Friday, The 14th
Late Evening
EVIDENTLY, THIS TRUCK STOP WAS NOT A HOPPING SPOT LIKE some places would be at this hour on this particular day. Besides Scott, there was a middle-aged truck driver who was angrily eating his meal, a cook who would disappear in and out of view of the window to the kitchen, and a waitress in a bright uniform carrying a notepad and a fly swatter. The large windows which looked out over a parking lot filled with sleeping trucks provided Scott with a decent view of things. In all honesty, he was quite inexperienced and naive when it came to this. If he was asked to tell about it, he could; if he was asked where to find them, he could tell that also; if he was asked to show where one was, he was at a loss. He assumed, with a fleeting hope, that he would prove to
