FIFTY/FIFTY

"Awesome!" the girl exclaimed. "So that's what Michael meant. What a bitchin' explosion!" The girl turned quickly about to watch the flaming vehicle as the Judge threw the car into neutral and began braking.

The Judge brought the car to a stop, then swung it around on the two-lane highway, the better to see the destruction. Except for themselves, the highway was deserted. The vehicle was burning fiercely, black smoke billowing into the sky. There was no point trying to rescue anything from it. He turned to the girl beside him. Her mouth hung open in awe, as she stared at the violent fire.

"My God, those things really burn, don't they?" She watched in fascinated silence as her car was consumed by the flames.

The vehicle was a smoldering ruin when the Judge slipped the Jaguar back in motion, drove to his fallen cap, now pretending to be a road kill, leaned over the door and scooped it up; made another U-turn, and silently brought the car back to cruising speed. The girl's car was shambles. He would need to notify the highway patrol first chance.

The girl remained silent, waiting for the inevitable inquisition. She searched her voluminous purse for an elastic band, rescued her hair from the wind and converted it into a ponytail. She looked even more like a teenage child.

Questions boiled inside the Judge's head, most of which he could answer for himself even as he listed them:

A. Was the car stolen? Probably.

B. Why did the girl burn the car? The girl had orders to burn it if she had to abandon it in order to conceal evidence.

C. Evidence of what? Something illicit.

D. Did that mean she was involved in something illicit? Most likely.

E. Was he now involved in it? Unless he got rid of the girl quickly, yes.

It was time to get rid of her. He had a reputation to protect. The girl was now sitting silently, eyes straight-ahead, fingers nervously playing with the clasp of her purse, opening and closing it. She fumbled out a package of doublemint chewing gum, slid a slice through her lips, offered one to the Judge, who silently declined the offer. She crunched the gum noisily. At least she chewed with her mouth shut, thought the Judge glumly. He decided to tell her he would drop her at the next town.

Without turning, he asked, "Do you need help?" He realized that was not what he intended to say, but waited for a reply anyway.

He stole a glance at her profile, saw her tilt her chin up, nervously wet her lips, then, "No, I can take care of myself. Just drop me off at th' next town, an' I'll rent a car or somethin'." Only the slight quaver in her voice revealed tension beyond normal.

"How much money do you have?"

"Enough."

"It takes a lot to rent a car."

"I don' care."

"The police may have questions about your car."

"It's my problem."

"Police may not think so. As an officer of the court, I'll have to report it. It's stolen, isn't it?"

"You're too damn smart. I don't think I'll answer any more questions. What do you mean 'officer of the court'? Are you a cop?"

"Look, little girl," he responded, "I have three daughters about your age... I mean I'm a Judge in this state."

"I don't give a shit how many daughters you have, or how old they are, or how smart you are. I'm full size, and I can take care of myself. I don't need your help or anyone else's. I'm going to Reno, and I'll get there somehow. And no thanks to you. Go ahead, report the fire, turn me into the cops. They'll beat me, maybe rape me an' it'll all be your fault. And why should you care? You just give me a ride; that don't entitle you to get into my life. I'm older than I look."

Judge Hal glanced sideways at the girl, even as he mentally sorted through the agglomeration of statements; caught the beginning of a tear trying to leave the corner of her eye.

"Sorry. I've spent too much time interfering in other people's lives. It has made me old and bitter, and far too nosy. You are entitled to your life. I will not intrude. I will, in fact carry you to the next city, and deliver you where you like. I will not report the fire if you promise to do so." This was his chance to get out of her mess, whatever it was, with honor. He would take it.

Silence greeted his statement. The Jaguar cruised through the towns of Lakin, Kendall, Syracuse, without even slowing. To the Judge's ears, the Jaguar's tires clicked a chorus of 'too prudent, too prudent' against the ribbons of tar that crossed the pavement. The girl did not mention his lapse.

Coolidge came and went, and the Kansas scenery became Colorado scenery without noticeable change in the gently rolling semi-wooded Arkansas River valley. The smell of ripening wheat gave way to the smell of fresh-mown hay. Cattle began to appear with greater frequency. The patchwork of green, amber and gold fields presented a continuously changing tapestry for the Judge's view.

The Judge was more interested in the portrait the girl presented. He tried to study her from the corner of his eye. Her profile was regular, the nose a bit short, turned up just a little. Her teeth were white, with some evidence of past braces. Her eyes and mouth were large. It was her slenderness that made the face seem long. She looked frail, as though she needed some square meals. A natural dark coloring made makeup unnecessary, and she was smart enough to realize it. Most young women her age painted themselves like streetwalkers. She appeared to be able to care for herself. He should have no difficulty leaving her off at the next convenient town.

A small smile played with the corner of her lips, as she kept them closed under his inspection. Her long dark lashes almost rested against her fair cheeks, the eyes were nearly closed. The sun continued to race ahead, gradually lowering itself into Judge Hal's vision, to his growing annoyance.

Picture postcard farmsteads continued to flow by. The afternoon heat began to abate, still they remained silent.

The girl ran her hands restlessly across the leather padding of the door, the dashboard, stroked the brass plaque on the dashboard with her fingertips, gripped the chrome grab bar tightly with her little hands, and asked "What kinda car is this?"

"Jaguar XK120. It's one of the first modern sports cars. It's English."

"It don't gots no windows."

"It's not supposed to; it's a roadster, a sports car, not a convertible. The factory built the XK120, with a new engine design, shortly after World War Two, then the XK140, then the XK150, and then the factory burned up, or down, and that was the end of the marque."

"Mark?"

"Model."

"Oh."

"The plaque you are getting fingerprints all over is a commemorative of this model's victory at the Gran Prix."

"Where's Gran Pree?"

"Gran Prix is a sports car race in Europe from Paris to Monte Carlo.

"Oh. I'm going to Paris someday, when I'm rich. What's commemorative?"

The Judge laughed. bringing an answering grin to the girl's solemn visage. "It's a plaque to put on your car's dashboard in order to impress young ladies."

"Bitchin'. Would you let me drive it? I mean like if I'm real good?" She smiled a fetching child-like smile, reminding the Judge of those long-gone days when his girls wanted to drive 'the Jag'.

"It's not easy to drive," equivocated the Judge.

The Judge drifted into recalling how his ex-wife had disliked the car even when she was young. It always mussed her hair, was uncomfortable, hard to drive. This girl did not seem to mind it at all. The Judge became aware she was saying something.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I was ruminating."

"I thought only cows did that."

"Older people, too," advised the Judge. "What did you say?"

"Nobody listens to me."

"Nobody listens to me either," sighed the Judge. "I promise to listen as long my attention span holds out."

"I was just crossing my heart to be good." She suited action to her words, firmly crossing her left breast, bringing the Judge's whole attention momentarily to that breast and the perky nipple challenging the strength of the cloth.

"We'll see." The Judge returned his attention to the road just in time to keep the car from wandering into the opposite lane. The girl smiled, a secret sort of smile.

"They're really bigger," she advised casually.

"What?" the startled Judge responded.

"My boobs. They're really bigger than they look. This band kinda squishes them down. They are my best asset."

"I've no interest in the size of your.... assets," asserted the Judge.

"As you say."

The highway appeared to be advancing to meet them; an old illusion, indicating that the Judge was growing tired. As the town of Carlton faded into the distance, his passenger broke the silence. "Do you mean you wouldn't care what happened to me after you dumped me?"

Judge Hal was caught unawares, having long ago mentally moved onto once more analyzing why his marriage had gone so wrong. He had presided over enough dissolutions of marriage to know that causes were often subtle, but like all men, had difficulty recognizing the subtle causes that led to the breakup of his own. His wife had always been very close to their daughters, neglecting, the Judge now felt, the duty of preserving the romance in their marriage.

He also had been very busy advancing up the fast ladder to appellate judgeship, so that his contribution to the neglect was not noticed by him at the time. He found that being elevated to the position of appellate Judge was not just a position of honor, but duty also. He tried to read every brief submitted. More and more at-home hours were spent at it, until some 80 hours a week were invested in other people's lives, instead of his own.

When the daughters left to pursue their own lives, his wife had, properly, the Judge could now see, sought a life for herself. Since she herself was a lawyer and the Judge was totally involved in other people's problems, she found it easy to find other adult friends and eventually other adult lovers.

So now, on holiday from the bench, and free of marriage, with his only remaining possession, the car he'd bought as a youth and stubbornly preserved all through the marriage, the Judge was headed to San Francisco, and number one daughter and her family and her criticism; and to once more travel the Lincoln Highway, old Highway 50. Strange, he thought, that he should be thinking of a dead marriage now, after putting it completely out of his mind as finished business.

He had sworn to never mix in other people's problems again.

"Wouldn't you?" the girl interrupted his reverie. "Care, I mean. If something real awful happened after you dump me?"

"No. Why should I?"

"I don't believe it. You're a natural busybody. You'd worry about me. Where're you really headed?"

"Where're you headed?" he asked back.

"Reno. I'm going to be a chorus girl."

"You'll have to grow about a foot, and gain about forty pounds," opined the Judge.

"Bullshit. You think you know everything. Michael told me they use lots of small women. I can stand on platform shoes. And if I don't make chorus, you know, I can always deal cards."

The village of Granada flowed past.

"I'm hungry. Don't you ever eat?" the girl complained.

"Of course. I eat sassy little girls," he returned.

"Is that a proposition? Not that I mind, I just like to know when I'm being propositioned."

"You have a dirty mind for such a young kid."

"Me? I'm not the one going around propositioning other people. You have the dirty mind. All men have dirty minds," she announced.

"Nonsense," The Judge returned. "Didn't I tell you that I have daughters your age?"

"I'm not as young as I look. How old do you think I am? Go on, try to guess," she prodded as he remained silent.

"I should have better sense, but I'd guess 18."

"See? Some guesser you are. I'm almost 24."

"How almost?"

"Give or take a month or two. How much do I weigh?"

"What?"

"How much do I weigh? All th' boys try to guess that. They usually want to lift me."

"I don't guess children's weight."

"You think I'm a kid? You think I'm lyin'?"

"Yes."

"You're cruel, you know that? You divorced?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"Because you haven't warned me that you gots a wife, but you gots a ring shadow, you know? I like to know before I get involved. Did she run out on you? Or did you have one too many 'girlfriends'? Now me, I don't wanta get married. I wanta have lots of lovers, but no 'LTRs' you know? No long term relationships. That's another reason I'm goin' to Reno. It's a good place for STRs".

"We're not involved."

"We will be. Are you jealous?"

"Of who?"

"Whom," she corrected. "Michael."

"Why in the world should I be jealous of someone I don't know's relationship with a child I just met and have no intention of getting to know better?" The city of Lamar was just ahead. The Judge prepared to slow down. "I don't know you; I don't even know your name. Here's where I drop you."

"And you haven't asked. Most men would at least have the courtesy to ask, you know, especially when they propositioned someone. Are we finally going to eat?

"Yes, we're finally going to eat. Now be quiet so I can find a cafe without wrecking us," ordered the Judge without really listening to the girl's chatter. The Judge was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the outspoken young woman and her tendency to hold two conversations at once. He also, although he would not admit it, was growing increasingly uncomfortable with abandoning her. While she might well be a disaster waiting to happen, she did not really seem capable of fending for herself-she needed someone to take care of her.

He wondered whether he would really to be able to rid himself of her. It would be easier if she were older. He was loath to ask even himself why. The Jaguar's tuned exhaust made a peculiar noise, almost as if it were chuckling. Almost as if it were enjoying a private English joke.