clock.”

  She gave a small but knowing smirk. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Do you want to move in back where you can stretch out?”

  She considered it, pushing onto her knees and leaning over for a careful investigation. There was nothing on the back seat but his folded jacket. On the floor was a Thermos jug of water. He disliked, from taking family trips as a boy, no doubt, a cluttered car when touring.

  She decided, “I guess not. It’s warmer up front. I’m used to sleeping in cars.” She giggled a little at that, as if it were funny. She turned her back on him, curled herself into the corner, and rested her head against the cushioned seat. She went to sleep almost at once, he could tell by her slightly nasal breathing.

  He drove on through the night. The road was good; he hadn’t seen half a dozen cars since leaving Indio. He should reach Blythe by around nine o’clock. He began to wonder about the bus schedule to Phoenix. He couldn’t simply drop this girl on a street corner. If there was no bus out tonight, he’d probably have to give her the price of a room. In a motel as far as possible from the one where he would stop. He was quite sure she wouldn’t have enough money to get one for herself. He didn’t have much with him; he never had much money, not on an intern’s allowance. Again he wondered if the girl had ever had bus money.

  If he had to, he’d lend her what she needed. The aunt could repay him, if there was an aunt in Phoenix. If not, perhaps her family would some day. By now he was in his own mind certain that Iris was a runaway. The sooner he could be shed of her, the safer he’d be. If there was a teletype out for her by now, his position could be more precarious than he wanted to think about.

  Worrying about it was pointless. Nothing was going to call attention to them until they reached Blythe. At Blythe he’d see that she was taken care of, and that would end it. And he’d never pick up another hitchhiker, never. Not even a ninety-year-old grandfather or the chief of police.

  She wakened when a gargantuan oil truck thundered by, rocking the car. She made a word sound and then for a moment her sleep-dulled eyes looked at him in fear. But she came more fully awake and said, “Oh, it’s you. Where are we?”

  “About ten miles out of Blythe.”

  “You’re still going to stop there?”

  “That’s right. But I’ll see about your bus first.”

  “I’m not going on the bus,” she said sullenly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get another ride.”

  He was sharp with her. “What’s the matter with you? You can’t pick up a ride with strangers in the middle of the night. It isn’t safe.”

  She looked at him for a moment, a level, too-old look. It said she’d let him pick her up and that she was safe with him. Or was she wondering why she’d done it. She said finally, “I can’t go on the bus. I don’t have any money.”

  Anger came to his voice. “Now look here, Iris, or whatever your name is, you can’t tell me your family let you set off for Phoenix without a bus ticket.”

  “You don’t know my family.” Her voice was brittle.

  “I don’t know your family but I know my family. I know lots of families. There isn’t a one that would let a fifteen-year-old kid hitchhike—”

  “I told you I was eighteen.”

  “You’ve told me plenty of things. You haven’t made me believe them. You’re not more than sixteen. And unless you’re running away from home, you started out with a bus ticket.” He calmed down, losing his temper wouldn’t help matters. “I’d like to help you. Why don’t you level with me? Are you running away?”

  “No, I’m not,” she flared. “I told my father I was going to Phoenix and he didn’t care. He told me to go on and go.”

  “What did your mother say?”

  “My mother ditched us six years ago. She was a tramp.”

  His hand clenched to keep from striking her. “Don’t say that!”

  “My father says she was. He ought to know better than you, hadn’t he?” she asked insolently.

  “Don’t you say it,” he repeated. “You don’t know her side of it. You respect your mother until you know better.” It occurred to him, “Is your mother in Phoenix?”

  “We don’t know where she is. My aunt’s in Phoenix.”

  “Your father’s sister? Or your mother’s?”

  “My mother’s.”

  “And that’s where you’re going.”

  “That’s where.”

  “Your father gave you the money to go.”

  “He didn’t give me nothing.”

  “How did he expect you to get there?”

  She said, “I knew he wouldn’t give me the money. When he asked me how I was getting there, I told him I’d saved up from baby-sitting.”

  “You hitchhiked to Indio?”

  “I didn’t have to. I rode down there with some of the kids.”

  He was trying to form the truth. “It was the kids who dropped you there on the desert. And drove back again to see if you had a ride. That car we passed—”

  “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m trying to find out what happened. That’s the way it was, wasn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “But why? Why didn’t you try to get a ride in Indio? You’re from Indio, aren’t you, not Banning? You were afraid someone might see you trying to hitch a ride there, tell your father.”

  “That wasn’t it,” she denied. “It was Guppy’s idea. He hitched to Phoenix once. He said they’re more apt to stop for you out on the desert than in town. They’re sorry for you. In town they think like you do—‘take a bus.”’

  It disturbed him too much to keep silent, although he didn’t want to know, actually was afraid to know. “You were one of the kids in the beat-up car at the drive-in, weren’t you?”

  She was furtive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It was the same car passed us going back to Indio.” He demanded fiercely, “Did you have my car staked out from the beginning? Were you waiting for me?”

  “I should say not!” she denied with emphasis. “That’s not the way it was at all. I wouldn’t have—” She broke off. “It wasn’t that way,” she started again. “I was expecting to get a ride with a family. Not many women would pass up a girl on the highway.”

  More of Guppy’s wisdom, no doubt. With some rancor, he said, “You were willing enough to get in my car.”

  “It was turning dark and I was getting sort of scared. I didn’t want to have to go home and start all over again. My aunt’s expecting me. I wrote her I’d be there in the morning.”

  “And she thinks you’re coming by bus.”

  “That’s right. But I didn’t tell her which one because I didn’t know what time I’d get there.”

  He studied it. It could be the truth; it could be a pack of lies. It didn’t make much difference to him now. He said, “Well, I can’t take you on to Phoenix. But I won’t just desert you in Blythe. I’ll see about a bus and I’ll lend you the money for a ticket. You can pay me back tomorrow when I get to Phoenix.”

  “With what?” she sneered.

  He was patient. “I’m sure your aunt will lend you the money. What’s her address?”

  She made a quick gesture of her head that might have been panic, and again he decided there
was no aunt. “Don’t you come bothering her,” she said. “You give me your address. I’ll bring the money to you.”

  He had no intention of giving her an address. He said, “Never mind that. Just give me your aunt’s number. I’ll phone before I come, to make sure I’m not bothering her.”

  His sarcasm was lost on her. She didn’t care what he said, she was too involved in putting on fresh lipstick by the dash light. They were coming into Blythe. It was just a small town of the sort you passed through on any highway but for some reason it was, to Hugh, a singularly pleasant one. The wide main street managed to give the impression that it was a main street in spite of being also a state highway. The business section was no more than a few blocks with the usual small-town businesses, the usual wealth of gas stations which cluttered all highway towns, and an abundance of motels, good-looking modern motels. Neon lights were rainbow above the latter, otherwise most of the town was dark.

  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 th
e 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.