people in Seattle. And girls who weren’t stoned.
As he moved along, cars crept down the street, horns honking. At a red light, a long-haired hippie, barefoot and bearded, probably stoned out of his skull, crossed the one-way street by leaping from one car hood to the next. There were the usual curses and shouting from drivers and honking of horns. The guy jumped off on the far side, shot them all the old right- hand bone, and went merrily on his way.
Jimmy shrugged. Similar occurrences could be seen every day. Time to get out of town. Maybe go to Yuma and visit my folks, he thought. It had been some nine months since his last trip home. Then his thoughts turned to Seattle once again.
Glenn True Clark believed he was a man born out of season. In just twelve days he would be forty-six. There hadn’t been any of this “anything goes” attitude during his youth. Now he lusted after and might even lay the meat to a hippie chick on occasion, but most of the younger generation would laugh, call him an old grandpa, and express doubts that he could still get it up.
Well, they were wrong. He had experience and staying power. When their legs were spread, they didn’t complain. He was the one who should be complaining. Some dingy broad had sure enough passed her crud on to him. He’d had to make a quick trip to Salt Lake City to see a doctor acquaintance who could be discreet. There had been little if any improvement. That was just too bad. Some stupid chick had infected him so he had no compunctions about screwing it into others.
Yeah, he had two pretty daughters who were about the age of these hot little runaways. This didn’t keep him from lusting. Their mother would be watching them. She’d damned sure better be.
He was running low on money, but this condition was only temporary. If a man was smart, and Glenn figured he was smarter than most, he could always drive a car without buying it and have a gun he could lay hands on in a hurry.
Glenn had spent Saturday night at a motel nearby. There he had slipped out and, taking advantage of the darkness, lifted a tag from a disabled car. It never hurt to have an extra. Time to get rid of the Utah plate and put on another.
Sunday morning, following a shower and shave, Glenn had stayed in the town long enough to have breakfast with his brother and sister-in-law. Their mobile home was only a block or two from where he had lifted the tag. After a couple of hours with his kin, Glenn had moved on. Sure, family ties were important but he was too different to feel comfortable around his relatives for extended periods of time.
Sunday afternoon he had cruised into San Francisco with the intention of getting laid and then moving on. Didn’t pay to stay too long in one place. Not when you’re hanging hot paper and traveling on stolen credit cards.
He had not found a willing woman. Not one young enough to suit his taste, anyway. And so he had spent Sunday night in his car, near Golden Gate Park. Alone.
Now he was cruising the streets of San Francisco, feeling more and more horny with each passing moment. The Oldsmobile purred like a mechanic’s dream as it climbed the hills with little effort. And why shouldn’t it? He’d had the foresight to visit the used car lot for a test drive before returning the following night to help himself. Some of these hick salesmen never seemed to learn that a smart man could have duplicate keys made.
Other than a few items left behind at his folks’ home on the coast of Oregon, all he owned was in this car. His gold-plated watch swung on the turn signal handle. A hand-carved billfold containing several stolen credit cards, fashioned by his brother who was a guest in Utah’s State Pen, lay in the glove compartment.
Still, there were times when a man needed cash. This might be the time to hit a store and then move on. Head up north. Where the chicks weren’t guarded night and day by some hippie punk.
In the car’s trunk were two .38 revolvers from a recent burglary. Wired to the underframe of the car was a rifle. A little insurance. Yeah, he had all he needed. All but a chick. Soon he would lay one and then he would be on his way.
As the car approached a deserted looking street, Glenn was surprised to see an acquaintance, Marty, standing on the corner waiting for the light to change. He pulled to the curb and called through the open window, “Hop in, buddy.”
The bar was swept out and the shelves were stocked. Jimmy would fill in while Eric took a break. First he stepped outdoors to escape the sounds and odors from within.
He leaned against the building, smoking a cigarette and looking at the girls passing by when he spotted Marty, an acquaintance, coming out of a nearby liquor store. A brown paper bag was under his arm and a man Jimmy didn’t know was by his side. Well, he had work to do. He flipped his cigarette into the street, waved, and had turned to go back inside when Marty called out, “Hey, buddy, wait up!”
Jimmy watched them approach. The stranger was big, not only tall, but heavy, with sharp features and thinning hair. He wondered what in the hell the old fossil was after. Probably panting after the young chicks.
Marty swaggered up to Jimmy and said, “Hey, my man, this is . . .”
“Jay,” Glenn True Clark said as he lifted his hand for a shake. The less any stranger knew about him the better. “Call me Jay.”
Jimmy’s slender fingers gripped Glenn’s thick ones. The man was strong.
Marty shot Glenn a quizzical look and said, “Okay, Jay. Since you’re Jay, this is John.”
Jimmy decided if they were going to play games, “John” would suit him as well as any other name.
Marty jerked his head towards the alley. “You want to go in there and have a swig of the good stuff?”
“Naw, I gotta go to work.”
“Then take my buddy, old Jay here, and buy him one or two, will you? He’s running a little short on cash today, and I got a hot one waiting. You know what I mean?”
Jimmy knew exactly what he meant. Marty would grab the first chick with hot pants and a cold conscience and they would hope to find a place that wasn’t too public.
Jimmy wasn’t happy with the prospect. Before he could decide whether or not to stake this guy to a beer, Marty left on his mission.
Turning to the man he knew only as Jay, Jimmy said, “We might just as well go in.”
Glenn studied his new acquaintance and grinned. He preferred to travel alone but there were times when another good man was needed. He had big plans and young John just might fit in. And hell, the dude wasn’t big enough to be a threat.
“Sure, John. Why the hell not?”
While Glenn headed for a table, Jimmy drew a beer and handed the money to Eric.
“Who’s your buddy?” Eric asked.
“Damned if I know. He got dumped on me.”
“You want some advice?”
“Not especially.”
“He looks like trouble.”
“He’s just an old guy out for a good time. Give me a minute or two and I’ll take over.”
As Jimmy approached the table, Glenn said, “Women and money. That’s all there is, ain’t it? What
