A Good Deed

"Do you need a lift?" he said, smiling at the old lady carrying half a dozen grocery bags. 

"Get away from me, you freak." 

He could have left then, let her be stubborn and scared and forgo the help of a good samaritan. 

"Looks heavy is all," he continued, driving slowly at her side, bent toward the passenger door. "I'm one of the good guys. I just want to help, but it's alright if you don't trust me, with everything we hear on the news and all. Proves you're smart."

Her frown deepened, but she stopped walking. "Don't you have better things to do?" 

"As a matter of fact I do. I have a whole series I want to watch, catch up where my buddy's at. He's two seasons ahead," he laughed, which helped get rid of her frown. "Do unto others what you'd like done unto you. Wise Moses said that, didn't he? So here I am." 

His teeth were perfect, disarming, he knew. He noticed the change in her, going from fear to hesitation to acceptance and warmth. He'd seen that often. He had that effect on people. 

"I don't want to be any trouble," she said. "I only live a couple blocks down." 

"Wouldn't have offered if I thought you'd be trouble." He winked. 

She finally walked up to the door and sat awkwardly with all her bags on top of her, as if afraid he'd run off with her provisions. 

"Don't you think society's sick, if we can't help and trust each other no more?" 

"That's one way to put it," she said non-commitingly. 

"I just think we ought to be more generous with each other, more giving. Not to judge, but let me ask you, have you been generous lately? Have you helped anyone?"

 She tensed, as if sensing he might not be what he had let on. 

"You can stop here, I can walk the rest—"

"Nonsense!" he interrupted. "You said two blocks. What can I do for you to trust me? Really trust me? Here, take my wallet in the cup tray. Don't be shy. There's sixty bucks in there. I want you to have it." 

"Please stop the car." She left the wallet alone. 

"I'm serious," he said. "Take the money. I'm sure you need it. Everybody needs it."

"Stop the car." She opened her small purse and took out a gun. It was smaller than her vein-laced fist. A tiny Glock 42 from the looks of it. 

"Now now," he said, driving on. "You won't need that. I'm giving you my money. Why would you need that? I'm just trying to be nice." 

"Let me out or I'll shoot." 

He looked at her before putting his eyes back on the road, his hands at 10 and 2, keeping under the speed limit. 

"I don't believe you will," he said cheerfully. "Here's what's going to happen. I'll drive you up to your doorstep, put those sixty bucks in your hand and drive away. No need to get angry or anything. It's not as if I was trying to abduct you and tie you up in my basement and keep you there for the next fourteen years or—"

"STOP THE CAR!!!" 

He braked hard enough for her to bump her head on the dashboard. 

"Oh dear," he said. "I'm so sorry! It's just that you scared me mightily right there. Why would you shout like that?"

Without answering, she worked the door handle as if it were an eject lever and jumped out faster than her old bones might have suggested.

"You forgot one of your bags!" He called after her. She all but ran to the door of a five-story apartment building, ignoring his pleas.

He got out and went after her, but she had already disappeared behind the locked door. He looked at the names of the occupants, hoping to guess her name. When he couldn't, he left the bag outside the door with a note. 

This belongs to the nice lady with a lovely brown coat and a purple scarf. 

He proceeded to drive back and parked on the street right in front of the grocery store. 

He had more good deeds to do.