“Where’s your car?” the other man said.
“We got a ride up to Big Bear with some friends. Now I’m afraid we both have a touch of hypothermia. Where are you headed?”
“Down to San Bernardino,” the driver said. His eyes were on Marcia every time he spoke. “If you want to come too, we’ll take you.”
“Thanks so much,” Marcia said. “We’re really cold and tired.”
The two young men took the skis and poles from Hank and slid them under the tie-down straps over the ski rack on the roof, then pulled the straps tight. Then they climbed into the front seats.
Hank swung the back door open so Marcia could slide in on the backseat. She leaned forward to shrug off her backpack. Hank saw the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He saw them focus on him, and then saw the driver’s right shoulder dip downward. He seemed to be reaching for the shifter.
As the car lurched forward, Hank pushed off with his legs to launch himself toward the seat. He grasped the back of the front passenger seat with his right hand, and strained to drag himself aboard the accelerating vehicle. Marcia shrieked, “Hold it! He’s not in!” She clutched one of Hank’s backpack straps, and set her feet against the doorframe.
Hank hoisted himself in as the car accelerated and the door slammed.
He saw the driver’s eyes meet his in the mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the driver said. “I thought you were already in.”
“That’s okay,” said Hank. “I’m in now.” He settled into his seat and swung the backpack into his lap. His hand slipped inside the backpack pocket and grasped the Colt Commander pistol.
The car moved along Route 38, hugging the curves as it went, the grade adding to its speed.
“You know,” the driver said to Hank, “I didn’t really notice you at first. What I saw was a pretty woman along the road.”
“That’s all?” said Hank.
“Yep,” the driver said. “I was moving fast, it was dark, and there was a lot of glare from headlights. So I stopped.”
The driver was a big guy. Those were the words Hank knew the driver would have used. He was a big guy. He was about six feet three, and he weighed about 250 or 260. He had a round head with a cap of very curly brown hair. The baby face—with fat cheeks and a rosy complexion—must have caused him some embarrassment, and certainly so did the fact that his muscles were obscured by a layer of fat. He went on. “What I saw was your lady friend back there. She’s hot.”
“Derrick,” said his friend. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“What for?” said Derrick. “We’re all friends here. Bros. We’re giving them a free ride in a remote area of the mountains. She is hot. Isn’t she?”
Nobody answered.
Derrick waited. “Isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said his friend. “She’s hot. Can you please just keep an eye on the road?”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Derrick said. “I was asking him.”
“Me?” said Hank.
“Yeah, you.”
“Then yes,” he said. “She’s my wife.”
“Your wife?” Derrick said. “You and her? You must be really rich.”
“Jesus, Derrick,” said his friend.
“Jesus, Kyle,” said Derrick.
Kyle’s voice was tense now, high and whiny. “Just cut it out.”
“We’re just talking to pass the time. It’s a long, long way down that dark, freezing road before we get to San Bernardino, and talking helps keep me awake. My bro back there probably goes to sleep early every night, given his age, so I’m helping him out too.”
“Stop it,” Kyle said. “This isn’t funny.”
Derrick persisted. “So bro. I know this doesn’t bother you because you’re a good sport. Is your wife a good sport too?”
“Not particularly,” Marcia answered.
“That’s okay,” Derrick said. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. You’re married to an older man. He can’t possibly keep you happy. Not by himself, anyway.”
Hank said, “Your friend Kyle is right. This stuff isn’t funny, and it’s offensive. So stop.”
Derrick shrugged and laughed. He drove on in silence for the next half hour. From time to time he would look to his right at Kyle. Then Derrick’s eyes would flick up to the rearview mirror, verify that Hank was still watching him, and then settle on the road ahead.
They continued down the dark highway. There was steady traffic going down out of the mountains at this hour, but fewer cars coming up. It was mildly reassuring to Hank, because if Derrick abruptly became unable to control the car, they would be less likely to have a head-on crash. Each minute was taking them another mile away from the squad that was hunting for them and closer to a warm, safe place somewhere. He dreaded what might happen soon, hoping to put it off as long as he could.
“I should apologize,” said Derrick. “I didn’t mean to offend anybody.”
“Fine,” said Hank.
“I was just trying to be friendly. I’ve heard that a lot of guys your age have trouble, you know, performing. That’s the term. And the little woman cries herself to sleep every night. A lot of them would love to be with a younger guy. Or even two of them.”