On a shabby motel bed at the outskirts of town, a killer tossed and turned. Samuel Struthers, as yet unidentified by police, had crossed three states putting distance between himself and justice.
In a Memphis alley, he knifed a man who had flashed a bulging wallet at a bored waitress. Disgust mounted as Sam counted the money. Two hundred and change, mostly in small bills. The shortsighted showoff wasn’t Sam’s first, and the billfold’s meager holdings assured that the next would come soon.
Sam lay wide awake in the motel bed, but not from any sudden attack of guilty conscience. Unable to help himself, he’d consumed several packages of Twinklers on top of two hotdogs and a cherry-chocolate milkshake. Sam’s cramping stomach did not feel appreciative. In the darkening room, he listened uncomfortably to its churning and gurgling with queasy dread of the long night in front of him.
As he turned side to side, the confined contents of his bulging bowels wanted to rise in revenge. Gasping and gagging, Sam shifted onto his back. He needed to be prepared for a mad dash to the toilet, unsure until the final second which end to aim into the porcelain bowl.
He’d heard a car door slam then muted movements in the adjacent room. The rumblings of the hot water heater resembled those of his own stomach. Since then, quiet settled and he was…
