A weedy, reedy sound, nasal, like a drill in his ear. Please don't let it be a chatterer. Mindless conversation got on his nerves and he preferred to enjoy his rides in silence. He flashed a close-mouthed grin as he leaned down to the passenger window. He'd long ago learned that his teeth put people off.

"Thanks for stopping."

"No trouble. Where ya heading?"

He waved vaguely north and the driver nodded.

"Yeah, whole lot of nameless nowhere, I know. Hop in."

Seconds later he eased out in the passenger seat and dropped his pack between his feet. The driver grinned and offered his hand.

"Name's Mike."

"Good to meet you, Mike." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged, "I don't shake. Got a touch of arthritis."

"Don't look old enough. What are ya, twenty-five?"

The car fed back onto the blacktop and Mike resumed his hunched over the wheel, ready for anything posture.

"It's Saul and I had early onset. Fucks up trying to get a steady job."

"I'll bet" There was genuine sympathy in Mike's tone and Saul felt the familiar cold glow in his blood, "Hitching to the next job huh?"

"I've already found it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Guy wants some fencing done in Jaceville."

"Hey, that's my town. Wd'd'ya know!"

"Guess I got lucky tonight."

"Sure did. Got a place to stay?"

"I'll find a barn or something."

Mike actually took his eyes off of the river that had been a road before the storm and grinned.

"Wouldn't hear of it. You come stay at mine tonight. Been a widower ten years. Could do with the comp'ny."

"That's good of you Mike. Are you sure? You don't even know me."

"I'm a few years too old to be worryin' about psycho hitchers, son. Why, ya got plans to kill me and run off with me fortune?"

"I'm thinking that I'd be a fool to consider a man driving a beat-old truck and one lonesome for company would be a good mark."

"Ya wouldn't be wrong son."

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