simply shake hands with her, I put an arm around her narrow shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. Mrs. Middleton broke away from me and returned to the safety of her kitchen. Ed called through the door that he would be back from Orlando when he got back.
We drove down Edâs private road to the highway. I didnât know where he was taking me, but I hoped he wouldnât drop me off in the center of town. With the baggage I was carrying, the best place to start hitchhiking was on the I-4 Throughway on the other side of Winter Park. Several years had passed since I had been forced to use my thumb, and I wasnât too happy about the prospect.
Orlando is a fairly large city and well spread out. The streets that morning were crowded with traffic. Ed drove his big car skillfully, and when he hit the center of town, he made several turns and then stopped in front of the Greyhound bus station. I took my baggage out of the back and started to close the door, but held it open when Ed heaved himself across the seat. He got out on my side, reached in his wallet, and handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
âYou canât hitchhike with all that stuff, Frank. Youâd better take a bus.â
I nodded, accepted the bill and buttoned it into my shirt pocket. That made five hundred and twenty dollars that I owed him, but I was grateful for the loan.
We shook hands rather formally, and Ed plucked at his white chin with his puffy fingers. âNow donât worry about Icarus, Frank,â he said with an attempt at levity. âIâll take good care of him whether you come back for him or not.â His eyes were worried just the same.
I held up two spread fingers in the âVâ sign. It was a meaningless gesture in this instance, but Ed smiled, thinking I meant it for him. I remained at the curb and waved to him as he drove away.
I picked a folder out of the rack, circled Jacksonville on the timetable with my ballpoint pencil, shoved the folder and my twenty under the wicket, and paid for my ticket. After slipping the ticket into my hatband, I gathered my baggage around me and sat down on a bench to wait for the bus.
I thought about Icky. In reality, five hundred dollars wasnât enough money to get started. I needed a bare minimum of one thousand, five hundred dollars to have at least a thousand left over after paying for the cock. Two thousand was more like it.
Somehow, I had to get my hands on this money.
5
I DIDNâT ARRIVE in Jacksonville until a little after three that afternoon. Instead of waiting for an express, I had taken the first bus that left Orlando, and it turned out to be the kind that stops at every filling station, general store and cow pasture along the way. A long, dull ride.
After getting my baggage out of the side of the bus from the driver I left the station and walked three blocks to the Jeff Davis Hotel, where I always stayed when I was in Jax. On the way to the hotel I stopped at a package store and bought a pint of gin.
Perhaps the Jeff Davis isnât the most desirable hotel in Jax, but it is downtown, handy to everything, the people know me there, and crowded or not I can always get a room. The manager follows cockfighting, advertises in the game-fowl magazines, and there is usually someone hanging around the lobby who knows me. The daily rate is attractive, as wellâonly three dollars a day for cockers, instead of the regular rate of five.
As soon as I checked in at the desk and got to my room, I opened my suitcase and dug out my corduroy coat. In September, Jacksonville turns chilly in the afternoons, and the temperature drops below seventy. Not that it gets cold, but the weather doesnât compare favorably with southern Florida. The long pull of gin I took before going out on the street again felt warm in my stomach.
I walked briskly through the streets to the post office, entered, and twirled the combination dial on my post-office box. It didnât open,
We drove down Edâs private road to the highway. I didnât know where he was taking me, but I hoped he wouldnât drop me off in the center of town. With the baggage I was carrying, the best place to start hitchhiking was on the I-4 Throughway on the other side of Winter Park. Several years had passed since I had been forced to use my thumb, and I wasnât too happy about the prospect.
Orlando is a fairly large city and well spread out. The streets that morning were crowded with traffic. Ed drove his big car skillfully, and when he hit the center of town, he made several turns and then stopped in front of the Greyhound bus station. I took my baggage out of the back and started to close the door, but held it open when Ed heaved himself across the seat. He got out on my side, reached in his wallet, and handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
âYou canât hitchhike with all that stuff, Frank. Youâd better take a bus.â
I nodded, accepted the bill and buttoned it into my shirt pocket. That made five hundred and twenty dollars that I owed him, but I was grateful for the loan.
We shook hands rather formally, and Ed plucked at his white chin with his puffy fingers. âNow donât worry about Icarus, Frank,â he said with an attempt at levity. âIâll take good care of him whether you come back for him or not.â His eyes were worried just the same.
I held up two spread fingers in the âVâ sign. It was a meaningless gesture in this instance, but Ed smiled, thinking I meant it for him. I remained at the curb and waved to him as he drove away.
I picked a folder out of the rack, circled Jacksonville on the timetable with my ballpoint pencil, shoved the folder and my twenty under the wicket, and paid for my ticket. After slipping the ticket into my hatband, I gathered my baggage around me and sat down on a bench to wait for the bus.
I thought about Icky. In reality, five hundred dollars wasnât enough money to get started. I needed a bare minimum of one thousand, five hundred dollars to have at least a thousand left over after paying for the cock. Two thousand was more like it.
Somehow, I had to get my hands on this money.
5
I DIDNâT ARRIVE in Jacksonville until a little after three that afternoon. Instead of waiting for an express, I had taken the first bus that left Orlando, and it turned out to be the kind that stops at every filling station, general store and cow pasture along the way. A long, dull ride.
After getting my baggage out of the side of the bus from the driver I left the station and walked three blocks to the Jeff Davis Hotel, where I always stayed when I was in Jax. On the way to the hotel I stopped at a package store and bought a pint of gin.
Perhaps the Jeff Davis isnât the most desirable hotel in Jax, but it is downtown, handy to everything, the people know me there, and crowded or not I can always get a room. The manager follows cockfighting, advertises in the game-fowl magazines, and there is usually someone hanging around the lobby who knows me. The daily rate is attractive, as wellâonly three dollars a day for cockers, instead of the regular rate of five.
As soon as I checked in at the desk and got to my room, I opened my suitcase and dug out my corduroy coat. In September, Jacksonville turns chilly in the afternoons, and the temperature drops below seventy. Not that it gets cold, but the weather doesnât compare favorably with southern Florida. The long pull of gin I took before going out on the street again felt warm in my stomach.
I walked briskly through the streets to the post office, entered, and twirled the combination dial on my post-office box. It didnât open,
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