A second later, a manager materialized out of thin air. His verdict was similar: your error, pay for it. The cashier was crying openly now.

Nobody said a word. My car was ready to go, but I desperately needed to use the bathroom.

"Hey," I said. "Don't cry. Check those numbers. Maybe you've got a couple of bucks."

"Yeah, right! Check those numbers, bro." The line responded enthusiastically. The winning numbers started to run across the black screen on the top of the counter. Sobbing, the boy looked at his couple of feet of tickets. It would take him an hour to check every ticket, and I was about to piss in my pants.

"Hold it," I said, meaning myself. I moved forward, grabbing the tickets from the boy's hand, tearing them along with the perforation, and giving a bunch of tickets to everybody in the line.

"Look for the numbers I'm reading," I said, and dictated numbers off the screen. The numbers ran too fast, so I wrote them down on my bunch of tickets. Alas, I dictated the numbers several times, and nobody found a match.

"Well," I said finally. "Maybe you can give me a restroom key now?"

"What about the tickets in your hand?" the manager asked me. I was so busy picturing myself opening the restroom door and devoting myself to my guilty pleasures that I forgot about my share of tickets. Two of them had no matches, but the third one had the matching numbers of the day!

"Your total win is one million dollars," I said, handing the winning ticket to the dumbstruck boy. "Now, give me the restroom key."

Driving home, I was trying to recall where I heard the words `number of the day.' Somebody mentioned it recently, but I just couldn't recall. The other burning question was the polygraph test. Two in the afternoon tomorrow was less than twenty-two hours away. I should advise Debbie about that. What was this company's name again? Where was it? Even though the kids were back home, and dinner had to be started shortly, I made a wild turn before entering Mooresville, and went to Joe's office.

Running into the office, I howled, "Joe, I have some new dirt!" He wasn't at his desk. I opened the bathroom door – empty. The kitchen looked deserted as well. Bewildered, I looked in the window to see if his car was in the driveway. A nauseating sense of danger came over me.

"Joe! Joe!" I shouted in panic.

A loud snort from under my boss's desk made me walk around and look there. Joe was lying on the floor with his eyes closed.

"Joe, are you okay there?" I whispered and touched his stomach to make sure he was alive.

"Watch yourself, young lady," he said angrily, and opened one eye for a second. "What do you think you're doing?"

"But, I…"

"You're storming into my office during regular business hours, waking me up from a sound sleep, screaming that you have dirt on my client?"

"But, you…"

"My clients are everything to me. They're above any dirt, like Caesar's wife."

"But, she…"

"By the way, young lady, your husband is about to come back from work; and you're here, touching another man's body. What is that all about?"

"I was looking for your heartbeat."

"For my heartbeat…?" He shook with his impossible laughter. "This is my stomach you were touching. My heart is not in my stomach. No-no, young lady. It's down there. Moo-moo."

No sharp comebacks occurred to me this time around. I got out from under the table and went to the kitchenette to get a cup of coffee. How could he call me a `moo-moo'? I did all this legwork, and that was my reward. Unfair.

"Where is my coffee?"

I turned around and there was my boss, sitting in his huge black leather chair, smoking like a chimney. I offered him my cup.