This time, it wasn't going to be easy. A strait jacket of sturdy canvas bound his arms, and a long chain locked to his right ankle kep him within a certain radius of the bed. He could walk into the loo, over to the window, and back to the bed, no further. He knew he was in trouble. A three-hundred-pound nurse with the psychology of a Mongol cavalry officer sat at his door, and knit a purple Afghan all day, listening to Rush Limbaugh on a small distorted Japanese transistor radio. He was in hell, and there was no way out. Jake sighed.