A beach-town jail was no place to get a good night’s sleep. Everything was fine till about ten o’clock, when all the carousers had downed enough beer and hard liquor to start causing trouble and get themselves hauled in. After that, the jail was a cacophony of slamming cell doors and ringing telephones and drunk men snoring. Plus it was hot and airless. The minute he saw a hint of sunrise coming through the bars in his cell, Peyton straightened up his cot and pushed his bike out. The police chief had told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to leave one that nice outside the jail.
He was thanking a deputy for letting him stay when a voice called his name. And there behind a cell door stood Will.
“What are you doin’ here?” the race car driver asked him.
“It’s kinda complicated, but the short answer is, the chief let me spend the night here so I wouldn’t have to pay for a hotel.”
“Same here,” Will said with a grin.
Peyton frowned at him. “My cell door stayed open all night. You don’t appear to have the key to yours. What happened?”
“Got into a little scrape with one o’ the other drivers.”
“Will they let you out today?”
“Doubt it. I don’t know nobody with that much bail money.”
“How much?”
“A hundred and fifty bucks.”
Peyton whistled. “That’s a lot!”
“Not my first offense,” Will said with a shrug. “I get a little ’shine in me after a race, and next thing you know, the fists are a-flyin’. But I done it to myself, so I ain’t got nobody to blame but me.” He sat down on his cot and put his head in his hands.
Peyton propped his bike against a wall and walked over to the cell door. “Wait a minute, Will—what about all that money you won at the race?”
“Lost it at the casino—all but thirty or forty dollars.”
“Oh. Then take back the money you paid me and use it to pay your bail.”
“I can’t do that, Peyton. Bad enough I blow my own money. You done me a real good turn, and I ain’t gonna repay you by blowin’ yours.”
“Give that one money and he’d prob’ly find a way to gamble it away right here in the jail—wouldn’t even make it down the hall to the bail office,” said a deputy walking by.
“That true, Will?” Peyton asked.
His friend looked up at him from the cot. Gone was the boyish excitement from the race. Will looked empty and defeated. “Prob’ly,” he said.
Peyton thought it over. “Then I won’t give it to you. I’ll give it to the deputy.”
He took the money out of his shoe, and the deputy pointed him to an office down the hall, where he found a desk manned by a skinny little woman typing ninety miles an hour. Her hair, which was pinned into a bun, was an odd shade of fiery red—had to be dyed. She wore round, black-rimmed glasses and a sour expression.
“What?” she said without looking up from her typing.
“Uh, I’m here to pay bail for Will Fournier, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“So he can get outta jail.”
Now Peyton had her attention. She stopped typing and looked up. “I know that, dimwit. Why do you want to get him outta jail? He your daddy?”
Peyton swallowed his anger. It wouldn’t do Will any good, and it might land Peyton himself behind one of those locked cell doors. “No,” he said.
“No, what?”
He knew what she wanted. She was demanding a “ma’am,” but she didn’t deserve one.
“No, we’re not related.”
“Well, bully for you. Don’t just stand there lookin’ like you ain’t got good sense. Hand me 150.”
Peyton gave her the money and waited patiently while she took her time typing up a form, stamping it, and giving him a carbon copy.
“He’ll be back,” she said with a sneer. “Don’t let the door hit you in the backside on the way out.”
Peyton got away from her as quickly as he could. Why would anybody be that way—treat people so mean for absolutely no reason? Maybe she hated her job. So get another one. He couldn’t wait to free Will and get out of there.
Once they were in the parking lot, he asked his friend, “Why’s that woman in the bail office so mean?”
“Hazel?” Will swatted at a mosquito. “Peyton, you ain’t gonna believe this, but me and her’s known each other since we was kids. And I’ll tell you somethin’ else—she was born that way. Yessir, Hazel Scoggins was mean as a snake when she was a toddler, and she’s mean as a snake to this very day.”
“So I guess there’s no chance of a jailhouse romance between you two?” Peyton said with a grin.
“Whoo-ee!” Will whooped. “I’d sooner snuggle up to a big ol’ alligator.”
They laughed as Peyton reached into his shoe and pulled out his money. “Listen, this is all I’ve got, but I’ll split it with you.”
“You done enough—more’n anybody else woulda done. You keep your money. I still got a few greenbacks left. That’ll carry me awhile—if I can stay away from the casino.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Will scratched the stubble on his face. “Guess I better get me a shave somewhere. Can me and the number 10 car give you a ride?”
“No, thanks,” Peyton said. “I’m leaving town.”
“On that bicycle?”
“Yep.”
“Well, where you headed?”
“This might sound a little crazy, but Key West.”
“Key West? You got any idea how far that is?”
Peyton laid a hand on Will’s shoulder and grinned. “Why do people keep asking me that? I guess you might say the distance is kinda the point. Part of it anyway.”
“Well, alright then. But you run into any trouble, I work down at the A&R Marina. You remember that—Will Fournier, A&R Marina, Daytona, Florida. I ain’t got no phone where I live, but you can call down at the marina and tell ’em to find me if you get in a scrape. Me an’ the number 10 car’ll come a-runnin’.”
“I’ll do that.” They shook hands as Peyton said, “Good luck to you, Will.”
“You too, Peyton.”
Pedaling out of the parking lot, Peyton heard Will’s ’39 firing up. The Florida sun had yet to heat the early morning air, but those hot rays were coming. So was another beach town where he wouldn’t know a living soul.