“I can drop you off at the first service station.”
“There won’t be one before Warren, will there?”
Jerry agreed that there wouldn’t be and resigned himself to the fellow’s company for the next twenty miles. He seemed harmless enough, even friendly, but there was something about his heavy-lidded eyes, and those tattoos.
“Are you a salesman?” Sid asked.
“An engineer. Do you live in this area, Sid?”
“No, I’m from Pittsburgh.”
“You look as if you might work in one of those steel mills down there.”
Sid accepted the compliment with a lazy smile, bunching his arm muscles to take up the slack of flab. “I used to work out a lot when I was in California.”
They remained silent for the next couple of miles until, as if deciding he owed it to Jerry to be more sociable, Sid asked Jerry if he had a family in Warren.
“Just my wife,” Jerry replied.
“You’re lucky. I got no one. I suppose she’ll have dinner ready for you when you get home. That’s what I miss about not being married. I end up eating alone most of the time.”
“My wife’s not home,” Jerry said. “I just dropped her off. She’s spending the weekend with her folks.”
“So you’re all on your lonely, eh?”
“ ’Fraid so.”
“You live in an apartment?”
“House. Complete with mortgage. But we like it.”
“You must do O.K. Nice set of wheels you got here.”
Jerry laughed. “At least they’re paid for.”
“A guy really has to hustle to keep up with this crazy inflation.”
This remark failed to lead into any sustained conversation and, as if he had fulfilled his duty, Sid lapsed again into silence until the traffic started to pick up as they approached Warren. Then he said, with an air of having been struck with a brilliant idea, “Say, Jerry, how would you like to make an easy fifty bucks?”
Jerry darted him a wary look. “An easy fifty bucks?”
“I was just thinking. I’m not going to make Meadville tonight, so why drop thirty or forty bucks on the Holiday Inn or whatever they’ve got in Warren? You put me up for the night and I’ll pay you fifty. How’s that sound?”
The idea did not appeal to Jerry. “I don’t know, Sid.” He uttered a nervous laugh. “You’d find better company at the Holiday Inn.”
“Are you kidding? I’m sick of motels. I spend too damn much of my life in ’em. What about it? We’d be doing each other a favor.”
Jerry still didn’t like the idea. But the fifty bucks sounded good and if Sid had been going to pull anything funny he’d already had plenty of time to steal Jerry’s wallet or make off with his car. He was just too paranoid, he told himself. That was what Marjory was always telling him. Moreover, he didn’t especially relish the idea of going home to an empty house. What harm could it do to let Sid spend the night?
“O.K., Sid,” he agreed. “But you’ll have to take pot luck unless you go out to eat. I’m not the world’s best cook.”
“Hey, don’t give it a thought. I can stand to shed a few pounds. All I want is a place to sack out.”
Sid appeared even more relaxed now, positively jovial in fact.
When they arrived at Jerry’s ranch-style house on Poplar Street he was extravagant in his admiration. Jerry unlocked the door and Sid followed him inside with the suitcase.
“You can put it in here,” Jerry said, leading the way to a small tidy bedroom. Sid glanced around, nodding approvingly.
“Your wife’s a wonderful housekeeper. Not like my old lady.”
Jerry looked at him. “I thought you weren’t married.”
“Not any more I ain’t. Ten years I put up with her, then I split.”
“The bathroom’s down the hall. Take a shower if you’d like. I think I could use a drink. What’s your pleasure?”
“You got any beer?”
“It’ll be waiting for you after you wash up.”
As Jerry fixed himself a drink he listened to the splash of the shower and was suddenly glad he’d agreed to let Sid stay over. He seemed like a nice guy, if a bit rough around the edges.
Freshly showered and with his hair neatly combed, Sid looked even less menacing. Jerry waved him to sit down in the recliner and handed him a beer. Sid took one sip and then snapped his fingers. “Hey, I better call a garage before I do anything else. Know anyplace?”
“Try Marty’s. He knows me. I’ll give him a buzz.”
“Sit still. I’ll do it.” Jerry told him where to find the phonebook and Sid made the call. “Line’s busy. I’ll try again in a few minutes.”
Jerry finished his drink and stood up. “Have another beer while I scout up some grub. I took a steak out of the freezer. We can share it. And I’ll rustle up a salad.”
“Hey, man, don’t put yourself out. Just slap a sandwich together.”
“Oh, I can do better than that.” The drink had made him feel mildly euphoric and removed any lingering doubts about the wisdom of inviting a stranger into the house.
While Jerry stuck the steak under the broiler and tossed a salad, Sid wandered about the kitchen making small talk. Jerry declined his offer to help. Sid looked out the back door. “Nice patio. Mind if I look around?”
“No, go ahead.”
Presently Sid returned and said he’d phone the garage again.
A minute later he called out to Jerry from the living room. “Your pal Marty must do a hell of a business. I can’t get through to him.”
It was growing dark by the time Jerry had dinner on the kitchen table. As they ate, Sid entertained Jerry with the astonishing variety of his adventures. He said he was part Mohawk Indian and part French. He was originally from Oneida County but had run away when he was fifteen, traveled with a carnival, landed in Los Angeles without a dime, got a job as a bouncer, worked as a bellhop, then as bodyguard to a famous rock singer, and got into weightlifting and karate, before eventually settling down to construction work. He said he found it impossible to settle for very long in one place.
Back in the living room after helping Jerry with the dishes, Sid asked him if he knew any karate.
Jerry shook his head. “But then I try to avoid any situation where I’d need it.”
Sid regarded him speculatively. “I could have told you that.” His eyes appraised Jerry’s slim, small-boned build. “But you never know when it might come in handy. Here. I’ll show you a few moves.”
Jerry responded warily to this suggestion. Sid laughed. “Come on, I won’t hurt you. Take a swing at me.”
Jerry clenched his fist and tossed a half-hearted punch at Sid. The big man neatly deflected it, spinning Jerry around and pinning his arm behind his back. It was all done very gently.
Then he said, “You got a knife around here?”
“Knife?”
“Jackknife, butcher knife — anything.”
Jerry felt a momentary qualm, but he could hardly say no. He returned from the kitchen with a steak knife. Again Sid laughed. “Don’t look so nervous, buddy.” He turned his broad back to Jerry. “Now come up behind me and make like you’re going to stab me in the back. Like you really mean it.”
With the knife in his hand, Jerry felt more confident and did as Sid instructed. Before he quite knew what had happened he was flat on his back on the rug and Sid was looming over him with the knife. A sensation of pure terror paralyzed him.
For a moment Sid appeared to enjoy the look on Jerry’s face, then he grinned and tossed the knife onto the chair. Jerry brushed the sweat off his upper lip, then slowly relaxed. There seemed nothing to worry about. He had been totally at Sid’s mercy and nothing had happened.
Sid crossed to the phone and picked up the receiver, then looked inquiringly at Jerry. “Is there something wrong with your phone, or what? Now I don’t even get a busy signal.”