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evidence of a table full of truckers who had devoured a sloppy breakfast of pancakes, hash browns and gravy biscuits.
    Have a safe trip, indeed, he muttered to himself, indignant. He rolled out in a hurry, hitting the highway like a bat out of hell.
    He had to pass through two more weigh stations along the way, and both times he feared his heart might burst from the anticipation of being found out. Each time an inspector approached he slid his hand beneath his denim jacket and touched the handle of his eight-inch hunting knife sheathed underneath.
    Fortunately, no one showed an iota of interest in Jack; they just checked his stickers and sent him on his way. To them, he was just another long-haul trucker trying to get back home.
    After several hours of driving, he was almost home; less than half an hour separated him from his dear Dianne. He missed her so much. His stomach churned in anticipation of holding her close again. He was ready to get all this behind him, get his passing grade, and return the waitress back to her life unharmed.
    Jack glanced down to check his gauges, and with a profound sinking feeling realized he was nearly out of gas. There was no way he would make it back to Jacksonville without stopping to refuel.
    Jack pulled the rig and its precious cargo into a truck stop at the next exit, and opted for the most desolate pump island, which still was not nearly as secluded as he would have liked. Anxiety snaked through his guts.
    Good fortune, by nature, was fleeting, and, even though he was close to the end of his long drive, he knew it would only take one slip to bring on his undoing. His father used to say that discretion was the better part of valor.
    Jack wondered if that statement applied to this situation.
    Probably not , he decided.
    Two days prior to this haul, the worst crimes Jack had e ver committed were petty misdemeanors: the occasional consumption of amphetamines to help him stay awake during a long night of lonely driving, a shoplifting incident back in junior high school.
    But now he was a felon, a kidnapper; he had gone over the waterfall at the end of the world. He knew that after tonight he would be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.
    But the Goddess had insisted, and Jack had obeyed; had there been an alternative? If she would have instructed him to embark on a killing spree to earn her affections, he had no doubt that he would have gleefully opened a thousand throats to appease her demands.
    After he finished pumping gas, Jack strolled over to the convenience store where he found an antiquated pay phone screwed haphazardly into the wall. He picked up the receiver and hastily punched in numbers from the back of his prepaid phone card to call home.
    No answer.
    He started to call again, but changed his mind and set the handset back in its cradle, disappointed.
    As he stuffed his hands in his pockets to warm them against the frosty night, he felt a something crumpled in the left front left. He knew he needed to haul ass, but it was a five dollar bill. He could win a million more for Dianne; against his better judgment he turned and walked inside the store to try his luck on a scratch-off lottery ticket.
    He scratched the ticket and was astounded to find that he had won twenty five dollars. This random luck was a pleasant surprise and he felt triumphant as he proudly lay the winning ticket down for the cashier to pay out his loot.
    The young man behind the counter seemed extraordinarily fidgety and nervous; Jack became suspicious of him right away. He suddenly realized that the lighting in the store was too bright; headache inducing fluorescents caused him to squint uncomfortably.
    “What's the matter?” John asked the kid at the counter. His voice sounded too loud in his own ears, as though he had just shouted in a cave.
    The jittery young man cut his eyes to the right and shook his head a few times quickly. “N-Nothing, sir,” he stammered. His long brown hair swung back