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thumb over his shoulder.   “C’mon man, think you can make it?”
    “Just get me the hell out of here.”
    “On three.   One, two…three.   Let’s go!” hissed Danny.   The two jogged across the front two rows of the parking lot—the defendant, despite his wounds, easily kept pace with Danny’s awkward, rumbling gait.   They reached the old brown Camry safely and jumped inside.
    Less than a minute later they were safely on the road and three blocks away, taking every turn a different direction.   Danny checked his mirror—no one was following them.   “Okay, there’s not many people out…but get down in front of the seat so no one sees you…”
    “Oh, gross…what is this?” said the defendant.   He shifted his weight on the seat to the sound of crinkling fast-food wrappers.   “What—do you live in this thing?”
    “Hey, I’m a reporter—sometimes I have late hours…now shut up and get down—I’ve got to think.”
    “About what?” asked the defendant.   He burrowed down in fast food wrappers and empty coffee cups and was nearly concealed by debris trapped between the seat and the dash.   “Ugh, something down here stinks…”
    “You got a name?” asked Danny as he drove.   There were only a few people on the streets and they all wore flu masks.   They watched his car suspiciously.   He resisted the urge to floor it and get out of town.   Remember, word spreads fast in a small town.
    “Thomas.   Thomas Sang.”
    “Nice to meet you, Tommy.   I’m Danny Roberts, ace reporter,” he added ironically.   “You got a place to stay?”
    “I was at the Holiday Inn out by the interstate…but I doubt they’ll let me back in now.   Everyone in this town is out for my blood!”
    “All right, take it easy.   First things first, we gotta find a place to hole up.   You need to rest and I need a drink.   You drink, Tommy?”
    “Yes, and it’s Thomas.”
    “Sure, Tommy.   Now where the hell are we going to take you?”  
    Danny took the next turn to the right, heading back toward the interstate when he saw it through a copse of trees on the side of the road.   The welcome sign was hanging by one chain, dangerously lopsided over a very nicely un-cut patch of neglected landscaping.   There was a tree branch in the driveway and an oak tree that looked about to follow the branch leaned precariously over the lobby.   The Motor-On Inn.
    “Perfect,” said Danny.
    Sang stretched his neck up and peered over the greasy hamburger wrappers that littered the car’s dash.   “Oh, my God .”

C HAPTER 5

    Danny paused before opening the motel room door.   He looked left and right, then checked the parking lot again.   Not a soul in sight.   The lot held two cars, his old brown Toyota Camry and the motel owner’s equally-old Subaru Outback.   There were no cars on the access road and only the occasional car speeding along I-75.   It was a gloomy, gray, autumn morning in Kentucky.   The air was heavy—there were sure to be storms later in the day.
    Satisfied there was no one else around, he put the key in the lock and stepped through the door carrying his plastic bags of food and medical supplies.   He juggled the two hot coffees in his left hand and dropped the keys on the chipped table just inside the door.
    The motel room was definitely nothing fancy and in Danny’s mind was only one step up from sleeping in his car…but it kept Thomas Sang out of sight of the angry townspeople.   After all, he had been exonerated by Judge Klein.   Surely , Danny had figured, Thomas could get out of Brikston in a few days—just as soon as Moore fixed his car.   With any luck, all this nonsense would blow over by then.
    He saw Sang sitting on the edge of the far bed—poor bastard looked nearly as bad as he did yesterday.   “You get a chance to take a shower, Tommy?   Clean yourself up a bit?” asked Danny.
    “Yes.   And it’s Thomas, for the twentieth time.”
    “Okay, well,