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Harry was busy finishing off a chicken drumstick, and eagerly anticipating doing some serious damage to the half a bunt cake he found on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. The food was doing the job just right. Whoever lived here, sure the hell knew how to cook. Harry had been eyeing the vanilla pudding filling of the cake all through the salad, chicken, coleslaw and half a gallon of iced tea. He had purposely set it right in front of him. He liked to have something to look forward to. Yep, he would always tell himself, life ain’t shit if you ain’t got nothin’ to look forward to.

That’s the way it had been a couple of months ago. He had nothing to look forward to. His job was shit. His marriage had been shit for years. Everything was shit for Harry Palmer. Then he woke up one morning with a purpose. He had been put in charge of something of such importance it was beyond his understanding. All he knew was that he was now the keeper of the scales. Nature was a finely tuned and balanced force that needed constant upkeep, otherwise chaos would ensue. Harry was the one to hold chaos in check. There would always be the weak and the strong, and more often than not, the weak would grow and the scales would tilt, and Harry knew what that meant. With the weak in charge, chaos would reign supreme, because the weak could never control the mighty force of chaos. This is where Harry came in--destroy the weak, keep the scales balanced.

Harry was strong; the weak were his playthings--until he tired of them. Yes, Harry was strong and he constantly tested his strength. Not all tests were grand in scope, like the one he set for himself now. When he saw the cake he wanted it immediately, but he saw a test. Wait till the end, and the cake will be even that much better. Victory was always sweeter after a wait. It wasn’t a large step for Harry, but it was one nonetheless. Any victory makes you stronger, and that’s what Harry wanted—to be the strongest. He knew his job and he did it well. This minor victory would help him grow and in turn help him to his job even better than before. That’s why when he heard someone pull up in the drive he did not stop what he was doing. He licked the chicken grease off his round fingers, and as intense light rudely intruded into the kitchen from the windows in the living room Harry grabbed a fork and took a generous bite of the cake. Ah, he thought to himself, sweet victory. He knew the wait would be worth it, and he was right. And as he heard the engine shut off and the light from outside the cabin settle and illuminate almost the entire kitchen, he told himself he’d wait some more. One victory at a time.

Harry slowly consumed the moist cake, savoring every bite. He let out a slight sigh of gratification as he swallowed the last forkful. The wooden chair creaked under his massive frame. Harry set the fork down gently and brushed away the dark crumbs that had settled on his faded-orange University of Tennessee sweatshirt.

Harry liked his UT sweatshirt. It reminded him of his failures. He wanted to remember his failures, they made him stronger--pushed him forward. He had been weak back then, throwing away a full scholarship. Too much alcohol, too much fucking, too much everything except what really mattered in college. First he was cut from the football team, and then as the depression set in, more alcohol, less studying, and finally no more college. Harry’s body quickly went from a 240-pound wall of muscle to a beer-bellied, 270-pound pile of shit.

No more, Harry thought to himself as he smoothed the sweatshirt over his solid stomach. The belly was gone and it would stay gone. Harry had got himself down to 250 pounds and he was more solid than ever, and although he wanted to eat the entire cake, he settled for half of what was left. Another victory. He smiled.

Harry heard the front door open and close. He wiped his hands on his stiff, blue-jeaned legs. Had to look good when meetin’ people, Harry thought. He ran one hand through his neat marine-cut hair, more out of habit than necessity and rubbed his face with his other. Need a shave, he thought as he slowly turned to meet his host. Harry heard footsteps as someone entered the kitchen and when he turned completely around, Harry found himself looking into the barrel of a .357. The scales were tipping.

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