The Hitchhiker

McNerny did not often pick up hitchhikers.

So why did he pick up one that night? He was tired. He was driving on a long stretch of the California desert. He needed something to keep him awake. Normally he sipped milkshake when he got drowsy. But the last slurp through the straw had pulled air. He was out of milkshake.

This particular hitchhiker was a woman. An attractive woman, from the distance McNerny was at. She was wearing a blue dress with white polka dots. She did not look dangerous.

Did her being a woman make her safer? These things could go either way. It was a game of probabilities. McNerny was not calculating probabilities. He merely needed someone to keep him awake.

“Where you headed?” he asked.

“Barstow,” she said. Barstow was an hour away. “It’s on my way,” he said.

She got into the car with her duffel bag. About a minute into the drive she fumbled with her duffel bag. Then she pulled out a gun.

This made McNerny jump.

It was a small gun as guns go. It was not a rifle. Or even a revolver. This was a small gun. There was also the question of how skilled this woman was at using it. Again McNerny did not calculate probabilities. He prepared for the worst. He awaited instructions from the woman. Except none were forthcoming.

Then she put the gun down and back into her bag.

She had wanted him to know she was armed. The display of the gun had been informational. It had been a silent message. Her putting it back meant he was safe.

Even though not a word was exchanged through the next hour, McNerny did not have any more problems staying awake.