Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 26, No. 6, May 27, 1981

An Easy Fifty Bucks by Donald Olson

Jerry would have driven past the man standing beside the road with a suitcase had he merely raised his thumb instead of stepping boldly into the road and flagging the car to a stop. Clamping both hands firmly on the window ledge, he thrust his head forward through the open window and said, “My car broke down back there. I need a ride into town.”

Jerry made a practice of never picking up hitchhikers no matter how plausible their stories sounded. “I’d like to, but—”

“Thanks, pal,” the man cut him off, pulling the door open. He looked quite capable of keeping the car from moving by sheer animal strength. Jerry’s first impression was of a once well conditioned muscle man gone slightly to pot. He had just enough flab to give him the appearance of some bearlike creature, with almost as much black hair visible beneath his open denim shirt as was on his head. As he flung the bag into the back seat, Jerry noticed the elaborate tattoos, one on his bicep, the other on his forearm.

Still, there was nothing menacing in the broad smile he turned on Jerry as he climbed in beside him. His blue eyes were as strong-looking as his other features.

“Where are you headed?” Jerry asked.

Mopping his broad face with a soiled handkerchief, the man said, “I was supposed to be in Meadville tonight, but I’ll never make it before dark.”

“Well, I’m only going as far as Warren,” Jerry said, conscious of the sweaty fumes pouring from the man’s body.

“Warren.” The man appeared to be consulting a mental map. “That’ll help.” He settled himself into a more relaxed posture. “Name’s Sid Jacobs.”

“Jerry Melacker.”

“I really appreciate this, Jerry. That damn suitcase is too heavy to lug very far in this heat.”

“Why didn’t you lock it in your trunk?”

“Too risky. I’ll be lucky to get a mechanic back there before the wheels are ripped off.” A quick grin crossed his face. “Not that I’m worried about it. It’s a rental.”

“I can drop you off at the first service station.”

“There won’t be one before Warren, will there?”

Jerry agreed that there wouldn’t be and resigned himself to the fellow’s company for the next twenty miles. He seemed harmless enough, even friendly, but there was something about his heavy-lidded eyes, and those tattoos.

“Are you a salesman?” Sid asked.

“An engineer. Do you live in this area, Sid?”

“No, I’m from Pittsburgh.”

“You look as if you might work in one of those steel mills down there.”

Sid accepted the compliment with a lazy smile, bunching his arm muscles to take up the slack of flab. “I used to work out a lot when I was in California.”

They remained silent for the next couple of miles until, as if deciding he owed it to Jerry to be more sociable, Sid asked Jerry if he had a family in Warren.

“Just my wife,” Jerry replied.

“You’re lucky. I got no one. I suppose she’ll have dinner ready for you when you get home. That’s what I miss about not being married. I end up eating alone most of the time.”

“My wife’s not home,” Jerry said. “I just dropped her off. She’s spending the weekend with her folks.”

“So you’re all on your lonely, eh?”

“ ’Fraid so.”

“You live in an apartment?”

“House. Complete with mortgage. But we like it.”

“You must do O.K. Nice set of wheels you got here.”

Jerry laughed. “At least they’re paid for.”

“A guy really has to hustle to keep up with this crazy inflation.”

This remark failed to lead into any sustained conversation and, as if he had fulfilled his duty, Sid lapsed again into silence until the traffic started to pick up as they approached Warren. Then he said, with an air of having been struck with a brilliant idea, “Say, Jerry, how would you like to make an easy fifty bucks?”

Jerry darted him a wary look. “An easy fifty bucks?”

“I was just thinking. I’m not going to make Meadville tonight, so why drop thirty or forty bucks on the Holiday Inn or whatever they’ve got in Warren? You put me up for the night and I’ll pay you fifty. How’s that sound?”

The idea did not appeal to Jerry. “I don’t know, Sid.” He uttered a nervous laugh. “You’d find better company at the Holiday Inn.”

“Are you kidding? I’m sick of motels. I spend too damn much of my life in ’em. What about it? We’d be doing each other a favor.”

Jerry still didn’t like the idea. But the fifty bucks sounded good and if Sid had been going to pull anything funny he’d already had plenty of time to steal Jerry’s wallet or make off with his car. He was just too paranoid, he told himself. That was what Marjory was always telling him. Moreover, he didn’t especially relish the idea of going home to an empty house. What harm could it do to let Sid spend the night?

“O.K., Sid,” he agreed. “But you’ll have to take pot luck unless you go out to eat. I’m not the world’s best cook.”

“Hey, don’t give it a thought. I can stand to shed a few pounds. All I want is a place to sack out.”

Sid appeared even more relaxed now, positively jovial in fact.

When they arrived at Jerry’s ranch-style house on Poplar Street he was extravagant in his admiration. Jerry unlocked the door and Sid followed him inside with the suitcase.

“You can put it in here,” Jerry said, leading the way to a small tidy bedroom. Sid glanced around, nodding approvingly.

“Your wife’s a wonderful housekeeper. Not like my old lady.”

Jerry looked at him. “I thought you weren’t married.”

“Not any more I ain’t. Ten years I put up with her, then I split.”

“The bathroom’s down the hall. Take a shower if you’d like. I think I could use a drink. What’s your pleasure?”

“You got any beer?”

“It’ll be waiting for you after you wash up.”

As Jerry fixed himself a drink he listened to the splash of the shower and was suddenly glad he’d agreed to let Sid stay over. He seemed like a nice guy, if a bit rough around the edges.

Freshly showered and with his hair neatly combed, Sid looked even less menacing. Jerry waved him to sit down in the recliner and handed him a beer. Sid took one sip and then snapped his fingers. “Hey, I better call a garage before I do anything else. Know anyplace?”

“Try Marty’s. He knows me. I’ll give him a buzz.”

“Sit still. I’ll do it.” Jerry told him where to find the phonebook and Sid made the call. “Line’s busy. I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

Jerry finished his drink and stood up. “Have another beer while I scout up some grub. I took a steak out of the freezer. We can share it. And I’ll rustle up a salad.”

“Hey, man, don’t put yourself out. Just slap a sandwich together.”

“Oh, I can do better than that.” The drink had made him feel mildly euphoric and removed any lingering doubts about the wisdom of inviting a stranger into the house.

While Jerry stuck the steak under the broiler and tossed a salad, Sid wandered about the kitchen making small talk. Jerry declined his offer to help. Sid looked out the back door. “Nice patio. Mind if I look around?”

“No, go ahead.”

Presently Sid returned and said he’d phone the garage again.

A minute later he called out to Jerry from the living room. “Your pal Marty must do a hell of a business. I can’t get through to him.”

It was growing dark by the time Jerry had dinner on the kitchen table. As they ate, Sid entertained Jerry with the astonishing variety of his adventures. He said he was part Mohawk Indian and part French. He was originally from Oneida County but had run away when he was fifteen, traveled with a carnival, landed in Los Angeles without a dime, got a job as a bouncer, worked as a bellhop, then as bodyguard to a famous rock singer, and got into weightlifting and karate, before eventually settling down to construction work. He said he found it impossible to settle for very long in one place.

Back in the living room after helping Jerry with the dishes, Sid asked him if he knew any karate.

Jerry shook his head. “But then I try to avoid any situation where I’d need it.”

Sid regarded him speculatively. “I could have told you that.” His eyes appraised Jerry’s slim, small-boned build. “But you never know when it might come in handy. Here. I’ll show you a few moves.”

Jerry responded warily to this suggestion. Sid laughed. “Come on, I won’t hurt you. Take a swing at me.”

Jerry clenched his fist and tossed a half-hearted punch at Sid. The big man neatly deflected it, spinning Jerry around and pinning his arm behind his back. It was all done very gently.

Then he said, “You got a knife around here?”

“Knife?”

“Jackknife, butcher knife — anything.”

Jerry felt a momentary qualm, but he could hardly say no. He returned from the kitchen with a steak knife. Again Sid laughed. “Don’t look so nervous, buddy.” He turned his broad back to Jerry. “Now come up behind me and make like you’re going to stab me in the back. Like you really mean it.”

With the knife in his hand, Jerry felt more confident and did as Sid instructed. Before he quite knew what had happened he was flat on his back on the rug and Sid was looming over him with the knife. A sensation of pure terror paralyzed him.

For a moment Sid appeared to enjoy the look on Jerry’s face, then he grinned and tossed the knife onto the chair. Jerry brushed the sweat off his upper lip, then slowly relaxed. There seemed nothing to worry about. He had been totally at Sid’s mercy and nothing had happened.

Sid crossed to the phone and picked up the receiver, then looked inquiringly at Jerry. “Is there something wrong with your phone, or what? Now I don’t even get a busy signal.”

“Let me see.” Jerry took the receiver. The line was indeed dead. “It was O.K. this morning.”

Sid shrugged. “You can’t depend on anything nowadays.” When the line was still dead a few minutes later, Jerry said he’d better go next door and report it.

Sid told him not to bother. “What the hell, it’ll probably be O.K. in the morning. Anyway, your pal Marty can’t do anything for me at this hour.”

“So what would you like to do?” Jerry said. “I think there’s a ball game on TV. You like football?”

Sid replied with a noncommittal shrug. “Not especially. What about a few hands of poker?”

Jerry got the cards and sat down across from Sid at the kitchen table, with a beer for each of them, even gladder he had invited Sid to stay. He toyed with the idea of offering to drive him to Meadville in the morning. It was a Saturday, he had the weekend free to do as he pleased, and it would give him something to keep his mind occupied. He had been under a lot of pressure at the office lately and a long drive would help settle his nerves. But he decided to wait until morning before broaching the idea. He might have changed his mind by then.

Now Sid advanced an idea of his own. “What do you say we make this a little more interesting, play for stakes of some kind?”

“Quarter a hand?”

Sid made a face. “That’s no fun.” He looked at the kitchen clock. “Suppose we play until eleven. Whoever’s ahead takes the whole pot.”

“What sort of pot?”

Sid gave it a moment’s thought. “I need a car and from what you said I sort of get the idea you could use some extra cash. You car’s worth what? About four grand?”

Jerry was already sure he didn’t like the idea. “About that.”

“O.K., if I win I take your car. That’ll solve my immediate problem. If you win I give you four — hell, make it five — grand.”

Jerry laughed. “You mean you’ll write me a check?” Did Sid really think he was that naive?

“Cash.”

Jerry stared at him. “You mean you’ve got five grand with you?”

“Want to see it?” Sid was clearly amused by Jerry’s reaction.

Jerry quickly shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not that brave a gambler.”

Obviously Sid had not actually expected Jerry to go along with the idea. “O.K. We’ll make it a quarter a hand.”

At eleven Sid started yawning. Jerry said, “I think you’re ready for the sack.”

“You’re right. I’ve had a hell of a strenuous day.”

Jerry replaced the cards in their box as Sid stood up, stretching and running a hand over his face. “O.K. if I borrow your razor and give myself a shave so I won’t have to waste time in the morning?”

Jerry said, “Sure, go ahead. It’s on the shelf in the bathroom.” It seemed odd that Sid wasn’t carrying a razor in his suitcase.

As Sid moved toward the bathroom Jerry said, “Tell me something. Were you kidding me about wagering my car against five grand in cash?”

Sid regarded him with a foxy smile. “Nope.”

“But you might have lost.”

“No chance.” Then, with an air of utter candor, still smiling, he said, “I cheat.”

Jerry laughed. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“I only cheat when the stakes are high enough. Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t.”

“Never? Not even a little chiseling on your income tax?”

“No.”

“How about on your wife? You ever cheat on her?”

“Never.” His tone clearly expressed resentment at the idea.

With a slight smirk, as if pleased at having touched a nerve, Sid said, “What about her? She ever cheat on you?”

“No!”

But Jerry’s quick, angry flush gave him away.

“Now I know you’re fibbing,” Sid laughed.

For a moment Jerry hated the other man. But what difference did it make? He’d never see him again after tomorrow. “Maybe once.”

“Once? You’re sure about that?”

“Positive.”

Sid seemed to be enjoying this little game far more than he had enjoyed the poker. “How do you know she’s not cheating on you right this minute?”

“I told you. I know where she is.”

“She often go off on weekends alone?”

“Occasionally.”

“To visit her parents?”

“Yes.”

“You ever check up on her?”

“No. Why should I? It only happened once. It won’t happen again. I trust her.”

Sid nodded toward the living room. “I’m afraid I don’t share your faith in women. How about another little wager? Call your in-laws. If your wife’s there, you win twenty bucks. If she’s not — well, we’ll think of something.”

Now it was Jerry’s turn to laugh. “You forgot something. The phone’s out of order.”

Sid shrugged. “Then we’ll never know, will we?”

“I know.”

“As long as you’re happy, pal, that’s all that matters. It’s your life. But you know something? For all you’ve got here, your good job and your cozy little nest and your ever-loving wife, I wouldn’t trade your life for mine.”

“Exactly as I feel,” Jerry said, deciding he had finally figured Sid out. At heart he was nothing but a gambler, one of those guys who were never happy unless they were betting on something. Jerry didn’t altogether regret the hospitality he had offered Sid, but he certainly was not going to drive him to Meadville.

While Sid was in the bathroom Jerry switched on the light in the guest room and turned down the bed. Without intending to open it, assuming it was locked anyway, he lifted Sid’s suitcase onto the bench at the foot of the bed. But then, hearing the water still running in the bathroom, his curiosity got the better of him. He tried the clasp. It sprang open.

Jerry raised the lid and stared, dumbfounded, at the neat stacks of bills, still in their bank wrappers. But what alarmed him even more than the money was the revolver nestled in it. Unable to move, he stood gaping down at it.

“Surprised, pal?”

Jerry swung around to find Sid standing in the doorway, the heavy, sculptured lids of his eyes crinkling in an amused smile.

Obeying an impulse that sprang from pure panic, Jerry reached down for the gun. But before he could turn it on Sid the big man was upon him, moving as swiftly as when he had demonstrated his skill at karate, wresting the weapon from Jerry’s hand and shoving him backward across the bed.

“You shouldn’t be so curious, Jerry boy.”

And then Jerry remembered the news flash he’d heard on the car radio that morning. He’d had too many other things on his mind to pay much heed to it, but now the sketchy details came back to him. A lone gunman had robbed the Bradford Fidelity Bank and Trust Company.

“You’re the bank robber,” he stammered. “I heard about it on the radio.”

“That’s right, pal,” Sid said, holding the revolver aimed at Jerry. He reached down, slipped a fifty-dollar bill from one of the packets, and tossed it on the bed.

“Relax, buddy, I’m not going to stick you for a night’s room and board. Buy your wifey a new dress or something.”

Jerry cursed himself for not relying on that first impression of menace that had emanated from Sid as palpably as the fumes of his sweat.

Sid stood looking down at him. “The question is, what do I do with you now?”

“Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I swear I won’t say a word about this.”

“Won’t you? Maybe I ought to borrow your wheels and split right now instead of having you drive me to Meadville in the morning as I’d planned. But I’d rather wait till the heat cools down a little.”

Jerry realized now that Sid must have cut the phone line when he was outside. “If you’re smart you’ll go now. If someone tries to call and can’t get through they might think something’s wrong.”

Sid sneered. “Like wifey, you mean? Forget it, Jerry. I know these broads. Married or single, they’re all alike.”

“You’re wrong. Marjory will try to call me. She always does.”

“Then it’s a chance we’ll just have to take. Now move ahead of me into the kitchen. Slowly.”

In the kitchen Sid rummaged around until he found some clothesline. Using a paring knife to cut two lengths from the coil, he instructed Jerry to lie prone on the floor and proceeded to bind his ankles and wrists. “There. That ought to keep you out of trouble,” he said, and with exaggerated concern for Jerry’s comfort he fetched a pillow from the bedroom and arranged it under his head. “Now try to relax, pal. In the morning it’ll all be over.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Jerry asked.

Sid laughed. “Don’t let it keep you awake. It don’t make a damn bit of difference it you can identify me. They’ll have made me by now from my prints. I’ll ditch your wheels once I’m safely away from here. And even if they catch me they won’t find the money, I’ll make sure of that.” He started for the door and smiled. “You’re a real nice guy, Jerry, even if you are sort of dumb. But don’t worry, hear? Wifey’s not going to be a widow yet.” He switched off the light and presently Jerry heard him moving around in the bedroom before climbing into bed.

Jerry shut his eyes but he didn’t sleep a wink. Would Sid keep his word? If he intended to kill him, wouldn’t he have done it by now? Or did he think it would be wiser, just in case someone did surprise him before he could get away in the morning, to keep Jerry alive so there would be less risk of facing a murder rap?

The sun shone brightly across the floor when Sid came into the kitchen. He looked well rested and jovial. “Sleep O.K., Jerry?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, well, you can make up for it tonight.”

He filled the tea kettle and put it on the burner, spooned instant coffee into a cup, dropped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, and poured two glasses of orange juice.

Once he had eaten he put his hands under Jerry’s shoulders and propped his back against the cupboard. “It might be a couple of days before you’re set free, pal. I wouldn’t want you to starve.” With extravagant courtesy he held the glass of orange juice to Jerry’s lips and forced him to swallow it.

“I hope your neighbors aren’t looking out the window when I drive off in your car,” Sid said.

Don’t bet on it, Jerry thought. Especially that nosy Agnes Belinski. She was always glued to her screen door whenever he and Marjory had one of their spats.

Sid looked down at Jerry with a philosophical smile. “Buddy, I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated your hospitality. But all good things must come to an end, right? Where are your car keys?”

“On the living-room table by the door.”

Sid went to the bedroom and returned, suitcase in hand. “Don’t be too bored, pal. And do like I said, O.K.? Buy the little woman a pretty dress.”

Jerry listened as the door closed between the kitchen and garage. As soon as he heard the car drive away he let the tension drain out of his body. He didn’t even mind the numbness in his wrists and ankles. He was alive — that was all that mattered.

He tried not to think about how long he might remain helpless. Soon he would begin the effort to free himself. The cutlery drawer was only a feet away. Somehow he could reach one of the knives and cut the rope that bound his ankles.

It was past noon by the time he managed to free himself. Before deciding what to do next, he stripped off his clothes and took a long hot shower.

Then he made himself a stiff drink. He was just finishing it when the police arrived.

“Mr. Melacker?”

Jerry stared at them stupidly. “How did you find out?”

“About Jacobs? His luck ran out. A state trooper pulled him over for speeding on the expressway and recognized him. He’s in custody.”

Curiously, Jerry felt a pang of compassion for Sid. The feeling defied explanation, and yet it was true: a part of him had wanted Sid to get away.

“Jacobs told us he’d tied you up but hadn’t hurt you. Apparently he wasn’t lying about that.”

“You’ve got the money, then.”

The officer shook his head. “Not yet. But we’ll find it. It wasn’t in the car.”

“He said you’d never find it.”

The officer smiled. “There’s not too wide an area where he could have stashed it between here and where he was picked up. We thought for a while he wasn’t as smart as he thinks he is. Figured he pulled a boner when he didn’t get rid of the pick and shovel.”

Jerry stared at the two officers. “Pick and shovel?”

“They were still in the trunk of your car. We figured he must have used them to bury the money. There was an oily deposit on both implements. Only one area where they could have been used. The old refinery property on Wellman Road. No one goes there any more. It seemed a likely spot. As soon as we found the tire tracks leading in, we thought we were right — it didn’t take long to find the spot where it looked like he’d buried the loot.”

The nervous warmth that had suffused Jerry’s body for the last several hours faded, leaving him with an even more uncomfortable sensation of coldness.

“We didn’t find the money, Mr. Melacker. But we found your wife’s body, and the knife that killed her. The lab boys will have lifted the prints by now. Jacobs said you told him you’d dropped your wife off shortly before picking him up. By any chance is that what you meant?”