“I don’t know, man,” Matt murmured, anxiously rubbing his arms as he looked down at the array of arsenal sitting out in front of him. “I’m not sure I’m into this anymore.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Charlie growled. He was too preoccupied with stuffing a duffel bag with guns to look up at his friend.

Were they friends?

“Can you really live with this?” Matt was getting desperate. He saw bars in his future. Iron bars that kept him from his family and the sweet taste of freedom.

He couldn’t live with that.

“Listen.” Charlie slammed the duffel bag on the floor and approached his friend, standing so close that their noses were nearly touching. “Back out now, and you won’t like what I’ll have to do to you. You’re too far in, buddy.”

Matt felt his bladder quiver. The smell of whiskey on Charlie’s breath was nauseating.

“Besides,” the madman turned away and resumed packing. “If we pull this off, we’re set for life! Wouldn’t you like to bring Martha to Costa Rica? You spent your honeymoon in a tent. You could make it up to her.”

Matt felt dizzy. His head was spinning, his arms had gone numb, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“She wanted to go camping.” His voice sounded a million miles away.

Charlie shoved a gun into Matt’s hand and offered a chilling, coy grin. Had he always been missing a couple of teeth?

“Do any of us really know what we want?” With that, Charlie pulled an eerie clown mask over his face, and stalked away.

Matt looked down at the gun and shivered.

Maybe his friend was right.