This was where he had been happy for so long. But the town was getting smaller and smaller, the customers fewer and fewer.

Everything is exactly the same as always, he thought.

He went back around the dividing wall to play a quick round of 501. From 501 down to zero. A couple of triple-20s and some single bulls sped up the countdown. Exactly as always. The darts landed where they were supposed to. The slightly unusual wavering flight, which was the trademark of his darts, made them hit the mark every time. He had 87 points to go when the alarm clock rang.

Nine-thirty.

Still engrossed in the strategy for the last round, he went over to the front door and unlocked it.

Everything was exactly the same as always.

Let’s make it simple, he thought, a simple 15 and a simple 20 and then the one double bull of the morning for 50 points, as the perfect combination: 85. Then only the checkout left, the double ring of the 1. Eighty-seven. No problem. The hard part was putting the third dart in the little black center of the bull’s-eye. A good start to the day.

A good start to a completely ordinary day.

He hit 15 in the outer bed and 20 in the inner, just to make things interesting. The dart teetered at the wire next to the irksome 1, but it held. The wire trembled a bit from the contact. Then the bull’s-eye was left, right in the center. He focused his attention, raised the dart, lined up the ring with the long point, and drew the dart back four inches, exactly at eye level.

The door slammed.

That couldn’t be. It wasn’t right. It was too early. Damn.

He lowered the dart and walked out to the bank office.

An enormous, ox-like man was pointing a big, long pistol at him.

He stood there petrified. Everything fell apart. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Not now. Not now, please. The floor seemed to fall away from under him.