The gunshot surprised Josh just as much as it did the aging hippie store clerk who received the bullet in his stomach. They locked on each other’s eyes. Neither could believe that it had happened. The startled clerk tried to staunch the flow of blood with his hands, and when that failed, he used the wadded end of his apron. He no longer took any interest in Josh. His pit bull anger was replaced by the lightness of being of a man who knew that he was mortally wounded.

Josh fled the Woodstock natural food store without taking the shoplifted sandwich off the counter. He wanted nothing more to do with the store, but he knew, even if he had not yet expressed it in words, that was wishful thinking. He had the presence of mind to put his pistol in his backpack before stepping into the loud, drenching rain. He ducked from one covered shop porch to the next, passing open doorways in which weekend shoppers waited out the storm. He moved along Tinker Street waiting to hear the yell of a shopper discovering the body, or the wail of an approaching police siren.

On the outskirts of town he decided that he had walked far enough so he started hitchhiking. The cold rain made his wait for a ride seem like an eternity. In those minutes he replayed in his mind how the accident happened; he reproached himself for not leaving empty handed as soon as he saw the crazy, long-haired clerk pull a baseball bat from under the cash register. Jesus, the guy got angry. Josh told him to calm down; he wasn’t protecting Fort Knox. That was a mistake. How did he know that his sarcasm would make the clerk jump over the counter swinging his bat?

Josh saw a red Lexus come speeding around the slick curve. He stepped forward, put out his thumb and looked for the driver’s face behind the wet windshield. It wouldn’t stop. It was going too fast. Josh mugged for sympathy as it passed. Come on, man, have a heart.

To his surprise the Lexus stopped a short ways up the road.

“Where are you going?” the young driver yelled through the sheeting rain.

Josh hurried to the car. The driver’s herringbone eyeglasses made him look smart, and he had a hospitable smile. A stylish corduroy blazer lay in the back seat on top of two gym-style travel bags and a tennis racquet. The driver made room on the passenger side, lifting his McDonald’s take-out bag. Josh made the snap judgment that it was safe.

He got in and pulled the door closed, shutting out the storm. Water rolled down his face, and a puddle collected by his soaked sneakers. He clutched his wet backpack to his chest like a teddy bear. Only when he became aware how odd it must look that he was hugging his backpack, did he stuff it between his knees, but still within easy reach.

“Throw it in the back if you like.”

“It’s wet.”

“That’s okay. It won’t hurt the leather.”

“I’d prefer to keep it.”

“Up to you. Where are you headed? I’m Buck.” He extended his hand.

Josh reciprocated with his wet palm. “Josh. I’m headed to the Thruway.”

“Me too. I’m going to New York City. You’re welcome to come along if you’re going that far.”

“That’s fine.”

“Where are you headed?”

Josh paused to formulate his answer. “Florida.”

He planned to head south to find winter landscape work, but now there was good reason to make the journey early. Its great distance from Woodstock would protect him. There was no turning back.

“What happened to your arm?”

Josh touched the bat’s ugly black-and-blue wound. A spider web of ruptured vessels spread from shoulder to elbow.

“I fell.”

“I bruised my hip once while hitchhiking in the Adirondacks. We were on a stream bed when I slipped. It’s easy to bruise yourself. Me,” Buck said, “I’m headed to business school. It’s orientation week. I was supposed to go camping in the Adirondacks with my girlfriend and two buddies but I had to cancel. They’re going anyway. You ever been there?”

“Yes.” Josh looked away. It would be a long ride with his talkative companion. He knew the Adirondacks. He’d run way from a depressed mill town on the Racquet River. He knew all about the mosquitoes, the black flies, alcoholic fathers, and the maddening boredom that turned restless teenage boys into casual delinquents. He never understood why city kids were attracted to the miseries of the North Woods. He’d spent his youth dreaming of leaving Franklin County. When his stepfather kicked him out of his mom’s house, Josh took some cash, his dad’s Vietnam service revolver, and his lawn mowing skills, and headed to the summer job market in the Catskills. Lawn mowing was easy work. Old couples needed grass cut. They paid well. It was a good enough until he figured out his next move.

“So, do you like the Adirondacks?” Buck asked.

“No.”

Buck drove and ate, pulling French Fries from the McDonald’s bag with his teeth. He presented the bag to Josh, offering to share. Josh shook his head.

“There’s a hamburger if you want one. I bought two.”

Josh faked a smile. He shook his head.

“You don’t talk much do you?”

“I didn’t get much sleep. Do you mind if I close my eyes?”

“Go ahead,” Buck said. “I’m turning on the radio for the weather report. Let me know if it bothers you.”

Josh closed his eyes, and took pleasure in shutting out his companion. From time to time he heard the announcer’s report on the Atlantic storm. Flash flooding closed highways. Police were diverting traffic around a swollen river.

Josh’s thoughts drifted restlessly; he wrestled with his choices. God, he wished his apology had been enough to calm the angry clerk. He prayed that the clerk wasn’t dead, but his spilled blood and vacant eyes overshadowed Josh’s wishful thinking. No one would believe it was self-defense. He’d seen how his dad’s years in jail had stolen his soul and left him an animal. Josh had vowed not to repeat his father’s mistakes, and yet here he was, like his father, a fugitive from a stupid crime.

When he closed his eyes, he draped his leg over his backpack, tucking it under. The pistol would be safe while he slept. He turned his shoulder away from the driver, resting his head so he could find a safe place in his mind. Drumming rain and the wiper’s hypnotic rhythm lulled him into a dream state. He drifted in and out of sleep, and in his semi-consciousness he thought he heard voices, heard Buck answer questions, and then, after some vague time, he felt the car move again, gain speed, and he fell into a deep sleep.


Josh woke up. He blinked, slowly looked around, and sat bolt upright. For one brief moment he didn’t know where he was or even which part of his life he was in. He recognized the car, remembered the rain. Buck was gone. The driver’s door was open and they were stopped in the middle of nowhere.

All around Josh saw grim, low-hanging clouds and fine misting rain. The car was fog-bound, like a ghost ship. All was eerie silence except for the babbling run-off of a roadside culvert. The two-lane road disappeared downhill into the fog. Josh quickly undid his backpack’s snap and fished the bottom. He felt the pistol and let out a sign of relief.

“Buck?” he called.

Josh hopped out of the passenger door and almost slid into the culvert. He arrested his fall by grabbing the door.

“Be careful,” Buck called out.

Josh saw Buck’s legs protruding from under the car. They were spread-eagled on the road’s shoulder sticking out below the car’s rear fender. The rest of Buck was hidden underneath.

“Wow!” Buck said. “The car shifted when you got out. Flat tire. Can you believe it? Get a stone and wedge it under the front tire.”

Josh immediately saw Buck’s mistake. He’d placed the jack on muddy soil under the rear axle. The car’s weight had pushed the jack into the ground almost eliminating the effect of its lift. To compensate Buck had cranked it up as far as it could go. When Josh jumped out the poorly placed jack had tilted dangerously.

Josh scrambled down the road’s sloping shoulder in search of a large stone. In the loose gravel he lost his footing and slipped, striking his bruised arm in the fall. The pain was terrible. He sat upright. The rock he’d struck was the right size so he dug it out with his good hand. He wedged it against his chest, bracing it with his forearm in order to make the short climb to the road.

From the car he heard a muffled scream. Through the drizzle he saw the Lexus’ headlights pierce the fog like twin lighthouse beacons. “Buck?” he called. The silence lingered. “Buck?” He dropped the stone and scrambled up the slope.

Josh pulled himself through the lose gravel, dirtying his hands, which irritated him since there was no place to wash up. He reached the road’s shoulder and saw the collapsed jack; then he saw Buck’s limp legs sticking out from under the rear of the car. Josh dropped to his knee and looked under the car into the dark, shallow space. He couldn’t see well. There was no movement, no sound, no hint of life. “Buck, are you okay?” He stumbled back, uncertain of what he thought he'd seen.

Josh searched the glove compartment for a flashlight. When he didn’t find one, he tried the trunk without success. What would a flashlight do anyway, he said to himself? He found a pack of matches in Buck’s jacket in the back seat. Again he knelt, and placed the struck match at arm’s length under the car. He saw Buck’s motionless body in the flickering yellow flame. Was his head crushed by the axle? Josh stared at the black metal pan that had flatted the pale forehead. Blood channeled the temple and pooled on the asphalt. “Buck,” Josh whispered. He stared then stopped to suck his hurt finger when the match burned down.

Josh sat in the driver’s seat to get out of the cold rain. How strange, he thought, that Buck hadn’t woken him to ask for help. Josh knew how to change tires. He shook his head at the stupidity of guys who tried to do everything by themselves.

Josh’s clothes were soaked from the cold rain, and he had the chills. He put on Buck’s corduroy blazer. It felt good to be warm. He found Buck's wallet in the breast pocket and rifled through it. He could see from the driver’s license that they were the same height and weight, close in age and both wore glasses, even though his were a cheap, drug-store variety.

Josh considered his next move. He could walk away into the night, and leave things as they were, but that didn’t feel good enough. No, he wouldn’t get an opportunity like this again.

There was just the question of the body.

Josh turned the key in the ignition and slowly eased the Lexus forward several feet. He went back and got a better look. Buck’s face was barely recognizable. The axle had crushed the forehead like a soda can. His nose was a bloody pulp. Josh couldn’t leave the body as it was. He didn’t want an alert registrar to make a connection between news reports of Buck Kennedy accident victim and Buck Kennedy registering student.

Josh used the tire iron to knock out Buck’s teeth. He asked for Buck’s forgiveness when he lifted the metal tool, closing his eyes at the last minute, and swung. He saved the bloody porcelain stumps in the MacDonald’s bag that he found in the back seat. He took one bite of the second hamburger, but it was cold, and threw it away. Of course there were DNA testing to identify the body, but Josh wasn’t particularly worried. That took time. Took having Buck’s DNA for a match, putting two and two together.

Josh stripped Buck’s clothes and bundled the bloody garments into a ball. Josh slipped his own slacks, shirt and socks on Buck; he manhandled his shoes onto the feet; he tied the laces with a nice bow. He made sure that his own wallet was in the pant’s pocket, but he kept the nine dollars. It would buy time if the police suspected that a bungled robbery had led to a roadside murder. He left Buck’s suitcase open, boxer shorts and shirts strewn about, looking like a thief had rifled through worthless personal items.

After wiping his fingerprints from his dad’s pistol, he pressed Buck’s stiff fingers onto the cold steel. Holding it with Buck’s silk handkerchief he shoved the weapon under Buck’s belt. He was sorry to part with it.

From the gasoline tank he siphoned enough fuel to fill the large MacDonald’s soda cup. He burned Buck’s bloody clothing down the hill, under the cover of an overhanging rock ledge, some hundred feet away. It took three trips back to the car’s tank. The wet clothes were harder to burn than he expected, and after twenty minutes Josh gave up trying to reduce the charred fabric to ashes. He buried the last remnants in a shallow hole covered with rocks. He scrubbed dried blood off his hands with sand from the rushing culvert. As Josh drove off, he glanced in the rear view mirror at the body lying by the side of the road. The lonely corpse would keep its secrets.

He would get rid of the Lexus, of course, but he wanted a safe distance between it being found and the corpse discovered. Besides, it was a good car and he could use it, but he’d ditch it soon enough. He’d find a good, deep river. It was amazing the secrets that rivers kept. He had time.

A few miles down the road Josh encountered a police roadblock. Two state troopers in ankle-length rain coats stood astride the road. Red and white roof lights on their parked cruisers rotated, and yellow caution tape blocked the mouth of a flooded trestle bridge. Shit. He’d been seen. There was no turning around. The nearest trooper, blinded by the Lexus’ headlights, pumped his hands and directed Josh to pull over.

“Hello officer.”

“License and registration.”

Josh removed Buck’s license from Buck’s wallet and handed it through the open window. He squinted at the trooper’s mag light, but recovered when the light moved to the back seat. Josh flashed a friendly smile to the unsmiling trooper, who matched face to photo, eyes scanning twice, checking the likeness. Josh adjusted the herringbone eyeglasses he’d taken from Buck, perfecting the fit, and put on Buck’s hail-fellow-well-met expression.

“What’s the problem?” Josh asked.

“No problem.”

“Bridge out?”

“Yes.”

“Is this about the shooting in Woodstock? I heard on the radio some guy was shot---“

“Where are you headed tonight Mr. Kennedy?”

“New York City. Grad school starts tomorrow.”

Josh waited about ten minutes while the trooper sat in his car and checked Buck’s license and registration on the cruiser’s computer. Jesus, Josh thought. It would be a bitch if Buck had an outstanding warrant. His mind played out how to talk himself out of another guy’s unpaid speeding ticket.

The trooper approached the Lexus and Josh lowered the window. Josh took Buck’s license and returned it to the cracked leather wallet.

“Mr. Kennedy,” the trooper said. “Take the left fork. About a mile down there’s another bridge that will get you across the river.”

Josh swallowed his grin, but remembered to smile. “Thank you, officer.”

Josh slipped the Lexus in drive and proceeded down the two-lane road. Around a bend he looked in the rear view mirror, but there was nothing to see, except that he wasn’t being followed. He shifted his eyes to the headlights tunneling the night and thought about what lay ahead. He liked the way he had fooled the trooper, liked the way he could pass for Buck, answer to the name Kennedy. He fantasized he might go to Columbia, start classes, check out the city, but he knew he shouldn’t push his luck. Buck’s parents, or girlfriend, would make enquiries when they didn’t hear from Buck, but he could hold them off a while with a few emails about how he was doing, classes, that sort of stuff. That would buy time, a month maybe two. But still, he would need another plan soon. He fiddled with the radio's digital controls until he found a rock station with a clear signal.