Read Shivers 7 for Free Online

road for nine hours and nearly seven hundred miles, but after dinner I figured I could make another hundred or more before I packed it in for the day. Pushing it because of the job with Burnside Chemicals but mainly because Karen was waiting in L.A. I hadn’t seen her in two weeks and I was hungry for her and she would be for me, too.
    Right now it was food I was hungry for; I hadn’t eaten since an early breakfast. I filled the Audi’s tank and then pulled over into one of the parking slots near the café. On the walk from there to the entrance I had to pass by the guy sitting slumped on the bench.
    He was the biggest man I’d ever seen outside a basketball arena. Close to seven feet tall, lean but not skinny; huge hands like a couple of fur-backed catcher’s mitts, the fingers gnarled and scarred from manual labor. Wearing a sweat-stained shirt, dusty Levi’s, and old, heavily scuffed boots. He was bent forward with the hands hanging down between his knees, his chin tipped toward his chest, his gaze on the small, battered duffel between his feet. He had a kind of heavy, bland face, and he looked hot and tired and forlorn, like a kid nobody wanted to have anything to do with. But he wasn’t a kid, exactly. Late twenties, I thought, a few years younger than me.
    I went past him by a couple of steps, then stopped and turned back. There was just something about him. That forlorn look, I guess. Karen says I’m a sucker for strays, the lost and lonely in human and animal kingdoms both. I don’t deny it. Better that kind of person than the one who doesn’t give a damn.
    “Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but are you okay?”
    He looked up. He had big, sad eyes, the irises the color of milk chocolate. “Hot,” he said. His voice was soft, a little dull.
    “Sure is that. Why don’t you go inside? Sign there says it’s air-conditioned.”
    “Can’t. Run out of money from my last job.”
    “That’s too bad. You live around here?”
    “No. Just passing.”
    “How about your car? Got enough gas?”
    “Don’t have a car,” he said.
    “How’d you get here, then? Hitchhike?”
    “Walked.”
    “Walked? From where?”
    “Town back there.”
    “All the way from Tucumcari? That’s a lot of hot miles.”
    “Wouldn’t nobody give me a ride.” He added in melancholy tones, “Won’t hardly ever.”
    “Man, you must be exhausted. When did you eat last?”
    “Yesterday sometime.”
    Exhausted and starving. “Lot of people stop here,” I said. “Have you asked any of them? I mean…you know.”
    “Don’t believe in it. Begging.”
    I hesitated, but I just couldn’t walk away from a man in his condition. “How about a helping hand from a fellow traveler?”
    “Huh?”
    “Come on,” I said. “I’ll treat you to a cold drink and a sandwich.”
    He blinked. “Do that for me? Why?”
    “Why not? You’re hungry and so am I.”
    “Nobody ever bought me nothing before.”
    “First time for everything,” I said. “How about it?”
    “Okay.”
    I watched him unfold from the bench. God, he was big—almost twice my size. He towered over me; it was like looking up at a beanstalk giant, only one of the gentle type. We went into the café. The place was crowded, but there was one empty booth at the far wall. Heads turned and faces stared as the giant and I walked over to the booth and sat down. A few of them kept right on staring. He didn’t seem to notice.
    A waitress brought over menus and some ice water. The big guy emptied his glass in one long slurp. She couldn’t help staring, either, her eyes round and her forehead washboarded as if he was some kind of sideshow freak. I didn’t open the menu; neither did he. He waited for me to order—a cheeseburger with fries and a large lemonade—and then said he’d have the same.
    “My name’s Jack,” I said when the waitress moved away. “Jack Tobin. What’s yours?”
    “Breakbone.”
    It was my turn to blink. “How’s that