Locking the doors seemed silly, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the keys in her. I stuck them in my pocket and patted Tilly’s hood. “You did the best you could, old girl. Got me a long way, got me out safe. Sorry I’m leaving you here to rust.” I choked back a thick laugh. “Well, rust more, right, baby?” Her fenders had holes you could poke a finger through. I patted her again. “Maybe you’ll shelter a rabbit or a family of racoons. Honorable retirement, right?” The hollow thump was no kind of answer.
I trudged away, the pack on my back at least cutting the wind. At the road, I forced myself to pick up my pace despite the uphill grade. Most of the morning was gone, used up in my trip to the ranch. I needed to hit the highway in the daylight. No one picked up hitchhikers at night.
Buying good boots had been one of the smartest things I did back home. My feet were warm enough, and I wasn’t going to get blisters. I strode along, trying to whistle my favorite songs, pausing once in a while to admire a vista that came into view.
A couple of miles on, I reached an intersection marked by signs. To the left, higher into the hills, the distance to Selbyville was apparently eleven miles. To the right, Tolberg was fifteen. Straight ahead, County Road 7 was two miles, and seven to the highway.
Onward.
The first few cars began passing me, mostly older SUVs and pickups. I stuck my thumb out each time, walking backwards and smiling to look harmless, but no one even slowed. Still, I wouldn’t let six nos get me down. I could be patient.
Once the road merged with County 7, I saw more trucks. One bastard hit the air horn as he passed, like he was trying to blast me off the shoulder. Well, fuck him. I gave him the finger in his rearview mirror and kept going.
Then an older panel van slowed as it passed me, pulled over, and stopped. I jogged toward the truck, hoping the driver wasn’t just fucking with me.
When I reached the driver’s window, the middle-aged man at the wheel powered the glass down and looked out at me. “How old are you, boy?”
“Eighteen,” I told him. He was probably smart not wanting to pick up an underage kid. “Can show you my license if you like.”
“Nah. You look older close up.” He gestured to the other side of the cab. “Go on, climb in.”
I hesitated a moment, eyeing his heavy face and thick brows, wondering if this was a mistake, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Unslinging my pack, I hustled around the front of the truck, opened the door, and climbed in. “Thanks. I mean it.” I set the pack in the footwell at my feet.
The driver didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get moving. “What’s your name?”
“Joe,” I lied. As long as he didn’t actually look at my license, he’d never know the difference, and using Joe’s name made me feel braver.
“Joe. Okay. Where’re you headin’?”
“I’d love to make it to San Francisco, but I’m good with wherever you’re going.”
“Lucky you. I’m headed to Oakland. You’ll be in spitting distance.” He looked me over, and I was glad I’d put on my better jeans for the ranch interview, so I didn’t look quite as desperate. But he sneered anyhow. “Spitting. Heh. Well, come on.” He flipped up the arm of his seat and turned, putting his back to the door, then waved at his crotch. “Get to it.”
“What?” I swallowed against my suddenly dry mouth.
“Pay for the ride. You know how this works.” He grinned. “Suck my dick, boy.”
Suck my dick.I’d known back when I ran out of gas that this moment might come. I’d told myself it was better than begging. Sex work was honest work, even if the law didn’t say so. My body, my choice. Still, I sat frozen.
“You’ve done this before, right? You’re not some kind of scared virgin?”
“No!” I cleared my throat. “Just figuring out how. It’s tight quarters.”
He pointed a thick finger at the foot well. “Get on your knees in there. You’re skinny. You’ll fit. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Oh. Uh.” Now I was thinking STDs and wondering if I could bail out.
“Get to it, or I’ll throw your little-boy ass out on the road and you can freeze to death.” He reached out a heavy hand and grabbed the front of my jacket. “Let me tell you some facts, little boy. Hitchin’s illegal. My brother-in-law’s a state trooper and all I gotta do is make a call, tell him I saw some lowlife tryin’ to flag down a pretty girl. He’ll slam your ass in jail before you can breathe, and lemme tell ya.” He let go of my jacket and thumbed my lower lip hard. “Those cons are gonnalovehaving you in their cell. Now suck.”
“You’ll still take me to Oakland?” I asked, lifting my pack to the seat against the door to make room.
He grunted, palming his fly.
I can’t. I won’t.Except I was out of better ideas, and I was kidding myself if I thought this wasn’t the work I’d be doing when I got to San Francisco. At least the van was warmer than a back alley. I eased down to my knees.
He nodded. “Yeah, sure, all the way to Oakland. Might stop in Vacaville and tap that cute ass you got, though. Bet I have my second wind by then.” He grinned and took hold of the parka over my shoulder, pushing his fist against my neck. “Squeeze down, boy.”
“One blow job, and you take me to Oakland.” I tried to meet his eyes. “My ass isn’t for sale.”
