to fall far behind and thus recede from the immediate memory of the driver, who might just be crazy enough to retain a grudge. Nowadays you were always hearing about people who on the occasion of traffic squabbles produced the guns they carried in their cars for just sucha purpose, and shot adversary motorists or even others who were faultless.
“Forget about the bastard,” John said. “Good riddance.” He was relieved to see Richie accept this with a stoical shrug and fall back into the seat, slumping so low that he could barely see over the dashboard. John had feared that a need for revenge might be the man’s dominant emotion. What was his own? He was conscious of a lifetime urge to do right. This put him at a frequent disadvantage, as in the case of the tailgating truck. It was true that he had now escaped from the situation, but it was unfair that he had been in it in the first place. He had given no rational offense. How could one do so by driving in an orderly manner at the speed limit? To behave otherwise would endanger the lives of human beings: that was what had been at issue, not the narrow concerns of traffic law.
Richie grumbled, down in his slump, kicking the firewall. “Those kind of people make me mad: they don’t have any respect.”
All John wanted to do was get to Hillsdale, and back, without further incident. What Richie said might be true, but nothing could be done about it beyond complaining, and John hated to waste his time in negative lament.
“How big a town is Hillsdale?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you lived there long?” John glanced at him. “Do you live there at all?”
Richie grinned. “I said I did, didn’t I?”
“Well, that’s where I’m taking you.”
“Then that’s where I’m going.” Without emerging from his slump, Richie made a long reach for the knobs of the radio.
“Do you mind?” John asked. “I don’t want to hear any music now.” He did not quite understand why he had said that. Had he been alone he would have switched on the radio and listened to almost anything but elevator music, though what he preferred were the records popular when he was in the latter years of high school, which to younger people were already far out of date.
“Do you ever enjoy yourself?” It was Richie’s sudden question and bore an implication John did not care for.
“I’ve done some things in my day. I wasn’t always married, with little kids. I’ve been around.”
“I’m talking of right now,” Richie said. “You interested in some partying? We’ll pick up a couple bottles.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s got everything else. Maybe go to a motel, do it right.”
“Oh, come on,” John complained. “Just let that—”
“Think I’m kidding? Should of seen what she had in her purse. That’s why she was so worried about the cop back there. Junkie bitch.”
John was hit hard by this information. He lacked the spirit to ask Sharon to confirm or deny, but assumed she would have protested had the charge been baseless. He did not even wish to know what sort of drugs were at issue.
“I’m dropping you off in Hillsdale and then going straight home. Since this is the only form of transportation available to me, I’m driving myself home in this car.” He had made the latter statement for Sharon’s benefit, should she herself be (despite her professed fear of Richie) inclined to acquiesce in the proposal, and looked for her in the mirror, but she was presumably lying on the seat and could not be seen.
“Just an idea,” Richie said.
John saw something that brought him back to the moment. A quarter mile ahead, the truck that had tailgated himwas parked on the shoulder, which had widened with the broadening of the highway. Instantly chilled, he would have turned and run if he could, but the road was one-way and at this point on the median the simple grass had given way to bushes, so it was not physically possible to perform an
“Forget about the bastard,” John said. “Good riddance.” He was relieved to see Richie accept this with a stoical shrug and fall back into the seat, slumping so low that he could barely see over the dashboard. John had feared that a need for revenge might be the man’s dominant emotion. What was his own? He was conscious of a lifetime urge to do right. This put him at a frequent disadvantage, as in the case of the tailgating truck. It was true that he had now escaped from the situation, but it was unfair that he had been in it in the first place. He had given no rational offense. How could one do so by driving in an orderly manner at the speed limit? To behave otherwise would endanger the lives of human beings: that was what had been at issue, not the narrow concerns of traffic law.
Richie grumbled, down in his slump, kicking the firewall. “Those kind of people make me mad: they don’t have any respect.”
All John wanted to do was get to Hillsdale, and back, without further incident. What Richie said might be true, but nothing could be done about it beyond complaining, and John hated to waste his time in negative lament.
“How big a town is Hillsdale?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you lived there long?” John glanced at him. “Do you live there at all?”
Richie grinned. “I said I did, didn’t I?”
“Well, that’s where I’m taking you.”
“Then that’s where I’m going.” Without emerging from his slump, Richie made a long reach for the knobs of the radio.
“Do you mind?” John asked. “I don’t want to hear any music now.” He did not quite understand why he had said that. Had he been alone he would have switched on the radio and listened to almost anything but elevator music, though what he preferred were the records popular when he was in the latter years of high school, which to younger people were already far out of date.
“Do you ever enjoy yourself?” It was Richie’s sudden question and bore an implication John did not care for.
“I’ve done some things in my day. I wasn’t always married, with little kids. I’ve been around.”
“I’m talking of right now,” Richie said. “You interested in some partying? We’ll pick up a couple bottles.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s got everything else. Maybe go to a motel, do it right.”
“Oh, come on,” John complained. “Just let that—”
“Think I’m kidding? Should of seen what she had in her purse. That’s why she was so worried about the cop back there. Junkie bitch.”
John was hit hard by this information. He lacked the spirit to ask Sharon to confirm or deny, but assumed she would have protested had the charge been baseless. He did not even wish to know what sort of drugs were at issue.
“I’m dropping you off in Hillsdale and then going straight home. Since this is the only form of transportation available to me, I’m driving myself home in this car.” He had made the latter statement for Sharon’s benefit, should she herself be (despite her professed fear of Richie) inclined to acquiesce in the proposal, and looked for her in the mirror, but she was presumably lying on the seat and could not be seen.
“Just an idea,” Richie said.
John saw something that brought him back to the moment. A quarter mile ahead, the truck that had tailgated himwas parked on the shoulder, which had widened with the broadening of the highway. Instantly chilled, he would have turned and run if he could, but the road was one-way and at this point on the median the simple grass had given way to bushes, so it was not physically possible to perform an
Similar Books
