Malcolm Davies yawned as he trudged to the little dining room off the lobby. The Hawkeye Inn was quaint, picturesque, tastefully decorated. Colm didn't give a shit. It was just another in a long string of motels, each one further away from Seattle. He had rolled into this little town in- Nebraska? No, wait, it was the Hawkeye Inn, not the Cornhusker Inn. It had been three in the morning, his eyes heavy with fatigue. He vaguely remembered the desk clerk, a tall woman with dark hair and blue eyes. Her name had been Siobhan, he was pretty sure. An old Irish name.

Like Maureen.

He shook his head angrily at the thought of his erstwhile girlfriend. [i]Come on, Davies, get it together.[/i] Still yawning, he ran through his plan for the day. Get a cup of coffee, maybe some eggs. Gas up the Tahoe, keep heading east. Maybe hit Chicago next. Or maybe that was too far. Maybe just as far as the Quad Cities. He hadn't gotten much sleep. Not with that thing peering at him from the bathroom door.

It was still earlyish, eight or so. He had just given up on sleeping. A holdover from his long nights on stakeouts, watching some punk's home for any sign of activity, anything at all. Except this time it felt more like he was the one being staked out. By a bunch of mice, no less. What a load of bullshit.

The French doors to the dining room were invitingly open, and Colm smiled at the inviting scent of a dark roast. Smelled like good quality stuff, too. Far and away above the usual motel coffee. Always a plus. His pace quickened slightly.

Colm came to an abrupt stop as a man came out of the doorway. He was very tall, nearly seven feet, rail-thin. Caucasian, with that smooth unblemished skin that makes it almost impossible to guess an age. And dressed in a dark green suit, a bit old-fashioned. The tall man grinned at Colm, with a mouth that seemed like a huge slit cut in his face. The grin was almost impossibly wide, almost literally from ear to ear. Colm was almost taken aback at the sheer size of the man's mouth.

"Watkins was right," the man in the green suit said.

"Beg pardon?" Colm asked. He wasn't quite sure what the man was trying to say.

"You are going to breakfast?" the tall man continued. His voice was just off. He had no accent, but the inflections, emphases, and pauses were just all wrong. Like he read English perfectly but rarely had the opportunity to speak it.

"Yes, sir," Colm replied patiently. He had come across several eccentrics and harmless crazies in his time as a cop. All you could do was wait them out.

"Good, good!" the man said with his enormous smile. "That is how you get big and strong!" Maybe it was the man's height, but he seemed to be looking past Colm. Like he was speaking to someone else behind him. "It is always good to eat, and this town is so good for eating!"

"Of course," Colm said with a nod.

"It is an intersection. A crossroads. The best eating is always there. But there's more to life than food, eh?" The tall man winked, his huge grin still stretched out as he walked off in long, ambling strides. "And welcome to Rainey, Detective!"

Colm stared for a moment, unsure whether he had mentioned his vocation. After a moment he shrugged. He had probably said something in his sleep-deprived state. Getting out of this town was sounding more and more attractive. 

Colm sauntered into the dining room, poured himself a cup of what proved to be an excellent Colombian roast, as well as some eggs Benedict and bacon. Even for this complimentary breakfast, all the food was of very high quality, cooked with expensive ingredients. Maybe that's what the tall man had talked about.

He looked around the dining room, saw only one other person eating. A young man with shoulder-length hair and a blue turtleneck despite the summer heat, leafing through a newspaper. Might as well leave him be. He settled in at an empty table, eyes on the door. Cop habit. Always good to see who was coming and going.