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pictures all looked the same after an hour or two. He only succeeded in confusing himself on what the sexy thief had looked like.
    “You’re lucky she left you anything at all,” said a hairy, overweight sergeant. “Ya musta been good in bed.” He laughed with a sneer, but seeing that Zack wasn’t smiling, he added, “All you can do now is wait.”
    “How long does it usually take?”
    “We may bust her today, or we may never catch her. My guess is she skipped town, maybe to Chicago, and she’s pulling the same scam. The thing is, even if we catch her, you’ll never see your money again.” He shrugged. “Sorry. Here’s my card. You can call us in a week or two to check if there is any progress on the case. I’ll write the case number on the back.”
    Zack drove back to his motel and shoved his few belongings in his suitcase. He didn’t want to work in this town anymore. He headed further south.
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
    Zack spent two days reading classified ads and making phone calls in Cincinnati. He went on four interviews that resulted in zilch. “Computers,” one agency told him. “That’s where all the jobs are. The big bucks, too.” Well, that was nice, but he wasn’t interested in computers.
    Motels were out from now on. His sore neck reminded him of the past two nights of sleeping in the car. How long would $172 last? He supposed it would last a week, maybe two, if he ate sparingly and drove 55 to save gas.
    He entered the familiar expressway.
     
    ---
     
    He wasn’t sure if it was the name Michaeltown that seemed to grab him and pull him off the highway or maybe, he thought, he needed to take that exit because his stomach ached for food and his gas tank was running low. Anyway, he exited and drove east along a rolling country road, where thick woods alternated with open pastures. The sign at the freeway said 8 miles to Michaeltown, but it seemed as if he’d gone much farther, and still he saw no town.
    Suddenly, he caught sight of red flashing lights in his rearview mirror. Hopefully, he doesn’t want me , he thought. A police car roared up behind him. Slowing, Zack pulled off onto the shoulder so the patrol car could pass, but the lights didn’t go by as he expected. Through the rearview mirror, he could see that, instead of coming out of the car right away, the officer, as if to torture him, waited a few long minutes before approaching Zack. When he finally decided to come out, Zack was expecting to see an Andy Griffith-type cop. Out stepped a medium-height, but extremely thin, policeman in a tan uniform, cowboy hat, and dark sunglasses. He looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, with gray hair, a bushy mustache, and sideburns. Zack spotted the white ticket pad in his right hand and a pen poised in his left. Reaching for the handle, he opened the door to get out of the car.
    “Stay in the car,” bellowed the officer, pausing behind the rear bumper until Zack closed the door. He moved forward, leaned over, and inspected the backseat, then the front, and stepped up to Zack’s side window.
    “What’s the problem, officer?” asked Zack, in a friendly tone of voice. No sense making him angry.
    “You were speeding, boy. Let me see your license and registration,” he said with a patronizing Southern drawl.
    “But I was only doing forty.” Zack wasn’t sure how fast he had actually been going, but he gave a low estimate.
    “Forty-two,” stated the policeman emphatically. “The speed limit’s thirty-five.” He started writing the ticket, as Zack handed his license and registration to the officer. “Sign’s half a mile back. You just entered the city limits. The maximum speed’s 35 in town. 25 down on the main street.”
    Zack looked around at the thick forest along both sides of the road. Ahead, all he could see were heat waves rising up from the road. “I don’t see a town. Where? I didn’t see any speed limit sign, either.”
    “Ain’t life a bitch, huh, boy?”