The TV had been a Christmas present to Hal from Regina, who had won the set selling mail-order jewelry. Every time Mike saw it, the thought of the crappy Magnavox Hal still kept over the bar at the Elbow Room amused him. The muffled yammer of the television was the first thing he heard as he approached the cabin. It wasn’t quite so amusing tonight. He thought about trying to get a look through the east windows to see if he could get the lay of the land in there, but he didn’t care to break an ankle crawling around the piled, jagged rock apron in the dark. So he climbed the steps up to the porch, walked heavily across the pine boards, and announced himself in a loud, clear voice on his way through the front door: It’s Mike, I’m coming in, don’t shoot my ass. The way it turned out, he didn’t have to worry. Mike found Minnesota Public Enemy #1 passed out on the old leather couch by the fireplace, snoring loudly over the cackle of an after-hours infomercial. He stopped with his hand on the latch and scanned the rest of the room.
