by Wade Miller
"What are any of us doing here, honey?" Biggo moved his suitcase from the bed to the straight chair by the door. He rounded up glasses for the tequila.
"I should be back home in Scribner, Nebraska, that's where. No, I shouldn't." She was feeling the liquor. She held onto her purse and zipped it open and zipped it shut senselessly. "I ought to remember that there I was a happy little thing but I wasn't. I never have been. But, oh, what am I doing in Ensenada?"
"There is some corner of a foreign field that is forever Scribner, Nebraska," said Biggo and poured.
"I'm just no good, Biggo. I'm sorry but turn me inside out and I'd still be no good at all."
"What you need is a drink. And quit playing with that bloody pocketbook."
She simply held her hands apart and let the purse fall to the floor. "What I need," she said, "is a clean soul. I'm all dirty inside and whichever way I turn." But she settled for the drink. "God, that's vile."
"There's supposed to be salt and lemon go with it."
"Does it improve it any?"
"No." They sat on the bed together because there was nowhere else. "Nothing improves anything. That's my philosophy." Actually, Biggo was feeling pretty gay. What he dreaded most, when he admitted it, was an empty room. But the girl was here, even if she seemed somewhat detached, and so he wasn't alone. If he wasn't alone he couldn't be lonely. He shifted his knee so that it was against hers.
Jinny took the bottle in her lap and poured the next drink and the next in silence. More and more, as he gazed at her, the overhead light gleamed from the bare flesh of her shoulders and from the shiny black soft-looking arcs of her dress. And her mouth was another arc, red and tragic. He said after a while, "Quit watching me."
"I'm not watching you."
"You are." He shook his head which felt a little heavy. "You sit there looking like a stranger and you shouldn't be." He dropped his arm around her, over her shoulder, so that his fingers dangled idly inside the front of her dress.
She didn't breathe. She looked down at her bosom and the only movement was the slight motion of his hand. She said, "I don't even know your whole name. And here I sit on your bed and drink your liquor."
"Do you think people like us need introductions? We're both outsiders, Jinny. This is where we belong, wherever we happen to be. Nebraska is for people who aren't outsiders." For emphasis he pushed his knee against the pliant part of her leg and the dress tight across her lap sparkled up at him.
She shivered as his hand slid lower, persuasively. "I don't want to be an outsider, Biggo." Gently, she wriggled free and rose and wandered away with the bottle.
"No," he muttered and held out his hands toward her. "Outsiders have to stick together." He was abruptly very tired and he didn't know why. He hadn't done anything to make him tired. He wasn't that old, not yet. "We ought to form a union. A more perfect union."
From the center of the room her faint smile considered him. "All right," Jinny said. With one hand she lifted the edge of her dress. Expertly it peeled up her voluptuous body and somehow she got it off over her head without letting go of the, tequila bottle.
Biggo leaned forward, watching. He felt his blood coming faster but the excitement seemed to increase his lethargy rather than surmount it. All she wore now were stockings and a sleek black girdle with lace edging and a brassiere that had no straps. She was the kind who went in for lingerie, he decided; the flimsy black lace of the brassiere didn't do much except decorate the lower curve of her breasts.
"What are you, Biggo? I mean what are you really?" He tried to think. Her free hand went behind her and then she let the brassiere drift to the floor. It lay there, fragile and helpless, and his eyes moved from her high heels up the dark stockings to the startling white bands of her thighs where she was unfastening her garter straps. He remembered her question and said, "I don't know."
"Everybody knows what they are. I know what I am. I'm dirt. I've been told. But what are you?"
"I guess I'm a soldier, that's what I am."
A new triangle of white flesh appeared at her hip as she slowly unzipped the girdle. She wasn't bothering to remove her stockings. He stared where she stood clasping the bottle, her desirable self, flesh and lace, white and black. The overhead light licked over her and she dazzled as if on fire. She hurt his eyes. He shoved up to his feet, intending to go get the bottle or help Jinny disrobe, he couldn't remember which. He stretched wide his tremendous arms, seeking their strength. "I am the best soldier in the world, Jinny. Without exception."
She flickered a long distance away. He couldn't take the beginning step. His tongue thickened. "I am the best soldier and I am the tiredest soldier."
"Are you tired, Biggo? Are you?"
"I'm tired, Jinny. I'm tired of it all. I am tired of the whole goddamned world."
She was still watching him as he swayed back and forth. She watched him as he tried to join her and as the numbing weariness seized him. Why was she watching him like that? But he was too tired even to think about it or to feel the floor as he toppled forward.
CHAPTER FIVE
Thursday, September 14, 9:00 a.m.
Biggo woke up. He was lying on the floor by the bed, his face breathing against the carpet, and his outstretched hand was hot from the sun that came through the window.
He staggered to his feet, groaning, and slumped at once on the edge of the bed. After he had squeezed his head a few times and practiced swallowing, he commenced to look around the room. He saw the half empty tequila bottle and the chair by the door. It was the chair by the door which started him thinking.
Last night he remembered putting his suitcase on the chair. But it wasn't there now. Biggo stood up and plodded into the bathroom to see if he had moved it in there. He hadn't. He drank several glasses of water, pulling off his tie so he could get them down. All the while he tried to remember.
When he did, when he noticed his wristwatch was no longer on his wrist, he dashed the glass into the bathtub and reached for his wallet. His hip pocket was also empty. "Jinny!" he roared.
She was gone, of course, as was everything he owned except the wrinkled white suit he had on. As the details came back painfully, he swore in a steady stream. He had been rolled. He had been doped and rolled by the very girl he had been so clever with. When he thought of how clever he had been he called himself names as well as her.
Finally he saw his unshaven wild-man self in the mirror and had to laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck which was stiff and said hoarsely, "She could have put me on the bed, damn her." He solemnly vowed never to let a woman pour again, not even any young drink-pushers whom he might be outwitting. She had cleaned him out, except for fifty-seven cents in his watch pocket. Well, he could remember being broke before. But it galled him that he could be made a fool of.
"By God," he said, "and I didn't even get to kiss her for it."
Then he stared with sick eyes at the empty chair and said again, slowly, "By God!"
His suitcase was gone and in the suitcase was his Bible. And hidden in the Bible was the Noon confession which meant twenty thousand dollars to him and Toevs.
His face flamed and his mouth snapped shut. Boiling, he slammed out of the room and down the hotel stairs. The street was already busy with the morning's housewives and as soon as Biggo reached it, he stalked toward Zurico's saloon. He muttered to himself all the way.
He shouldered through the swinging doors, nearly bowling over the kid bartender who had just unlocked them. The kid ran. Zurico's brother was adding up figures in his cubbyhole office. His gigolo face turned sullen as soon as he saw who the early visitor was but he bounced out in a hurry when Biggo yelled at him in Spanish.
"I don't know," he answered.
"Did she come back here last night?"
Zurico's brother wanted to tell Biggo to go to hell but he didn't dare. Instead, he stroked down a sideburn and said, "She resigned her position with me last night. That is all I know. With your permission, I am busy."
"Jinny."
"What else?" Biggo gave the necktie a jerk.
"Wagner." He pronounced it "Oohagner."
"Where does she live?"
"She has gone, senor. Please."
"You're hiding her, aren't you? You found out the work your brother was doing for his father's friend in the States and you set the girl to lying in wait for me, didn't you?"
Zurico's brother looked stupid, not understanding. He shook his head dumbly, nearly choked by the necktie. Biggo sighed. His suggestion didn't sound sensible even to him; he felt fairly positive the girl had robbed him on her own.
He said, "Well, don't let it happen again." He wanted to hit his victim but he had no good reason for doing it. So he mussed up the sleek hair a little and let go of the necktie so suddenly that Zurico's brother fell backwards against a stack of glasses and broke a couple. That made Biggo feel better. He stomped back out to the street.
There was one of the town's blue and white taxicabs parked nearby and the driver was getting a shine. Biggo led him over to the cab with only one shoe completed. The shoeshine boy followed after them, screeching epithets. Biggo scowled at him and he shut up.
They roared off toward the airport. Biggo didn't really analyze the situation. There were a bus and taxis and even private cars which could have taken the girl away but if she was still in Ensenada, which he doubted, he expected to find her at the airport. She had his money and he assumed that she would do what he would do under the circumstances. All he worried about was being too late.
He kicked the back of the seat, urging the driver to step on it. The driver laughed and looked around, anxious to share whatever the joke was. Biggo kicked the seat again to show him there was no joke about it. The driver saw his face and turned forward and bore down on the gas. Biggo chuckled and kicked the seat intermittently, watching the man's neck bounce. The cab went faster and faster.
They careened onto the airfield in a cloud of heavy dust. A plane was just taking off and it blew pebbles and twigs against the side of the taxi. But it wasn't a passenger plane, only a tiny Aeronca.
An old twin-engine Curtiss sat on the field near the adobe storehouse. Brown-faced mechanics swarmed around the starboard engine, giving the ship more than ever the appearance of an ailing bird. The pilots were sitting on boxes in the shade under its wings.
And Jinny was standing nearby, regarding the oncoming taxi helplessly. Biggo saw his suitcase on one side of her ankles and another suitcase, smaller and blue, on the other.
"I'm back in business," Biggo told the driver. "You'll even get your fare now." The driver took no chances and drove harder, skidding up beside the girl.
She waited for them, unable to think of anything else to do. She wore a green suit which was too hot for daytime. The ground around her was littered with cigarette butts. She had been waiting for quite a while. All the mechanics stopped work to gaze at the taxi.
Biggo got out and held the door open for the girl with a courtly gesture. She stood looking at him with no expression at all. Then she climbed into the back seat. Biggo picked up the two suitcases and tossed them into the cab after her, not caring where they landed. Jinny said nothing.
The driver looked at Biggo inquiringly. Biggo smiled and said fondly, "Let us return to town, my friend." The driver slowly understood that he had not offended his passenger. They left the airport.
Biggo gave Jinny the benefit of his smile.
She spoke her first words. "You go to hell, you big ox."
"What I like about you, honey, is that you're a lady to your fingertips. I like ladies. I like their pocketbooks." He took hers, opened it and dumped it in her lap. From the contents he selected his wristwatch and his wallet and an airplane ticket. He put on the watch and counted his money. It was down to $133. He inquired, "Should I turn you up and shake it out of you?"
"That's all there is. The airplane ticket cost about fifty bucks."
"Didn't you ever hear of the bloody bus? That only costs five."
"I wish I had taken the bus. You'd never have caught me then. I should have known nothing in this town would run right."
"That's a shame, the hard life you lead." Biggo unstrapped his suitcase on the floor and thrust an arm down into it, groping. He came up with the Bible and examined the binding. It was all right. He dropped the Bible in his coat pocket and fastened the suitcase.
They were nearly into the business section. Biggo told the driver, "Find a secluded spot and park the automobile for a moment."
Jinny was poking her belongings back into her purse. "You've got all my money. What else do you want-the clothes off my back?"
"You poor lady. So it was your money?"
"Yes, some of it. I only used what I had to of yours. I was going to send it back to you with whatever I got for the watch and the suitcase."
"Send it where? Care of the Ensenada poorhouse?"
"You're so witty," she said. "You ought to be on the stage. And don't tell me you are. That witty line of yours is coming out of my ears, did you know?"
"This will do," Biggo told the driver. The taxi stopped by a little park, presided over by an antique cannon and a statue with wings. Biggo took three dollars out of his wallet and passed it up to the driver. "Take a walk around the block. I would like privacy for a short while."
The driver seemed glad for an excuse to leave. He pocketed his keys and walked away swiftly, not looking back. Soon he was around the corner.
Jinny was watching Biggo stolidly. He took her by the shoulders and forced her to squeeze against his swelled chest. He could hear her swearing behind her tight lips.
He began kissing her viciously across the mouth, kisses like blows.
Then he could feel the hopeful thought come into her head because she ceased being rigid. Her arms trailed around him and she opened her mouth; she twisted softly against him.
She sighed and her closed eyelids trembled when he raised his head finally. It was all fake, Biggo knew. "That's part of what you owe me, after all," he murmured. Then he got what distance he could in the crowded seat and hit her face with the flat of his hand. It wasn't as hard as he could hit her or even as hard as he would have liked to hit her. But it had a good satisfying sound to his ears. "That's what I owe you," he said and hit her again. "Don't let me see you around this town any more, honey."
Jinny didn't cry. She simply opened her eyes wide and sat there and took it. That made Biggo mad so he slapped her again just to see if she'd react. Her face got redder but she still didn't cry or duck.
He growled, "Oh, go to hell, anyway." He wasn't sure whether he was consigning the girl or himself or just what. But what he was doing had gone sour and he didn't even feel successful about getting his Bible back.
He got out of the cab and dragged his suitcase after him. Halfway down the block he looked back. Jinny still sat in the cab where he'd left her and from the set of her shoulders he knew she still wasn't crying.
CHAPTER SIX
Thursday, September 14, 10:30 a.m.
Biggo plodded north along a quiet side street, cutting across to the business district. He wanted to go back to the hotel but only to get rid of the suitcase. He needed a shave but mostly he wanted something that would take the taste of loaded tequila out of his mouth. He could almost feel it coming out his sweat glands.
The Bible weighed heavily in his coat pocket and his wallet felt thin in his back pocket. $133. He got out the wildcat airplane ticket and read it. It was to San Francisco, good for thirty days. ABSOLUTELY NO REFUNDS, it read in large letters. He put the ticket away again, feeling lousy.
"Why is everything going so bad for me?" he asked and the question sounded like Jinny Wagner so he didn't even try to answer it.
He passed a restaurant which was only a stucco house with a lawn in front and a low wall aroun
d it. There were umbrella tables on the lawn. The sign said Cuisine Francaise. A scattering of people sat at the tables, eating late breakfasts. The atmosphere was too happy and unburdened to please Biggo this morning. Those people aren't looking for peacocks, he thought as he got beyond the restaurant.
Something struck him in the back of the neck, sudden and startling. Biggo whirled around, scything the air with the suitcase. Then he saw the half grapefruit that lay on the sidewalk at his feet and he palmed the sticky pulp off his neck and coat collar. Somebody was laughing in the outdoor restaurant.
The man who laughed was at a table next to the wall. He had black hair and a mahogany tan and a neat mustache. He roared with joy, flashing all his white teeth, when Biggo discovered him.
"Well, sahit!" said Biggo and smiled thinly. He stood where he was on the sidewalk, spreading his feet a little. His arms came up, holding the heavy suitcase over his head. He hurled it like a boulder at the man who laughed. It crashed against his chest and he sprawled over backwards in his chair, upsetting the umbrella table as he fell.
Biggo vaulted the low wall. The other man was trying to struggle up from among the dishes and spilled food. Biggo planted a foot on his throat and looked down on him like a victorious gladiator. All he lacked was the sword.
"Say it," he commanded.
The fallen man was still grinning while his face purpled. Biggo's foot on his windpipe made it difficult to talk but he managed to croak, "Ezzy yellallah."
It was a ritual between them.
"That's much better," said Biggo. He removed his foot and set up the overturned table and collected the dishes, none of which were broken. From the front door of the house, the Mexican woman who ran the restaurant regarded the scene with horror. The plump young waitress, her daughter, huddled close to her for protection. The other late breakfasters began eating more quickly so that they might depart.