As he stood by the side of his truck, gassing up, he noticed a woman squatting by the ice machine. She looked tired, was dirty and down on her luck. She leaned on a large metal framed backpack.
Finish at the pump, he walked over, “Can I get you a soda, coffee, something to eat?”
Meyer had a soft spot for the homeless and less-fortunate. She smile with a nod ‘yes’ and followed him inside the store.
He used the can and then got himself a coffee. She had a sandwich, a large bottle of cola and a coffee. He happily paid.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me John.”
“Okay, John. Thank you. I’m Sara.”
“You’re welcome. With or without the ‘h’?”
“Without.”
“So where you headed, Sara?”
“Las Vegas.”
“I’m headed that way myself. Wanna lift.”
“Please.”
He hefted her pack into the bed of his truck, opened the passenger side door, cleaned off the seat of the two notebooks and a pen, then let her get in, before shutting the door. She quickly slipped the seat-belt on and leaned back.
The first ten-miles or so were silent ones. Meyer had decided not to ask any questions, rather allow her to open up and talk on her own, that is if she wanted too.
“She’s kinda cute,” decided as he glance over at her from time to time.
Finally, she broke the quiet, asking with a smile, “How do you know I ain’t serial killer or something?”
More than a little shocked, he studied her hard before answering her seriously, “First, not very many women are serial killers and when they do turn out to be one, they are generally in the company of a man, who is usually in the lead role.”
“Women can be lone serial killers,” she argued, “You know, like that Aileen chick.”
“Aileen Wuornos, you mean.”
“Yeah, her.”
“But then what’s the likelihood of two serial killers, each unknown to the other, ending up traveling in the same vehicle?”
It was her turn to study him hard and as Sara did, John Meyer thought wistfully about the ax he had stowed behind his driver’s seat and gently licked his lips.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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