opened his shirt. More ruddy stains. The
garden hose had taken care of the worst of the blood, but a subtle red-brown mottling remained.
It would have to wait. Nobody could see it, anyway, if he kept his shirt buttoned up.
He climbed onto his bike and headed for the road.
The bike would soon become a problem, but not for a while. Not until his father got out of bed and discovered it was gone.
On Sundays, he never moved before ten. Give him an hour to get worried. Then he might call the cops and report Albert missing.
Might or might not, the bastard.
At eleven o’clock, Albert ditched his bike just to be on the safe side. Once rid of it, he walked for nearly an hour. At
an A & W, he had a root beer, a cheeseburger and fries. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon before Milton stopped to
give him a lift.
“Hungry?” Milton broke in, and flicked his cigar out the window. Its red tip trailed sparks through the night.
“I’m starved,” Albert said.
“Sign we just passed says Litchfield’s just up ahead. We can stop…”
“A hitchhiker!” Albert blurted.
She was only lit for a moment. Before the headlights left her in darkness, Albert saw that she was walking backward, her thumb
out. She seemed to be about sixteen, slender and blonde. She wore an Indian headband, a big loose shirt that wasn’t tucked
in, and jeans.
“Give her a lift, Milton.”
“Not much chance of that.”
“Why not?”
“One thing you learn, Billy, you never pick up a hitcher of the fair sex.”
“Come on, go back and get her. This road’s really deserted. She might be standing out there all night.”
“Tough titty. I don ’t stop for gals.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not. You get one in your car and you’re at her mercy. At her mercy , Billy. She can do whatever weird shenanigans come into her mind. Why, she might even up and decide to blackmail you.”
“How can she blackmail anyone?” Albert asked to disguise the sound of his sheath snap popping open.
“She threatens to say you raped her. Easiest thing in the world. Happens all the time. Her word against yours. And what’s
more, she can go to the cops and describe you down to a T, your car too, even give ’em your license plate.”
The knife was in his lap now, hidden under his crossed hands. “Are you talking from experience?” he asked.
“You betcha.”
With a swift pull, the blade hinged open and locked upright.
Milton’s head snapped sideways. He started to say something, but the point nipped the stubbled flesh beneath his chin. He
shut his mouth and tipped his head backward.
“Stop the car,” Albert said.
Milton took his foot off the gas pedal. His thin, leathery face was blank. Albert could see only one eye: it glistened with
light and kept darting sideways.
“Pull off the road and stop.”
Slowly, the car lost speed. Gravel on the road’s shoulder crunched under its tires.
When the car stopped, Albert took the ignition key.
“Get out,” he said, lowering the knife.
“You gonna leave me here?”
“Open the door and get out.”
“Aw, come on, Billy. I mean, I do you a good turn and look what you’re giving me back. How’m I gonna get to St. Louis without
my car?”
Not answering, Albert prodded him in the side.
Milton opened the door. “Okay, okay! You don’t gotta poke me.” He climbed out.
Albert scooted across the seat and climbed out behind him.
“Last time I do a fella a good turn, you can bet your bottom dollar on that.”
“Bet it is,” Albert said.
Milton in the lead, they walked past the front of the car.
“It just don’t pay to be nice anymore.”
“Guess not,” Albert said. “You can stop here.”
They stopped a few paces past the front of Milton’s car.
Turning to face Albert, Milton said, “Tell you what, I’ll pick up that gal for you. That hitchhiker gal. Okay? How’s that?
I got no problem with that.”
“You’d be in the way,” Albert told
garden hose had taken care of the worst of the blood, but a subtle red-brown mottling remained.
It would have to wait. Nobody could see it, anyway, if he kept his shirt buttoned up.
He climbed onto his bike and headed for the road.
The bike would soon become a problem, but not for a while. Not until his father got out of bed and discovered it was gone.
On Sundays, he never moved before ten. Give him an hour to get worried. Then he might call the cops and report Albert missing.
Might or might not, the bastard.
At eleven o’clock, Albert ditched his bike just to be on the safe side. Once rid of it, he walked for nearly an hour. At
an A & W, he had a root beer, a cheeseburger and fries. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon before Milton stopped to
give him a lift.
“Hungry?” Milton broke in, and flicked his cigar out the window. Its red tip trailed sparks through the night.
“I’m starved,” Albert said.
“Sign we just passed says Litchfield’s just up ahead. We can stop…”
“A hitchhiker!” Albert blurted.
She was only lit for a moment. Before the headlights left her in darkness, Albert saw that she was walking backward, her thumb
out. She seemed to be about sixteen, slender and blonde. She wore an Indian headband, a big loose shirt that wasn’t tucked
in, and jeans.
“Give her a lift, Milton.”
“Not much chance of that.”
“Why not?”
“One thing you learn, Billy, you never pick up a hitcher of the fair sex.”
“Come on, go back and get her. This road’s really deserted. She might be standing out there all night.”
“Tough titty. I don ’t stop for gals.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not. You get one in your car and you’re at her mercy. At her mercy , Billy. She can do whatever weird shenanigans come into her mind. Why, she might even up and decide to blackmail you.”
“How can she blackmail anyone?” Albert asked to disguise the sound of his sheath snap popping open.
“She threatens to say you raped her. Easiest thing in the world. Happens all the time. Her word against yours. And what’s
more, she can go to the cops and describe you down to a T, your car too, even give ’em your license plate.”
The knife was in his lap now, hidden under his crossed hands. “Are you talking from experience?” he asked.
“You betcha.”
With a swift pull, the blade hinged open and locked upright.
Milton’s head snapped sideways. He started to say something, but the point nipped the stubbled flesh beneath his chin. He
shut his mouth and tipped his head backward.
“Stop the car,” Albert said.
Milton took his foot off the gas pedal. His thin, leathery face was blank. Albert could see only one eye: it glistened with
light and kept darting sideways.
“Pull off the road and stop.”
Slowly, the car lost speed. Gravel on the road’s shoulder crunched under its tires.
When the car stopped, Albert took the ignition key.
“Get out,” he said, lowering the knife.
“You gonna leave me here?”
“Open the door and get out.”
“Aw, come on, Billy. I mean, I do you a good turn and look what you’re giving me back. How’m I gonna get to St. Louis without
my car?”
Not answering, Albert prodded him in the side.
Milton opened the door. “Okay, okay! You don’t gotta poke me.” He climbed out.
Albert scooted across the seat and climbed out behind him.
“Last time I do a fella a good turn, you can bet your bottom dollar on that.”
“Bet it is,” Albert said.
Milton in the lead, they walked past the front of the car.
“It just don’t pay to be nice anymore.”
“Guess not,” Albert said. “You can stop here.”
They stopped a few paces past the front of Milton’s car.
Turning to face Albert, Milton said, “Tell you what, I’ll pick up that gal for you. That hitchhiker gal. Okay? How’s that?
I got no problem with that.”
“You’d be in the way,” Albert told
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