She was halfway through a bottle of Californian Blanc and pouring herself another glass.

Finn tossed the dog-eared tourist pamphlet back on top of the Sixties-style coffee table and pulled aside a piece of material passing itself off as a curtain.

The sky was growing steadily darker and the air inside the room felt heavy and oppressive.

'What's happened to the weather?' asked Finn.

'It'll blow over in an hour. If you're worried you're sweating up your new clothes you can always take them off,' replied Marie, raising an eyebrow like she was suggesting something else.

Marie was lying on one of the two single beds with her bare feet dangling off the end. 'This is the nicest motel I've ever stayed in.'

Finn looked up at the cigarette-stained ceiling. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls in several places and the beds were covered with dank bri-nylon throws. Finn would have put money on the television in the corner being a black-and-white.

'Really?' he replied.

'It's the only motel I've ever stayed in, so maybe it doesn't count.'

Marie pushed herself up onto her elbows. 'What happens now? Is there sort of a manual or something, tells you what to do? I've never gone on the run before. I mean, what are you supposed to pack?'

Finn shrugged his shoulders.

'You hungry?' asked Marie.

Finn shook his head. 'Not really.'

'Me neither,' said Marie.

'How'd it go with the Feds on Friday?' asked Finn. 'You never said.'

'God, that seems like it was about two weeks ago,' replied Marie. 'It's hard to believe that was only two days ago.' She let out a long sigh. 'They just went over the same old crap as the cops did. Wanted to hear it for themselves too lazy to read the notes.'

'They were checking you out. See if you'd be a reliable witness.'

Marie was sitting up now.

'How d'you mean?'

'They ask you lots of inane questions then throw in one or two curve balls' replied Finn. 'Staring at you like they were taking in every word, when in fact they weren't listening they were watching.'

'Yeah. One of them couldn't take his eyes off my tits. But it was the other one who was really freaking me out. I thought any minute he's going to ask me on a date. Didn't stop staring into my eyes.'

'They were checking you out,' continued Finn. 'Behavioural psychology. They're looking for your lying zone.'

Marie was staring at Finn in disbelief.

'Did you tell them any lies?' he asked.

Marie thought for a moment before answering.

'I told them I thought you sounded Polish, but that was about it.'

'Polish?'

'It was the only other Catholic nation I could think of.'

'So now they know that I'm not Polish, and that you are capable of lying.'

'Are you kidding me?' said Marie, her face serious now.

Finn crossed the room and sat on the single bed opposite her.

'Turn this way.'

Marie swung her legs round so that she was sitting facing Finn.

He was staring into her eyes just like the cop had.

'You're much better at it than the FBI,' she said.

'What's your name?'

'Guess.'

'C'mon, play the game. I want to show you What's your name?'

'Marie Bain.'

'Where d'you live?'

'Tuscaloosa.'

'You married?'

'Not any more.'

'What did your husband die of?'

'Heart attack.'

'You seeing anyone else?'

'No.'

'You scared?'

'Kinda.'

'Did you lock your bedroom door on Thursday night because you thought I was going to kill you?'

'Yeah, or worse.'

'What else did the FBI ask you?'

'If I'd be able to recognise you again,' replied Marie, flicking through her mind for anything else.

'What did you say?'

'I said, "Who, the black guy in the alley or the guy from Cottondale who knows how to handle a gun?"'

'What'd the agents say to that?'

'Nothing.'

'Okay, we're done.'

'So did you find my lying zone?'

'Everything you said was true except the bit about seeing someone else.'

Marie let out a snort. 'Pah. You're making this crap up. You nearly had me there.'

Marie reached over and grabbed her glass of wine from the bedside table. There was a guy she met occasionally, used to come into McHales. They'd meet up and have sex, but that was it. They had nothing in common: no emotional attachment.

'Bullshit,' said Marie, puffing out her cheeks. 'Just . . . bullshit.'

Finn got up from the bed and grabbed another bottle of beer from the brown paper bag sitting on the low-rise coffee table.

'Okay. How does it work?' asked Marie.

'What?'

'The lying zone.'

'When you answered the other questions you looked up to the right, but when I asked you if you were seeing someone you looked down to the left chances are that's your lying zone,' said Finn, moving back to the bed. 'I ask you lots of questions I know the answer to things I know are true then slip in the occasional question where I don't.'

Marie lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, looking at Finn like she still wasn't sure.

'Okay, let me try you.'

'I've been trained to counter it, so there's no point.'

'Why would you need training in how to avoid answering questions honestly?'

'Is that your first question?'

'I'm serious.'

'Let's play something else,' said Finn.

'No sit down, c'mon, let me have a go. See what I come up with.' Marie didn't wait for Finn's approval.

'Are you Finn O'Hanlon?'

Finn stared straight at her, but didn't reply.

Marie tried again.

'Are you Irish?'

Again Finn said nothing.

'Did you come to my apartment the other night to kill me? The Feds think that's what you're going to do.'

Still no response.

'Well, it's not much of a game if you just sit there saying nothing. These are the easy questions I've still got the curve ball to come.'

'The whole idea is to say nothing,' said Finn. 'If you admit to anything, even something as simple as your name you're engaging with them. They'll twist it round and come at you from all sorts of angles. Before you know it they've got you by the bollocks and you're heading off to jail for the rest of your life for a crime you didn't commit. It's hard, but the rule is say nothing.'

Marie poured some more wine into her glass. 'See, now I've got loads of questions like: who are "they"? Who are you? Who am I? What the hell is this all about? Are you a goddamn spy or something?'

Marie was watching Finn closely for some sort of reaction, but nothing was coming back at her. 'Okay, let's assume that you're not going to jail if you answer my questions,' continued Marie. 'And let's also assume that I'm not interested in finding your lying zone. Can we just have a normal conversation? I won't even look at you if that helps.'

'Okay,' replied Finn.

Marie turned to face the wall.

'What's with the big angel on your back? You got a Travis Bickle thing going?'

'Who's Travis Bickle?' replied Finn.

'You remember in Taxi Driver? Travis Bickle is De Niro's character. He plays the screwed-up Vietnam vet with all the jail tats.'

'I never saw it.'

'What's yours?'

'It's the seraph that appeared to St Francis of Assisi in a vision on Mount Alverna: marked him with the stigmata. He used to drag a cross around with him everywhere he went as an act of penance.'

'The seraph dragged it?'

'St Francis.'

'So is it a symbolic act of penance?'

'You could say that,' replied Finn.

'Did you go through my underwear drawer?'