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again?”
    “Breakbone. That’s what they call me.”
    “That’s some name.”
    “Not my real one. Kind of a nickname. On account of how big I am. And my hands—they’re real strong.”
    “I believe it. Do me a favor—don’t shake with me.”
    “Okay. Can I have your water?”
    “Help yourself.”
    One long swallow emptied my glass, too.
    “So where are you headed, uh, Breakbone?” I asked him.
    “Nowhere in partic’lar. Moving around, different places.”
    “Looking for work?”
    “Looking,” he said.
    “What kind of work do you do?”
    “Don’t matter. Any kind I can get.”
    “Where’s your home, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    “Ain’t got one.”
    “I mean originally. What part of the country?”
    “Midwest.” He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I got off the subject.
    “California’s where I’m going,” I said. “Moving out there from Pennsylvania. I’ve got a good job waiting for me, much better than my old one and lucky to get it. I’m a research chemist.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “My girl’s waiting, too. She’s been in L.A. two weeks now, setting up housekeeping for us. We’re getting married as soon as I settle into the new job—September, probably.”
    “I never had a girl,” Breakbone said.
    “That’s too bad. Every guy should have a girl. Unless he’s gay, of course.”
    “I ain’t gay.”
    “I didn’t mean to imply that you were,” I said quickly, even though he didn’t sound annoyed or angry. “I’m sorry you never had a girl. One of these days maybe you will.”
    “Naw,” he said. “They don’t like me. I’m too big.”
    “Lot of big girls out there that like big men.”
    “Not me.”
    I let it go. Trying to hold a conversation with him wasn’t easy. His mind seemed to work in a slow and not quite linear fashion. Not that it mattered to me, but I wondered if he was mildly retarded.
    We didn’t have much more to say to each other. The food came and he wolfed his, finishing everything on his plate before mine was half empty. Poor bastard, I thought. Probably the first decent meal, if you could call a greasy burger decent, he’d had in a long time. I was glad I’d decided to treat him to it.
    I paid the bill and we went back out into what was left of the day’s heat. He stood looking past the gas pumps to Interstate 40 with that forlorn expression back on his face.
    “What’re you going to do now?” I asked him.
    “Dunno. Ranches around here ain’t hiring this time of year. Not me, anyways. Got a better chance of finding something in a town.”
    “It’s a long way to the nearest one.”
    “Don’t matter. I’m used to walking, sleeping out.”
    I was still feeling sorry for him. “Well, look, Breakbone, I’ll give you a ride as far as Santa Rosa if you want. I’d stake you to a night’s lodging, too, but I’m short on funds right now. Enough for another meal’s the best I can do.”
    He gave me a long, solemn look. “Do all that for me, too?”
    “The original good Samaritan, that’s me. How about that ride?”
    “Sure. Okay.”
    We got into the Audi. He was so tall that he had to sit scrunched down with his duffel on the floor mat and his knees up against the dashboard, and at that the top of his head scraped the headliner. He didn’t have anything to say once we were underway. That was all right with me. Having to hold a conversation while I’m driving, particularly after an already long day behind the wheel, tends to distract me, even out in the middle of nowhere.
    This was high desert country, pretty desolate, mostly flat with a few rolling hills and mesas in the background. Horse and cattle country, though how cattle could survive on the sparse grass was beyond me. Most of the terrain seemed to be barren except for patches of cactus and yucca and stunted juniper trees.
    Traffic was light. We’d gone about ten miles and were making good time when an interchange appeared ahead. As we neared it, I noticed a guy with a