Harmon massaged the casino token between his fingers and glanced around the room that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and a sharp odor of bleach. He knew better than to touch the gambling chip, but did it anyway. It was just one more mistake in a string of poor decisions he had made lately, like bringing his wife on the phony interview trip to Scranton. Lying to the only person who trusted him was the biggest mistake. And at least a portion of his brain knew it. The same part that knew he shouldn’t gamble. The very part that seemed to be in charge lately.

He tried to clear his mind and brought his eyes back to the television. There were only a few working channels and nothing worth watching, but he kept the volume low to not disturb Carlie. Over the last two hours she slept while he struggled to stay awake and wrestle with his conscience. For the second time in their 14-year marriage, he was what his grandfather would have branded a barefaced liar. There was no other way to put it. This wasn’t a little white lie; a claim to like some new hairstyle. This was gutsy. And he could rationalize all he wanted the decision not to share the real reason with her. It probably wouldn’t matter that he had tried to protect her in the event they got caught. To Carlie, lying was lying. Period.

At some point he would be forced to resort to man’s tried and true method for de-scorning a woman¾try his damnedest to convince her he was merely a good-hearted imbecile. She would probably believe that¾at least the imbecile part. Didn’t women expect guys to do dumb things? And weren’t they more likely to forgive an idiot than a conniver? It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

Keeping the volume low also made it easier to monitor any activity coming over the cell phone’s radio. Since leaving their house that morning, he had heard the dog stir on the other end and occasionally sniff the strange device that smelled like his new owners. At least that part of the plan was working.

He felt like he had consumed too much coffee. His thoughts seemed to race and jump with each flick of the remote. As he considered just how many blue laws had probably been violated in that room, a cockroach skittered across the floor. He had killed one earlier. A big bastard too, like those palmetto bugs down in Florida that screamed when you stepped on them. If he got another burst of energy he would get this one too.

The heavier his eyelids grew the more uncertainty crept into his head. Every choice he had made in the last twenty-four hours seemed wrong. As though someone else made decisions for him, while he watched from the sidelines.

That morning, when they set out, Harm had seen their car trail boldly a quarter mile or so behind. For thirty minutes they followed, before finally exiting near a sign for the World’s Largest General Store. Harm continued to scan his rearview mirror the rest of the way to Scranton in case they reappeared.

When the pizza guy pounded on the door earlier in the evening Harm had jumped up and reached for his gun. He fumbled with it like an excited Barney Fife trying to load a bullet into his police revolver. Carlie had stared at him like he had lost his mind. And maybe he had.

These men weren’t likely to knock. They were twisted enough to drive through the front door. Still, there arrogance infuriated Harm, the way they followed him and Carlie in broad daylight in the same, undoubtedly stolen, car he had seen them in days earlier. He hoped they were as cocky the next time they broke into his house. The results might turn out a bit different with Maui on duty. Guard dogs didn’t have to explain to anyone why they killed intruders. It was their job.

He stretched and yawned, and for the first time noticed his muscles were cramped. Since the big discovery he had run on adrenaline, and he remembered as a boy too little sleep always gave him body cramps. He closed his eyes for a moment to consider the last time he had felt that way.

Suddenly, he was hip deep in a farmer’s sorghum field as a pheasant takes flight to his left. He watches the green and red tinged body floats upward with its long tail flowing behind like a rudder. In an instant he noted the distinctive white band of a ring neck rooster and raised his gun into position, aimed and squeezed the trigger. But nothing happened. In mid air, the bird turned around in a sweeping motion and squawked as its razor sharp beak zeroed in on his face. He clawed at the trigger and was jarred awake to a blaring infomercial, his thumb clinched on the remote volume button.

He lowered the sound and blinked a few times to get his eyes focused. The token had slipped from his hand and rolled across the carpet in a lazy arc before it spiraled to a stop. He stared at it absently and hoped the killers would not show. What seemed so simple in the light of day now seemed stupid, and sloppy. Desperate men like these weren't simply going to walk into their house, allow a dog to trap them, and then wait for the police to take them merrily back to prison. Still, there was no choice but to stick to the plan, no matter how lame it seemed at the moment. All he could do was keep Carlie and him away from the house, and hope the plan fell into place. He tried not to think about what they would do if the men decided not to show. They couldn’t hide in the dumpy motel, in the middle of nowhere, forever. Harm prayed Maui was ready to earn his keep.

Reluctantly, he picked up the token from the musty old carpet. He squeezed it between his thumb and index finger and hoped it would somehow bring back his confidence.