Chapter 1

The blue neon sign said "VAC N Y". Vacancy has vacancies, Errol thought, smiling at the weak pun. He parked his ancient, rust-spotted '65 Datsun pickup in front of the office and climbed out, stretching his back and shoulder muscles. He'd been on the road for over seven hours, and his body demanded relief. The motel didn't look like much, but then he couldn't afford much.

When he stepped into the tiny office, he smelled pizza and cigarette smoke. No one was behind the counter, so he lightly tapped the bell once and waited. He heard movement beyond the black curtain hanging in the doorway that probably led to the owner's apartment. A sixty-something woman with frizzy red hair pushed through the curtain, wiping pizza sauce off her chin with a paper towel. She was a good fifty pounds overweight.

"Need a room?"

"Yes, ma'am. One, maybe two nights. Depends on how I feel in the morning."

She let out a little chuckle and said, "Make it two nights if ya can. I need the business and I can't remember the last time this place was anywhere near filled up." Looking through the window for a passenger in his pickup, she added, "I take it you need a single. You gonna do this on a credit card?" She had a gravelly, low-pitched voice typical of heavy-smoking, post-menopausal women.

"No, ma'am, I'll pay cash."

She slid a registration card in front of him. "That'll be twenty-eight dollars a night. Local phone calls are free but you gotta go through me to call long-distance. There's ice and some vending machines down at the end. You ain't got no pets have you? I charge extra for pets."

"No, ma'am, no pets. I can barely take care of myself."

She laughed at that and sympathized, "Yeah, I know where you're comin' from." She handed him the key and pointed down the walkway. "Room number six is about half way down. Jennie's Diner across the highway is still open for about another hour if you wanna get some supper. They got decent food and it's cheap."

"Sounds like the perfect combination. The smell of your pizza reminded me that I haven't eaten since breakfast. I'll definitely check it out."

"Well, I'd offer you a slice except I just ate the last one. Jennie ain't got pizza, but she serves up a helluva bowl of chili. Have ya sweatin' bullets on the second spoonful."

"Just the way I like it." Errol counted out twenty-eight dollars even and added, "I'll let you know tomorrow if I'm staying for a second night."

"Any time. It ain't like I'm havin' t' juggle reservations."

"Well, g'night then."

"Sleep tight, and don't worry 'bout no bedbugs bitin'. Had the whole place fumigated two weeks ago so there won't be nothin' alive in your room but you."

"That's good to know. Thanks again."

Errol parked his pickup in front of room number six and grabbed his bag. The room was about what he expected; a double bed with a mustard-color quilted bedspread, a bedside stand with a cheap lamp, a TV remote, a small clock radio, and a telephone sitting on an instruction card. There was one vinyl covered armchair and an RCA television sitting on a six-drawer lowboy dresser. The place smelled strongly of disinfectant spray that didn't quite cover the odor of stale cigarette smoke, probably permanently imbedded in the carpet and drapes. And there was still a hint of the pesticide as well. The bathroom fixtures were old but clean. Good enough.

He splashed some cold water in his face, rubbed vigorously with a hand towel and headed across the highway to the diner to appease his growling stomach.

There were only three other customers in the place. Errol took a seat at the counter and grabbed a menu tucked between the sugar container and the napkin holder. It could have been a menu from just about any diner in the country, judging from it's contents.

The waitress was probably a local high school girl. Cute, perky, ponytail. She wore jeans and a pink top. She put on her customer greeting smile and said, "Evening! What'll it be?"

"Evening. Um, the lady at the motel says you have some pretty awesome chili. That right?"

"Never had any complaints. Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty hungry, so why don't you add a double order of onion rings to that. And some iced tea, unsweetened. Couple of lemon wedges if you have them."

"Give me about five minutes. That's today's paper down at the end if you want to look at it."

"Thanks."

She turned to a skinny old man wearing a food-stained white apron sitting on the end stool and said, "Did you hear that Al? Double order of onion rings."

The old guy got up grudgingly and shuffled through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Errol walked down to the end of the counter and snagged the newspaper. The Polk Register was a semi-weekly, according to the legend at the top of the page. The big news for this edition was the peewee league's trouncing of Jefferson at last Friday's baseball game, 26 to 7. Errol looked for and found a half page of comics along with a crossword and a Sudoku puzzle. He took his ballpoint pen from his pocket and went to work. Apparently, challenging puzzles weren't what the people wanted because he had the crossword almost done before the chili arrived. He solved the Sudoku as he ate.

The chili was as good as advertised. And as hot. He wolfed it down and went to work on the onion rings, cooling his tonsils with two tall glasses of iced tea. He paid up and left a two dollar tip. As he was pushing the door open to head back across the highway, he saw a sign taped to the inside. From outside, he read "HELP WANTED".

Hmm, might be worth checking out, he thought. He stepped back inside and waved the waitress over. "Uh, about that HELP WANTED sign. What kind of work is it and who would I talk to about it?"

"That'd be Jennie. She's the owner and she's looking for a short order cook for breakfast and lunch. You had any experience?"

"Yeah, some. When does she come in?"

"The diner opens at six and she'll be here about fifteen minutes before that. Come on over tomorrow and I'll leave her a note saying there's somebody interested. What's your name?"

"Errol. Errol Hansen. Do you know what the pay is?"

"Probably not enough to get excited about, but I expect it's fair for this part of the country. Anyhow, she doesn't tell me what she pays the cook, so you'll have to talk to her about that."

"Right. Good then, I'll be here in the morning. Thanks."

She flashed him a pretty smile and said, "You're welcome. I hope you get the job because we could use some new stock in this town. My name's Valerie, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Valerie."

Back in his room, Errol stood in the shower letting the hot water beat down on his tired, achy shoulders. He hadn't intended to stay over in Polk, but it was as good a town as any, from the little he'd seen of it. The rusty sign out on the highway said "Population 1,156", but who knew how old the sign was. Still, he doubted things had changed all that much since it was put up. Small towns just seem to keep on keepin' on.

So far, the people seemed friendly enough; well, the two he'd met so far. Since he hit the road a few months back, he found that most small towns were pretty much the same; mostly good folks, a relaxed atmosphere and an inward looking society. Pleasant enough, but no place for a person looking to go places and make a name for himself in the world. And that was just fine with Errol because that wasn't what he was in the market for anyway. He was only interested in drifting, watching and learning. And avoiding any run-ins with the law.

Truth is, he really had no idea what he was looking for ... just something else. As he dried off with a thin towel that wasn't quite big enough for the job, he looked into the mirror and pondered the guy looking back at him.

Errol Lars Hansen, twenty-six years old, Army vet, college dropout, now a possible fugitive from justice, and with no family that he had any interest in since his mom died; A young man on the road and in search of himself. So far, nothing was clicking, but he wasn't in any big rush to find his niche in the world. He was convinced that too many people either rushed into, or were pushed into life-long commitments that they were never quite happy with. He was damned if he would fall into that trap. Hell, even if he spent his life drifting from town to town and working part-time jobs, well what was wrong with that? At least he wouldn't be a drain on society, he wouldn't be panhandling on the streets.

He'd graduated high school at age seventeen, joined the Army with his mother's endorsement, and did six years including two back-to-back tours in Afghanistan. Actually, it wasn't quite two tours. He'd just made sergeant and he was leading his first patrol against a local militia when they were caught by an IED. He was the only one with major injuries; a chest wound that collapsed his lung and a broken hip. He was shipped back home and spent two months at Walter Reed recovering from the damage. Two surgeries and a metal hip later, he decided one Purple Heart was enough and opted against reenlisting.

After his discharge, he enrolled at a university in West Virginia, thanks to the GI Bill. He did okay grade-wise, but he couldn't decide on a major. He really had no idea what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, so he dropped out after two years and decided to explore the country, hoping some serendipitous event might eventually point him in a positive direction.

He withdrew his total savings of two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-six bucks, bought the old Datsun pickup from one of his classmates for three hundred, spent another three-fifty on tires and minor repairs, and headed west. No plan, no particular destination, no particular ambitions, just go and see what was out there.

Even if he got the job at the diner, he couldn't say how long he'd hang around town. Probably just long enough to build up some cash reserve, maybe a couple thousand bucks. That's what he'd done in the first two towns he spent any time in.

And that's what he was planning to do in the third, but something happened that now laid heavily on his mind. He'd taken a life. He'd taken lives before in Afghanistan, but this wasn't the same. It wasn't war. And although the life he took needed to be taken, he'd have had a hard time proving it, so he just left. He had no idea if he was even being sought, but he knew it would be foolish to assume otherwise.

And now, two states later, his cash reserves were under a thousand dollars, and in today's economy, that wasn't going to last long. First thing on the agenda, if he was offered and took the job, was to find a cheap room somewhere he could rent by the week or the month. Maybe the motel owner could steer him toward something.

He set the radio alarm for 5:30 so he could be there when Jennie showed up to open the diner. The early bird gets the worm, and that sort of thing. He crawled under the blankets wishing the bed was a little less firm, but he was bone tired and had no trouble falling into a deep sleep.