Free Meeting Evil by Thomas Berger Page B

to smile. “God,” she said. “I’ve felt better.”
    Richie sat back in his seat and drank more vodka. “We ought to get rid of her,” he said.
    What John found especially disturbing about this statement was that it did not appall him—as, in all decency, it should have. He would very much have liked to see the last of Sharon. He resented her: as if dealing with Richie were not already too much to handle.
    Nevertheless, he again reminded Richie whose car it was, little as that fact might mean to someone who had responded to the theft of his own car with indifference.
    The road had now reached the woods and taken a turn that would have concealed them from the sight of any pursuers on the main road, though frequent checks of the rearview mirror had revealed none thus far. There would be little reason to suppose they had taken this obscure route when wider thoroughfares, leading to municipalities into the traffic of which they could merge, were available—but even while making this argument to himself, John was aware of its possible weakness. With no precedent by which to judge, he might well be doing exactly what the police would expect, and could encounter a roadblock around the next bend.
    He appealed to Richie. “You have any idea where we are?I’ve lost all sense of direction. The sun was over there, wasn’t it?” It had disappeared behind the clouds some time earlier, and the nearby trees were very tall. “Are we anywhere near Hillsdale?”
    “Damned if I know.” Richie had almost emptied the bottle by now.
    John exploded. “Have you ever even
seen
Hillsdale? You don’t live there, do you? This whole trip has been a wild-goose chase! Goddamn you, what’s your game?”
    “Is this the time to fight with
me?
“
    John gave in to an impulse. He slammed the brake pedal down, causing the car to skid to a stop, diagonaled across the roadway. Richie was hurled toward the dashboard. But his manual reflexes were quick, and he caught himself without damage.
    “I should have done this much, much earlier,” John shouted, continuing to indulge himself in the excitement of selfish irresponsibility. He threw the door open and stepped out of the car. “You’re on your own, it’s not my affair!”
    Instantaneously he conceived a plan: he would hike back, find the police, and patiently explain what had happened. He was prepared to be initially misinterpreted, but being a respectable man with an honest job and a wife and family, he could not be disbelieved forever. He turned his back on the car and began to walk in the direction whence they had come. He expected Richie to pursue him but was not disappointed when this had not happened by the time he reached the point where the woods gave way to the fields. He had not wished to look back, feeling nothing but a gratifying relief that he was at last free of those people, both of whom had been so basically alien to him. He could not blame himself for responding originally to Richie’s call for simple assistance, nor for later on doing what seemed a far from extravagantfavor for Sharon. He still was not ready to say it was inevitably, necessarily, foolish, let alone hazardous, to be kind to strangers. What a rotten world it would have to be for a fellow like him, who had always thought of himself as normal in every respect, to arrive at such a cynical conclusion!
    The man on the tractor was closer to the road now. It looked as though he was doing nothing but taking a ride on it, with no earth-altering equipment in tow. He appeared to be fortyish and had a well-groomed face. He wore Walkman headphones; the home unit was in an upper pocket of his shirt of moss-green linen.
    John waved at and advanced toward him, in an unfenced field covered with stubble. The tractor continued to roll. It was on the small side and moved slowly, but John anyway politely stepped out of its direct path long before it reached him.
    He lifted a hand and said hello.
    The man on the tractor stopped