Good Deeds

I don't take kindly to strangers, don't like the heat. Don't like travel and like my quiet. So when I found myself on Highway 50 driving through Nevada with Joe Behan, in 100 degree weather, I can't exactly say I was a happy man.

Sometimes life has a way of playing tricks on you. Setting you up and knocking you down. And as I rolled down the window on that fateful day, driving down the loneliest road in America, feeling that hot breeze across my face, I couldn't help but wonder how it was that I had ended up in such a predicament.

Joe was, what you would call, the talktative type. And when I mean talkative, I mean the type of guy that just won't shut the hell up. The type of guy that just can't take a hint, and give a man his peace and quiet. I don't know why I ended up with Joe, in that car, but I guess that's just my luck. I guess that's why I like my whiskey. I guess that's why I like my alone time.

Joe wadn't that type of guy. He's that happy go lucky type. Never really had much stress in his life. Wife, kids. Likes his baseball. Likes his family vacations. I guess you could say I was jealous of the man. Just that saccharine smile on his face. That look, when you're too dumb to know that life is hard. When you're too lucky to know you're dumb. When you're too innocent to know you're in hell.

Yeah, that was Joe.

Only known him for a couple weeks before the trip. Boss said I had to go. They always got us by the nuts, don't they. Their way or the highway. And I guess I didn't have much else to do anyway. Besides my whiskey. Besides my loose women. Besides looking down the bottom of a barrel, in that shitty motel...

I just wish it wadn't so damn hot.

These interstates can stretch on for days. Trapped on sizzling concrete, going 80 miles an hour, watching hot rocks go by, endless miles of yellow red sand as far as the eye can see.

Makes you get all contemplative like. You start to fall into your own thoughts, remember the past, dwell on the pain; and that ain't never good for no man...

Joe don't seem to care though. He's just yammering on. Talking about sports, talking about sales, talking about our client, asking me all types of stupid questions. Where I grew up. What I did before this job. If I been married. If I have kids.

Joe the kind of guy that tries to make conversation because he don't know what else to do. The type of guy that just can't sit with his own thoughts. Type of guy that got all types of insecurities and nervous energy. So he can't just shut the hell up.

All I can think about is my throat.

It's getting dry, in this hot Nevada air. We ain't got no air conditioning, no water, and Joe just keeps jawing on. How the hell does a man carry on like that? How the hell can a man not know?

Sometimes you be sitting there, in your own mind, and be having some dark thoughts. Not that you'd do anything about it, but things just cross your mind, you know? Things that you would never do, but things you want to do. Things that you would never say, but want to say.

I'm thinking thoughts like that right now about Joe. As he's talking, about nothing. With that stupid smile. I'm thinking I want to smack that smile off his face. I'm thinking I want to do the man pain. Just to shut him up.

Stop making me feel so bad Joe.

Stop making me go to the dark place.

Two hours to go before we hit the next town and I'm starting to lose the last of my patience. I've been pretty good so far. I've been nodding. I've been smiling. I've been being "normal."

They say you got to mirror in sales. You got to copy. Just smile back. Nod back. Use the same words they do. Use the same tone they do.

It works - up to a point. Up until the darkness sets in. Up until the monster wakes up. Up until the rage swells.

Then nothin' don't matter no more.

I'm sweating like a stuck pig. The sweat is dripping down the small of my back down to my damn asshole and it makes me feel dirty. I don't like the feeling. Not one bit. Makes me feel filthy. Sinful.

I want a shower. I need relief. My mouth is drier than the Sahara, breathing in this hot red sand. But Joe just keeps going on like it's nothin'. Goin' on like he don't care. Making jokes about it and laughing like it's nothin'. Making fun of my pain. Making fun of me and laughing.

I guess it is true what they say: ignorance is bliss.

Yeah, it's hot out. Hahaha.

Yeah, we could swim in our own sweat out here. Hahaha.

Keep laughing Joe. Keep laughing. Maybe you keep laughing when I slam your head against the glass window.

You laughin now?

I know I need to be nice to the guy. After all, being stupid ain't nobody's fault. Just keep the mask on. Just play the game. That's what it's all about anyway. That's what this whole damn shit show is about.

Joe's reading off his notes from his little black book. Keeps snapping the black elastic strap on it and it's getting on my nerves. Keeps telling me about the client. Keeps saying he wants to plan, wants to prepare. He wants to go over what we should say.

I'm thinking of the whiskey I'll have when we get to the next town.

That's when I see it.

Wiping the sweat from my brow in that scorching metal can in that unforgiving desert; I notice something up ahead; on the road.

I can't really make it out at first; the heat waves shimmering up from the hot white pavement, but as we approach, it becomes clear.

A bank bag. Just sitting in the middle of the highway.

As we pull closer, I slow down, I can see it clearly now.

"What the hell?" Joe whispers.

I slow the car and pull to a stop on the highway shoulder, killing the engine. Sweat pours down my back, and everything seems to quiet down. Even Joe.

A hot breeze blows though the open windows, and looking at Joe, the unspoken reality sets in that there's money in that bag. And no one here to account for it.

Now it's just a matter of how much.

I open the car door and get out, walk to the middle of the road, and, taking a pause, I look right and left, wondering if this is some kind of trick from the universe.

But ain't no cars around. Ain't no people around. Nobody.

Besides Joe.

I'm swiveling my head from side to side, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it never does.

I feel afraid. And excited. I feel cautious...

Dangerous.

I pick up the cloth bag and look inside. Stacks of green bills fill the bag. 20 of them.

I hold up the cash to show Joe, who's leaning forward, waiting for the reveal from inside the car.

"There's 20 grand here Joe."

"20 Grand?!" He exclaims.

I'm looking right and left, looking over my shoulder, in the middle of nowhere. The heat shimmers and bounces off the pavement.

I'm alone in the universe with Joe. And $20,000.

I throw the bag in the backseat and we speed off.

It's a while before anyone says anything.

I guess that's what you do when you find $20,000 with a stranger. You plan out what you are going to do with it.

Joe immediately wants to take it back to the authorities. He talks about the right thing to do. He talks about how they'll trace it. How we don't want to go to jail. How he wants to be a role model for his family.

But I'm having other thoughts.

I'm thinking about my life. I'm thinking about my future. I'm thinking how I could finally be someone with 20 grand. I could finally feel human.

Be human.

I could finally stop the whiskey and the loose women. I could finally have a chance.

To be somebody.

Finally.

The idea starts to take hold, as Joe yammers on. He's saying there's probably a reward. He's saying we should do the right thing.

But I don't want to do the right thing.

I want to do my thing.

All I need to do is get rid of Joe.

They say no good deed goes unpunished. They say be careful what you wish for. They say might is right.

I'm thinking of all that right now.

It's a weird moment when you realize you're ready to kill a man.

You never really know how you'll react when it happens to you. Everyone has their conditions. Everyone has their price.

And on that hot concrete road, I learned, that my price, was $20,000.

Not a million. Not $500,000.

No.

Joe Behan was worth 20 grand to me. And I was just fine with that.

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the hangover from the night before. Maybe it was these long years of depression and pain. I don't know.

But I swear to God, and all that is holy, I wanted Joe Behan gone. And I was gonna see to it that it happened.

I just needed an opportunity.

It didn't take long before I got mine. After all, Joe was a family man. A trusting man. A loving man.

That love will blind a man.

So when Joe asked me to pull over to take a leak, I knew I had my chance.

"Yeah, course Joe."

Wadn't long before I can see Joe in the rear view mirror, his silhouette getting smaller and smaller. Can't say that I'm proud of myself, leaving Joe, with his pants down, pissing on the side of the road.

Leaving a family man to die, in the middle of the desert.

Not exactly the Christian thing to do.

But I did it.

And I can't take it back.

I drove to the next town and pulled into a small motel. I'm thinking about my shower. I want to wash away the dirt, the sin. I'm justifying it in my head. Thinking of my future.

I hop out of the car and open the backseat to grab the bag of cash when reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

The seat is staring back at me: empty.

The bag wadn't there...

Sometimes in a man's life you gotta own up, take responsability. You gotta come clean, even when you leave a man to die.

Maybe it was the heat. Or the sweat. I don't know how I missed it, but I did.

I drove back that night, on that highway, to find Joe. Hopefully dead. And with the cash.

I guess I felt relieved because the air was cooler. I wondered if Joe had gotten picked up by another passerby. Had he gotten a ride? Had he taken the money and returned it? Like he said he would?

Wadn't long before I found him. Walking on the side of the road, in the cool of the desert night, holding the bag in his hand.

I pulled over on the shoulder and he got in the car.

We drove back to town together and he sat there in silence. The smile was gone from his face and he just stared straight forward, never speaking a word.

I felt a certain calm set in. Like we finally understood eachother.

I had underestimated the man. And dare I say, I never felt closer to another human being in that moment than I did with Joe.

Arriving in town, we split the cash. And abandoned the job, and the client, and the meeting.

And I never saw or spoke to Joe Behan ever again.