The Chevy Berreta accelerated off the shoulder and onto the highway.

Jake didn't waste any time. This wasn't chess. Where's the thrill when you spend too much time thinking? A little thought, sure. But don't dwell on what your opponent's next one hundred moves might be. You'll end up worrying. Predict at most the next two moves. This was more like checkers.

Jake said cheerfully, "You on your way to the Bay?"

"Me?" Svenson choked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, falling back on the script he'd memorized, he said, "I'm going to Roseville."

"That where you live?" Jake said, amused that he'd startled the fed with the abrupt questioning.

"Uh—yeah."

More questions followed. Are you married? Have kids? Is this a business trip your on?

As the minutes wore on, Svenson searched his memory for what to say if he were to ever feel uncomfortable. Like he did now. The hitchhiker wasn't expected to be this talkative but, fully aware that this hypothetical conversation he was having was being heard by the agents following in the van, Svenson wanted to seem the one in control. Svenson caught his eyes stray to the hidden microphone in the dash. He whipped them back to the highway. He took a deep breath. He released it.

He said, "How—"

"Where're you coming from?" Jake said, cutting-off the agent, grinning all the while as if unaware of his impetuousness.

Svenson coughed aloud, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me?" he said. He then coughed again in an attempt to regain his composure. He was tense enough as it was. It didn't take much of an irregularity in conversation on the part of the potential suspect to put him on edge.

Jake happily repeated himself. He was having a great time toying with the agent's mind.

". . .Reno," came the hesitated response.

And just like that Jake decided not to say another word for a while. Give the agent something to think about.

As they drove through the low rolling hills, passing vast fields and wide patches of farmland, the overcast sky darkened with the vanishing twilight. It would soon be night. For a little while longer they traveled in silence.

"You a gambling man?" Jake breathed suddenly. This had the effect of an incoming bomb.

"What?" Svenson cried, tensing up. He never thought he would see the day that he would come face to face with a dangerous criminal and be presented with those same infamous words. Hastily he slid a hand towards the concealed 9mm shoulder holstered under his jacket.

Jake said swiftly, "You said you were just in Reno?"

Agent Svenson paused. And then he sighed noticeably. His trembling ceased. He was reassured by the clarifying words of the hitchhiker. He made a mental note to not to relate his job to what he saw on television. He took a deep breath. He released it. He said, "I. . .I try to avoid casinos." He feigned an itch on his left side and then returned his hand to the steering wheel.

Inwardly Jake laughed, delighting in the panicked antics of the federal agent. But on the outside he continued to play it warm and friendly with the accent of someone who wasn't very educated. Deciding now to set the agent at ease, to erase any doubts the trigger-happy cop might be experiencing, he said, "Yeah—for a while there, I didn't think that anyone was gonna' stop and give me a ride."

Releasing the breath he'd held while the hitchhiker had spoken, Svenson said,