inca.gold-第74部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　　　〃Shame　on　you。　Your　mother　is　a　good　cook。〃
　　　　〃She　is　now；　but　twenty…five　years　ago；　even　the　starving　homeless　wouldn't　e　near　our　doorstep。〃
　　　　〃You're　terrible。〃　Loren　turned　the　dial　of　the　old　tube…type　radio；　trying　to　tune　in　a　Mexicali　station。　She　finally　found　one；　playing　Mexican　music；　that　came　in　clear。　〃I　don't　care　if　the　chef　has　the　black　plague；　I'm　starved。〃
　　　　Take　a　woman　on　a　long　trip；　Pitt　mused　miserably；　and　they're　always　hungry　or　demanding　to　stop　at　a　bathroom。
　　　　〃And　besides；〃　she　threw　in；　〃you　need　gas。〃
　　　　Pitt　glanced　at　the　fuel　gauge。　The　needle　stood　steady　at　a　quarter　tank。　〃I　guess　it　won't　hurt　to　fill　up　before　we　cross　the　border。〃
　　　　〃It　doesn't　seem　as　if　we've　driven　very　far　since　the　last　gas　stop。〃
　　　　〃A　big　car　that　was　built　sixty　years　ago；　with　a　twelve　cylinder　engine　and　pulling　a　house　trailer；　won't　win　any　awards　for　fuel　economy。〃
　　　　The　roadside　restaurant　and　gas　station　came　into　view。　All　Pitt　saw　as　they　drove　closer　was　a　dilapidated　pair　of　old　railroad　freight　cars　joined　together；　with　two　gas　pumps　out　front　and　a　neon　EAT　sign　barely　flickering　in　the　shadow　of　the　Box　Car　Cafe。　A　cluster　of　battered　old　house　trailers　was　parked　in　the　rear；　abandoned　and　empty。　Out　front　in　the　dirt　parking　lot；　eighteen　to　twenty　bikers　were　milling　around　a　small　fleet　of　Harley…Davidsons；　drinking　beer　and　enjoying　a　cool　breeze　that　was　blowing　in　from　the　Gulf。
　　　　〃Boy；　you　sure　can　pick　'em；〃　said　Pitt　drolly。
　　　　〃Maybe　we'd　better　go　on；〃　Loren　murmured；　having　second　thoughts。
　　　　〃You　afraid　of　the　bikers？　They're　probably　weary　travelers　just　like　you　and　me。〃
　　　　〃They　certainly　don't　dress　like　us。〃　She　nodded　at　the　assembly；　divided　equally　between　men　and　women；　all　wearing　black　riding　gear　festooned　with　badges；　patches；　and　embroidered　messages　touting　America's　most　famous　motorcycle。
　　　　Pitt　turned　the　outsize　steering　wheel　and　the　Pierce　rolled　off　the　blacktop　up　to　the　gas　pumps。　The　big　V…12　engine　was　so　whisper…quiet　it　was　hard　to　tell　it　had　stopped　when　he　turned　off　the　ignition。　He　opened　the　suicide　door　that　swung　outward　from　the　front；　put　a　foot　on　the　high　running　board　and　stepped　down。　〃　Hi　there；〃　he　greeted　the　nearest　biker；　a　bleached　blond　female　with　a　ponytail；　wearing　black　leather　pants　and　jacket。　〃How's　the　food　here？〃
　　　　〃Not　quite　up　to　the　standards　of　Spago's　or　Chasen's；〃　she　said　pleasantly。　〃But　if　you're　hungry；　it's　not　half　bad。〃
　　　　A　metal　sign　liberally　peppered　with　bullet　holes　said　Self　Service；　so　Pitt　inserted　the　nozzle　of　the　gas　pump　inside　the　Pierce　Arrow's　tank　filler　and　squeezed　the　handle。　When　he　had　the　engine　rebuilt；　the　machine　shop　modified　the　valves　to　burn　unleaded　gas　without　problems。
　　　　Loren　warily　hunched　down　in　her　seat　as　the　bikers　all　walked　over　and　admired　the　old　car　and　trailer。　After　answering　a　barrage　of　questions；　Pitt　lifted　the　hood　and　showed　them　the　engine。　Then　he　pulled　Loren　from　the　car。
　　　　〃I　thought　you'd　like　to　meet　these　nice　people；〃　he　said。　〃They　all　belong　to　a　bike　riding　club　from　West　Hollywood。〃
　　　　She　thought　Pitt　was　joking　and　was　embarrassed　half　to　death　as　he　made　introductions。　Then　she　was　astounded　to　discover　they　were　attorneys　with　their　wives　on　a　weekend　ride　around　the　Southern　California　desert。　She　was　also　impressed　and　flattered　that　they　recognized　her　when　Pitt　gave　them　her　name。
　　　　After　a　congenial　conversation；　the　Hollywood　barristers　and　their　spouses　bid　goodbye；　climbed　aboard　their　beloved　hogs　and　roared　off；　exhaust　stacks　reverberating　in　chorus；　toward　the　Imperial　Valley。　Pitt　and　Loren　waved；　then　turned　and　faced　the　freight　cars。
　　　　The　rails　beneath　the　rusting　wheel…trucks　were　buried　in　the　sand。　The　weathered　wooden　walls　had　once　been　painted　a　reddish　tan；　and　the　lettering　above　the　long　row　of　crudely　installed　windows　read　Southern　Pacific　Lines。　Thanks　to　the　dry　air；　the　body　shells　of　the　antique　boxcars　had　survived　the　ravages　of　constant　exposure　and　appeared　in　relatively　good　condition。
　　　　Pitt　owned　a　piece　of　railroad　history；　a　Pullman　car。　It　was　part　of　the　collection　housed　inside　his　hangar　in　Washington。　The　once…luxurious　rail　car　had　been　pulled　by　the　famed　Manhattan　Limited　out　of　New　York　in　the　years　prior　to　World　War　I。　He　judged　these　freight　cars　to　have　been　built　sometime　around　1915。
　　　　He　and　Loren　climbed　a　makeshift　stairway　and　entered　a　door　cut　into　the　end　of　one　car。　The　interior　was　timeworn　but　neat　and　clean。　There　were　no　tables；　only　a　long　counter　with　stools　that　stretched　the　length　of　the　two　attached　cars。　The　open　kitchen　was　situated　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　counter　and　looked　as　if　it　was　constructed　from　used　lumber　that　had　lain　in　the　sun　for　several　decades。　Pictures　on　the　walls　showed　early　engines；　smoke　spouting　from　their　stacks；　pulling　passenger　and　freight　trains　across　the　desert　sands。　The　list　of　records　on　a　Wurlitzer　jukebox　was　a　mix　of　favorite　pop　music　from　the　forties　and　fifties　and　the　sounds　of　steam　lootives。　Two　plays　for　twenty…five　cents。
　　　　Pitt　put　a　quarter　in　the　slot　and　made　his　selections。　One　was　Frankie　Carle　playing　〃Sweet　Lorraine。〃　The　other　was　the　clamor　of　a　Norfolk　&　Western　single　expansion　articulated　steam　lootive　leaving　a　station　and　ing　to　speed。
　　　　A　tall　man；　in　his　early　sixties；　with　gray　hair　and　white　beard；　was　wiping　the　oak　counter　top。　He　looked　up　and　smiled；　his　blue…green　eyes　filled　with　warmth　and　congeniality。　〃Greetings；　folks。　Wele　to　the　Box　Car　Cafe。　Travel　far？〃
　　　　〃Not　far；〃　Pitt　answered；　throwing　Loren　a　rakish　grin。　〃We　didn't　leave　Sedona　as　early　as　I　planned。〃
　　　　〃Don't　blame　me；〃　she　said　loftily。　〃You're　the　one　who　woke　up　with　carnal　passions。〃
　　　　〃What　can　I　get　you？〃　said　the　man　behind　the　bar。　He　was　wearing　cowboy　boots；　denim　pants；　and　a　plaid　shirt　that　was　badly　faded　from　too　many　washings。
　　　　〃Your　advertised　ice…cold　beer　would　be　nice；〃　replied　Loren；　opening　a　menu。
　　　　〃Mexican　or　domestic？〃
　　　　〃Corona？〃
　　　　〃One　Corona　ing　up。　And　you；　sir？〃
　　　　〃What　do　you　have　on　tap？〃　asked　Pitt。
　　　　〃Olympia；　Coors；　and　Budweiser。〃
　　　　〃I'd　like　an　Oly。〃
　　　　〃Anything　to　eat？〃　inquired　the　man　behind　the　counter。
　　　　〃Your　mesquite　chiliburger；〃　said　Loren。　〃And　coleslaw。〃
　　　　〃I'm　not　real　hungry；〃　said　Pitt。　〃I'll　just　have　the　coleslaw。　Do　you　own　this　place？〃
　　　　〃Bought　it　from　the　original　owner　when　I　gave　up　prospecting。〃　He　set　their　beer　on　the　bar　and　turned　to　his　stove。
　　　　〃The　box　cars　are　interesting　relics　of　railroad　history。　Were　they　moved　here；　or　did　the　railroad　run　through　at　one　time？〃
　　　　〃We're　actually　sitting　on　the　siding　of　the　old　main　line；〃　answered　the　diner's　owner。　〃The　tracks　used　to　run　from　Yuma　to　El　Centro。　The　line　was　abandoned　in　1947　for　lack　of　business。　The　rise　of　truck　lines　did　it　in。　These　cars　were　bought　by　an　old　fella　who　used　to　be　an　engineer　for　the　Southern　Pacific。　He　and　his　wife　made　a　restaurant　and　gas　station　out　of　them。　With　the　main　interstate　going　north　of　here　and　all；　we　don't　see　too　much　traffic　anymore。〃
　　　　The　bartender/cook　looked　as　if　he　might　have　been　a　fixture　of　the　desert　even　before　the　rails　were　laid。　He　had　the　worn　look　of　a　man　who　had　seen　more　than　he　should　and　heard　a　thousand　stories　that　remained　in　his　head；　classified　and　indexed　as　drama；　humor；　or　horror。　There　was　also　an　unmistakable　aura　of　style　about　him；　a　sophistication　that　said　he　didn't　belong　in　a　godforsaken　roadside　tavern　on　a　remote　and　seldom…traveled　road　through　the　desert。
　　　　For　a　fleeting　instant；　Pitt　thought　the　old　cook　looked　vaguely　familiar。　On　reflection；　though；　Pitt　figured　the　man　only　resembled　someone　he　couldn't　quite　place。　〃I'll　bet　you　can　recite　some　pretty　interesting　tales　about　the　dunes　around　here；〃　he　said；　making　idle　conversation。
　　　　〃A　lot　of　bones　lie　in　them；　remains　of　pioneers　and　miners　who　tried　to　cross　four　hundred　kilometers　of　desert　from　Yuma　to　Borrego　Springs　in　the　middle　of　summer。〃
　　　　〃Once　they　passed　the　Colorado　River；　there　was　no　water？〃　asked　Loren。
　　　　〃Not　a　drop；　not　unt