Frank trudged steadily along the nature trail, his head held down into the stiff breeze which blew through the valley from the north-west. Though it was late July he was dressed in a windbreaker against the chill.

He had walked many miles every Tuesday as a habit, in winter and summer, but this spring he had discovered the charm of the government-maintained nature trails situated around the outskirts of the city. One of these was only five minutes by car from his home and now he used it regularly. He had followed his usual routine this morning: up at seven, an hour later than on workdays; then breakfast and a couple of hours of maintenance and work about the duplex. He had left for his hike without waking Diane, whose practice was to sleep until ten or eleven each day.

Frank was perhaps fifteen minutes into his walk when he saw the dog. It was a large heavy-coated collie, its eyebrows and muzzle turned white with age. It wagged its tail slowly as it barked toothlessly at him from where it stood blocking the pathway ahead. He had often seen it before, it belonged to an old woman who frequented the paths, possibly every day, and wore field glasses about her neck. Frank picked up his pace, adopting what he hoped was a purposeful stride, and as he passed the woman he nodded curtly. "Morning," he added, passing by and was relieved to see that she didn't stop him this morning. She sometimes did so, and though he didn't mind talking a moment, she had proven hard to shake in the past, rambling on endlessly about birds she had spotted, and wildflowers in bloom, and where exactly to witness these spectacles, until Frank had learned to appear too occupied to stop when he encountered her. This seemed to work, and when he did speak he contrived to do so without appearing to actually stop, edging steadily past as she spoke, then waving a cheerful goodbye as it became evident he hadn't time to visit that day. They usually met at about the same place each week, especially if he was punctual in beginning, she being near the end of her customary circuit, and he just beginning his.

Being a slave to habit, Frank customarily followed exactly the same path, and so he could predict within five minutes at what time he would return to where his car waited; he could tell whether he was early or late by glancing at his watch as he passed certain milestones along his route. Today however, he left the travelled pathway and followed along an old rail fence that passed through the forest. After a time the other side of the fence became pastureland, the fence was in a better state of repair, and there were No Tresspassing signs posted at regular intervals to keep hikers out. In the distance Frank could see a small herd of beef cattle standing quietly watching him, their white faces turned in the same direction in mute curiosity. At this point a large basswood had fallen alongside the fence, and he climbed up onto it to afford himself a better view. He watched the peaceful pastoral scene for a few minutes, then walked the length of the huge log to where he intended to jump down at the butt end. His boots rang hollowly as he stepped on the naked bone-white wood, and after returning to the ground he peered into the end of the hollow tree. It must have been dead a long time, to be hollowed out so far up in the trunk, the bark and upper branches had disappeared long ago and the wind had completed its final destruction only recently. The cavity was at least twelve feet deep and about one foot in diameter, the surrounding tissue soft and pulpy, and when Frank pulled at it he found it to be dusty and ridden with insects. Fearing wood ticks in his skin he left it alone, but sat contemplating it for some time. Surely something must live in there?

Finally Frank checked his watch and realized his detour had put him a half-hour behind. He would take a short-cut to stay on schedule, he thought, although he couldn't have explained why he bothered; there was nothing waiting for him to hurry home about, in fact he usually found excuses to further absent himself from the house. He visited his parents for an hour sometimes, or dropped in briefly to see Tom, knowing Leila was always home on Tuesdays. Today he did neither, and since he didn't need books at the library, and couldn't think of any other errands to run, he returned home directly, arriving there shortly after two o'clock.

Diane was still dressed in her housecoat, and was seated in the livingroom watching a soap opera. A cup of instant coffee sat balanced on the arm of the chair, and her uncombed hair was clipped alongside her head with combs.

"Been up long?" Frank queried sarcastically as he examined her appearance.

"Quiet!" she replied irritably, and returned her full attention to the set.

Frank was in the kitchen running the tap to get a cold glass of water when the commercial break started. Diane brought her coffee cup out and began to push things around, clearing space for it on the counter next to the sink.

"I don't know why you feel compelled to interrupt so Frank. Nobody interferes with you when you take off for four hours to do your thing, whatever it is. And you needn't feel so superior. I've been asking you for three days now to change that light-bulb at the end of the hall. And furthermore, did you stop to consider whether I might want the car before you took off traipsing through the woods for four hours, leaving me stranded here? You're so selfish, Frank, you make me sick!"

"For Christ's sake, I've been walking to work half the summer, and you haven't shown any inclination to do anything ambitious enough to require the god-damn car! And 'furthermore', as you are so fond of saying, do you think it's normal to require a man to change a fucking light-bulb Diane?" He was shouting now. "How can you be so useless?"

"I don't need you to change it. I just want you to do a little bit around here, help me out for a change. You live here too, you know, you ate off these dishes just as I did. Housekeeping is the most mundane thankless work there is, and I don't see why I should do it all. You're just a male chauvinist pig!"

"Right Diane. Where did you hear that one, on t.v.? Fine. I'm not going to listen to you harp about it all afternoon. Turn your idiot box off. We'll do it right now." On impulse he strode angrily to the television and slammed the volume button in with the palm of his hand. "And, if you turn it back on, I'll throw my boot through it!"

He turned to the housework with his usual energy, perhaps accelerated today because of his anger. He moved quickly, in precise efficient movements, and argued quietly to himself as he worked. Quarrelling with Diane never failed to upset him; he normally didn't raise his voice or swear much, but today he had threatened her. He hadn't done that before and to realize he had bullied her made him feel small and mean. Still, he determined not to fall into the old trap, making up to her and heaping blame on himself as always. He was right, by God, and things just had to change, but still his stomach burned and the anger left him with a shaky, keyed-up feeling.

He worked steadily for an hour and a half, until things began to look a lot better to him. He had washed several meals worth of dishes, pots and pans, and while the water was hot and soapy he had cleaned the countertops, stove-top and table. He straightened out the livingroom and swept the kitchen floor. He dampened a sponge-mop in the sink and cleaned the floor, working towards the hallway as he scrubbed. That done, he leaned the mop against the door frame and went to see what Diane had accomplished. As near as he could tell she had dressed herself and had made the bed. There was a pile of clean but unfolded clothing in a rumpled pile on top of the bureau, it had been there several days, and she was now beginning to put it away. As he entered she looked at him with an insolent wide-eyed stare, and he felt his ire returning. He took his novel and glasses from the bed-side table and left without speaking to her. He stepped into his boots and went outside where he dropped into one of the wooden armchairs provided for the tenants downstairs.

Frank tried to read for an hour or more, but finally gave it up as a bad job. His eyes would skim uselessly over the words and when he reached the bottom of the page he would realize he had understood none of it. His mind was occupied with Diane, and with that foolishness he had begun yesterday with Tom McDermott. Why had he done it? Tom was just a seasonal replacement, a casual acquaintance who would move on out of his life when summer ended. Frank had learned in the past about trusting these transitory, work-related friendships, he had made the mistake of sharing private thoughts and emotions only to have such confidences betrayed after the person moved on to other assignments and the inevitable drift occurred. Now he had done it again. Not that planning the robbery was such a serious affair, and Tom would probably never repeat it to anyone who might harm Frank, but this was a daydream he had nurtured over the years, he had taken it out and refined it when he felt low, and now he could never again pretend he had a secret failsafe caper planned. Should such a robbery ever take place, there would be at least one person, perhaps more, who would know who had engineered it. The idea left him with a sense of loss.

The sun had dropped behind the house now, and it was cooler in the shadow, too cool to sit comfortably without a sweater, so Frank took his book and returned to the house. The television was playing again, Diane seated in front of it watching a game show in which contestants spun a roulette wheel for prizes. He made himself a sandwich and washed it down quickly with a glass of milk. "I'm going to the store," he said as he stepped through the kitchen door, without waiting for a reply, if there was any. He took his time, sauntering along, intending only to purchase a lottery ticket at the convenience store and return home, but when he had the ticket in his hand, he turned not toward home, but in the direction of Tom McDermott's. As he neared the corner of Tom's street he could see the aging half-ton in the laneway and decided to stop in for a moment, but when he got there he found no-one at home. Disappointed, he retraced his steps toward home.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Frank allowed himself some extra time next morning in order that he might ride to work with his partner. The weather had changed overnight and it was almost as warm at six-thirty as it had been the entire previous day. He covered the distance quickly, then rapped softly on the kitchen door. He saw Tom look up from the coffee he was stirring and signalled for him to enter.

"Hi. Did you make me a coffee?"

"Sure. There's lots in the pot, help yourself. You know where the cups are kept."

Tom was never cheerful first thing in the morning and his manner now reflected this. Frank paid no mind. By the time they were halfway to work he would come around and be as talkative as ever.

"I dropped by last night, around supper time. There was nobody home though."

"No, we went out riding all afternoon and didn't get back much before dark. Damn cold wasn't it? We had to wear our leathers. Had a very interesting day though, I'll tell you all about it on the way in."

This morning Frank drove while Tom hunched over a second cup of coffee in the passenger seat, sipping it down carefully until there was no danger of the hot liquid spilling over in the moving vehicle. Then he slouched back in the seat and addressed his partner thoughtfully. "Yes, I had a very interesting day yesterday, Frank."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I got to thinking about the 'lottery', you know, or rather I didn't get to thinking about it, it's all I've thought about for three days. I remembered one time, I was on my way out home., I was following an armoured truck through East Wessen, and it turned left at the bakery, heading towards New Stamford. I didn't remember which company it was, or even the exact time of day. So … yesterday I took a little ride, and stopped for coffee at the restaurant next to the bakery. I nearly missed them, I had just got my coffee when the truck went by. It wasn't one of ours. I knew I had lots of time because their next stop had to be New Stamford and there's only one possible delivery there, so I finished my coffee and then followed.

After they left the Royal Bank they took the old highway to Upton, and this is where it gets interesting Frank, you know the way the road weaves along and crosses and recrosses the new highway for about eight miles? Well, it actually crosses three times in all, and there are a couple of great spots along there where your plan might work well, only problem is, they could decide to follow the new road for any part or all of the distance, and we might miss them."

He looked at the amazement registered on his friend's face and laughed. "However, the last part of the way into Upton, they have to follow the old road. It's not travelled much and there's a spot where the traffic could be detoured down a gravel road to the new highway. There's an S-turn along there and between the curves is a spot that can't be seen from either direction. On one side of the road is maple bush, and on the other side is a big farm. So if we were to…"

"Tom, have you lost all contact with reality? We're talking about armed robbery here aren't we? Do you usually get inside your fantasies and walk around in them like this? Why did you go to all this trouble?"

Tom snapped at him crossly then. "Because I am serious about this Frank. If you're not interested in utilizing this plan, I know some people who will be. Now, do you want to win the lottery or not?" He was visibly excited, and had raised his voice until he was almost shouting across the seat. He realized this now, and checked himself, lowering his voice until he appeared calm once more. "I mean, Christ, Frank, did you just dream this up for entertainment; is it just pure fantasy to you? If you don't want to make use of it that's fine, but don't feel cheated if someday you read in the newspaper how your plan has made somebody else rich."

The rest of the distance was travelled in silence, Tom apparently disgusted at his partner's indecision and lack of interest in his findings. Frank, on the other hand, was in a quandary. Now that the proposal was being serious considered he found discussing it excited him physically. He felt light-headed and his senses seemed honed to a sharper perception of things, giving them an unreal quality. He felt stronger and more able than he was accustomed to do. Was this the 'high' that men became addicted to when they learned to face danger for thrills? Surely not, for concomitant with these symptoms were an uncomfortable pulling in the pit of his stomach and a feeling that his bowels had turned to water.

When they had arrived at work and Frank had backed the vehicle into its customary spot neither man moved for several minutes. Frank weighed the pros and cons, unable to make a decision either way, feeling increasingly under pressure as the seconds ticked by in the silence.

"All right, we'll have a look … it doesn't mean I'm in … and even if I like the location I might still not want to go along, in which case you can do what you please about it and no hard feelings. Okay?"

"All right!" Tom exclaimed animatedly, his fist raised in rebellious salute. He offered his hand to seal the bargain, and when they shook hands he converted it upward into the brother's handshake he and his biking buddies used to demonstrate their affection and solidarity.

"Now settle down, Tom," the older man admonished, attempting to conceal his delight at the other's reaction. "I don't need you bouncing off the walls of the truck all morning, you'll drive me crazy."

They discussed the matter no further that day, though several times when their eyes met Frank would shake his head in consternation. When the day ended Tom insisted they go at once to further investigate his findings. When Frank demurred he enticed him with the suggestion that afterwards they travel overland to his father's farm and catch some fresh trout for supper.

"Let's drop by home first. I'll tell Diane where we're going and change out of this uniform. I suggest you do the same. We can take my car for a change."

The site Tom had found appeared to be made to order for their purpose. The old narrow pavement ran more or less parallel to the new highway at that point and the distance of a mile or so between was covered with maple bush. Every mile or so gravel concession roads crossed both of them and joined the two so that traffic might be diverted to isolate any one stretch of it. The driver of the truck would be unlikely to use any of the gravel roads and so would use the only paved approach to the village. At one point there was a sharp S-turn in the highway, and it was here Tom proposed to block the progress of the armoured transport. The only thing that bothered Frank was that the best location stood along the front fence of a farm, whose house and buildings stood some distance from the road.

"I don't like it, Tom. That house being there means witnesses. What if they get suspicious and call the police before we even see the truck? You think we're going to set up a roadblock right in front of a farmer's house and he won't come out to ask what we're doing?"

"If we're convincing enough to get the truck to stop, we can convince some farmer and his wife, and the house is a quarter- mile away, Frank. There has never been a safer place for a robbery. Admit it."

"Yeah, It's about as good as you could ever want. Maybe you could check out what kind of activity goes on in there on a normal day. Maybe there isn't even anyone home during the daytime. On the other hand we don't want to try to close the road the day the local ladies meet here for their quilting bee or whatever. The more familiar we are with traffic patterns and people's habits around here, the better. Now, let's go fishing!"

Later that evening Frank and Diane picked the last fragments from two one-pound trout.

"Frank, this is wonderful. I haven't eaten a fresh trout since I was a girl. My father used to bring them home from Algonquin Park. Thank your partner specially for me, will you?" "Sure," he replied, deep in thought, as he extracted a bone from his mouth. He was troubled. Tom was wild and daring enough to actually go through with it, and he was probably guilty of something, counselling crime, no doubt. Moreover, the idea was dangerous even under such ideal circumstances, and he worried about that. Frank's cautious and well-reasoned approach to things would be indispensable if the plan were to succeed.

All during the next day Tom pursued the topic relentlessly. He began with several well considered questions. How did they propose to halt the truck? It would have to be very convincing or the driver would never ignore his training and jeopardize his cargo or his mates on any suspicious pretext. How would they make good their escape afterwards? After all, it would be more difficult to disappear into the back country than it would be in the city. They would be a long distance from any safe place and from the air their vehicle could be quickly spotted. How would they detour traffic while they were about their mischief and would they require more people to affect this precaution? Most importantly, what about an alibi?

Frank patiently worked out these and a number of other problems in detail until Tom should have been satisfied, but he continued to worry about it, mulling it over quietly and then beginning once more, with specific concerns too minor or hypothetical for Frank to have considered before. Finally he asked Tom to give it a break, he was getting tired of the whole idea, and each time the subject got serious he felt the familiar butterflies in his gut, the warning that his very anatomy recognized this thing as dangerous and wrong.

Monday morning Tom started right in again first thing, with renewed vigour, but Frank was better prepared this time. He had found himself plotting all weekend despite himself, and he had worked out many of the finer details to his satisfaction. There would be a great deal of preparation required beforehand, but that would make things go more smoothly and guarantee a safe getaway. Many of these preparations would require planning in themselves, for they involved the commission of a number of lesser offenses. The in-depth discussion slowly produced a master plan which provided for every eventuality. Hypothetical problems were worked out and as each man became more familiar with the intricacies of the plot, the familiarity emboldened them, for though they were merely discussing it, they mentally ran through the entire crime repeatedly, until Frank realized his body no longer quaked at the idea, he had placed it under his mental will. He had reasoned the fear away and now felt secure. Still, he had not committed himself. He continued with half his mind to say that the whole situation was pure conjecture and he need not involve himself beyond the planning stage in any case. Finally, a glitch appeared that seemed to save him. A third person would definitely be essential to the perfect plan. Traffic from one direction could be easily rerouted; all they would require would be a couple of stolen barricades and a detour sign. Upton is a sleepy little village isolated from the main highway, so traffic would no doubt be light, but Frank wouldn't feel comfortable unless all possibility of witnesses were eliminated. He therefore proposed blocking off traffic from the other direction after their quarry had passed a certain point. A third man stationed at the crossroads could also advise them when the truck was approaching.

Frank had become fascinated with the concept of creating the perfect robbery and he could find no way of safely eliminating the third man. He was relieved at this really, for it effectively put an end to their plans and he began to feel more relaxed. He would simply refuse to accept any suggestions Tom might make regarding this third man; he had no intention of trusting a stranger, and he could easily discredit any rounder of Tom's acquaintance that he might propose. When they agreed about the necessity of an additional accomplice he felt confident the subject was finally closed. For several days the topic barely arose. Tom was satisfied they had gone as far with the planning as possible, and Frank remained adamant in his rejection of any new proposals from him. Things returned to normal, they began to play cribbage once more, and Frank believed the matter was finished.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"The summer has passed so quickly," Frank was thinking as he rode in the half-ton towards Tom's house at the end of an uneventful day. "It seems like only a couple of weeks since I first laid eyes on this guy, and here it is getting on toward the end of August. In another two weeks he'll be gone. I wonder how much we'll stay in touch once our paths diverge once more."

He preferred to return to Tom's house in the afternoon and then go the remainder of the way home on foot. After being cooped up all day he found he had no appetite if he didn't exercise in some way before supper, and the distance between their homes made a good twenty-minute work-out. When they arrived today however, Tom wanted his partner to visit awhile.

"How about a pint Frank? Leila was saying this morning she hadn't seen you in awhile."

"That's true. I've been pretty punctual lately, haven't I? I'd better watch that, Diane will think she's got me retrained." In fact he was pleased that Leila had been asking after him. She was pretty, and good company, and Frank enjoyed the company of women. He always missed the contact with that fifty percent of the world from which his employment and his possessive wife segregated him.

They entered through the kitchen door. "Lee, I'm home! Frank's here too!"

Leila joined them then, her long dark hair flowing down over one of Tom's plaid work-shirts, which was knotted at the waist. "Hi Frank," she smiled warmly at him before she nuzzled into her husband's neck. "Have a good day?"

"Boring as usual, but otherwise okay, I guess. Things just haven't been as interesting since we cancelled the lottery, eh Frank?"

The offhand remark startled him, coming so unexpectedly, and he shot his partner a sharp glance. Leila's laughter made him realize the cat was already out of the bag. It was apparent she had understood fully what the remark really signified.

"Relax Frank. She knows all about it. Christ, she went along with me when I first scouted out the location. I mentioned it to you then but I don't think you were really paying attention. Then, you got so paranoid about perfecting the plan and taking every precaution I was afraid to remind you for fear you would scuttle the whole idea … which you did in the end anyway," he added glumly.

"But how could you do this? I mean, involve Leila. Don't you realize that if we had gone through with it, which we very nearly did, she would have been an accomplice? That was never my intention, and I think you were wrong to do it."

"No Frank," Leila began to explain calmly. "He was right. I know things are different for you, but Tom and I are partners in ways that you and he could never be. I know you depend on one another, but he and I are biologically programmed to complement each other as well. What is more, Tom would never make a decision of that magnitude without getting my approval. Our very future together would hang in the balance." She paused for a moment while he watched her organize her thoughts for a second onslaught. "So you see, I not only knew what you were contemplating, but I approved of it. That's not to say I didn't worry for you, but the plan was such a good one in the end that I couldn't fault it. Tom had an answer for every objection I could find. There is a risk of course, but if Tom wants to take it (and it is after all, a well calculated risk), why shouldn't he? I'll stand by him if it doesn't work out."

She went to the refrigerator to fetch beer and Frank watched his friend smiling at him from his seat at the table. He was quite without a reply, never before had he witnessed such an avowal of loyalty, solidarity and trust. He could never in his wildest imagination expect it of Diane, although this kind of interdependence must once have been more commonplace between couples. What had been a strong attraction and affection for this woman had now been transformed into an honest admiration. He was reminded of one of Tom's current clichés. She certainly "had her head together."

He also realized that as he extended this trust to Leila, his co-conspirators had grown in number. There were now three friends who knew of the plot. Leila handed him a beer and he sipped it from the bottle.

"I tried to talk Tom into letting me go along, and he wouldn't hear of it, but I finally convinced him. After all, there is very little risk for me. I hide near the corner, and watch for the truck. I signal to you guys that it's coming and then close the barricade after the truck passes. Then I leave; go home. I want Tom to get me a little motorcycle, one that's equipped for the highway. I'll drive it back to town and then ditch it somewhere and come on home."

"You can drive a motorcycle?"

"I drove Tom's Harley."

Frank laughed at that. "I'm not surprised. There could be more to it than that. What if there's a car behind the truck, or in front? You'd have to try and separate them some way."

"Maybe, but no-one stays behind an armoured truck for long, and this is a back country road really. Besides, if things look awkward, we simply abort and do it again another day," said Tom. "What do you say? Want to reinstate the lottery? Think of it Frank. We pull this, and no matter what happens, whether we succeed, or even if we should fail, your life will never be the same again."

It was just the sort of clear-sighted, truistic statement that makes for good oratory, that exhorts a man to raise his voice in assent, to demonstrate his support, and Frank felt compelled to state irrevocably whether he would stand by his comrades or not.

He threw up his arms in mock surrender. "All right! I give up. You've worn me out." He grinned at each of them in turn while they whooped and laughed with excitement.

His steps were light as he neared home that evening. He was late and he knew Diane would be virulent. It didn't matter. He had a secret, the most important of his life, and though his outward appearance had not changed, he had left the beaten track of his narrow habit-ridden existence for ever. Things could never be the same again. Once consensus had been obtained on the project at last, he and his partners had set to work in earnest. They had set a date for the robbery: six weeks hence; the first Tuesday in October.

There were preparations to be made, some of which would be evening projects; fabricating signs, disguises and equipment. Materials would have to be purchased for this purpose and carefully stashed somewhere. A truck would have to be spotted also and later on someone would have to steal it. A small motorcycle would have to be added to their apparatus. Detour signs, barricades and hardhats, binoculars and lineman's spurs were all needed. More importantly, alibis and cover stories would have to be fabricated and supported as nearly as possible. He warned himself to slow down as he took the kitchen stairs two at a time. He would have to remain cool at home throughout all of this; very cool, making up good excuses whenever working on the project, and never letting on for a minute how wonderful, alive and adventurous he was beginning to feel as preparations went forward.