NIGHT CRUISING Read Free Page A

walked, bumping her hip as she
went. A movement at the far corner of the building slowed her walk.
She glanced that direction and saw a big guy aimed her way. He threw
a monstrous shadow that leapt before him as he moved forward. He was
way over six feet and sported massive shoulders, narrow hips, long
legs. He wore neat gray tweedy slacks and a pale lemon sport shirt
open at the throat, but God, the guy's hair was longer than hers. And
silkier. But then any hair was silkier than her naturally curly
unruly mop. His hair was brown streaked with silver, straight and
shiny as a horse's mane. A gray beard, not too bushy, but long enough
to touch his chest, covered the lower half of his face. He looked
like a great fallen angel she had seen portrayed in a picture in a
Bible back home. He also looked a little like the guy on the old TV
show who lived in the wilderness with a bear for a friend. Molly
wondered if he was Gene Ray, and if she was about to find her ass in
a sling. Maybe in a holding cell in the Mobile jail. That was about
what she deserved at this point. Jail and a one-way ticket home.
    She stopped in her
tracks and hung one arm on her clothes bag. She waited to see what he
wanted. She'd try to talk him out of running her in, if that was the
problem. She could get a ride out of the truck stop in a hot second
if she had to.
    He was near enough now
for her to tell he was smiling in all that hair covering his face. He
couldn't be near as old as his graying hair and beard announced.
Maybe it was premature. He was a good-looking guy for someone more
than twenty years--thirty?-- her senior.
    He raised a hand in
greeting and she relaxed a little. Maybe he was just a regular guy.
Not a guy on the make, but a nice guy. If he turned out to be a
customer, her first customer, she wasn't sure how she'd handle
it. They called them "johns, " didn't they? He was too big
and too hairy, but he looked clean—woodsy, in some way—and
his eyes crinkled as he smiled. She liked that. He looked just like
the TV character he reminded her of, what was his name? Oh, yeah,
Grizzly Adams! That was wild. Maybe he was the actor, and wouldn't
that be cool beans?
    "What can I do
you?" she asked when he was within speaking distance. This
shorthand language worked on the road. Men, especially, hated to
waste words. There was no extra time when traveling to play the
sophisticate and talk about the weather. She had decided early on
that she must talk tough no matter how her insides quaked. It was
protective coloration; she blended into the background when she
talked like older, more experienced women. She wasn't as vulnerable.
    He walked right up to
her, so close that she felt impelled to move back a step from him. He
wasn't the actor, but he looked just as fine. She saw his eyes were
beautiful green— almost a mint color. Despite all the hair, he
was downright gorgeous, enough to make some girls back in Dania drool
like the dweebs they were. She, of course, wouldn't let on she
thought he was so fine. After all, he was real old. Old as her
father. Ancient.
    "Hi there. I saw
you on your way back here when I drove in a few minutes ago. Do you
need a lift somewhere? I'm heading west."
    Sounded nice enough.
Like a regular guy. Those green eyes crinkling and glittering like he
knew all her secrets and they didn't bother him a bit.
    Molly looked around at
all the trucks, sniffed the hot, diesely air, and decided in a hasty
instant that Lot Lizardry wasn't her specialty. Who wanted to make it
in the sleeper of an eighteen-wheeler anyway? Her first time hooking
had to be done in a better place than this. It must be cramped in one
of those cabs. And smelly. And . . . scary.
    She looked carefully at
the man, sizing up the possibilities. Virile. Very goddamn big. Maybe
she could talk him into something other than straight sex where he'd
crush her to death. He had to weigh over two hundred. Maybe he
wouldn't want sex at all. But then there was no use living a