How to Play the Game

Summerville, Georgia Matthew parked his truck in a cutaway halfway up the dirt and gravel mountain road. It was nearly dark. The sky above the thick overhanging foliage was a blaze of orange among the swirling cumulus clouds. On the ground though, darkness had crept in to the point where he would soon need a flashlight. He suited up for the cold hike up the mountain-a trek that, hopefully, would lead him to the cabin where Doug Faust was hiding out. With the help of a printout of taxable land parcels, Matthew was able to piece together the approximate location of Doug's property. The information was available to the public if the public knew where to look.

The tool for this particular job would be his Weatherby rifle. With that baby, he could squeeze off a single shot without Doug ever being aware of his presence-provided that his prey left the cabin at some point, that is. He did not want to draw local attention to what his mission, though gunfire was probably a daily racket in this rural region where hunters were in abundance. Still, he figured, the less attention he garnered, the cleaner his escape.

His other option was hand-to-hand combat. Doug was an older man, but he looked to be in fairly good condition. Matthew had to think of his own health. He still had a month to go in this competition of his own making. To subject himself to a few good body shots, or even a firmly placed blow to the head, might mean him being out of commission for a few days-something he could not afford.