If the house had ever been painted it had been decades ago, and a handwritten index card duct-taped to the door read, "Owner armed and dangerous.  Nothing inside worth dying for," and another read, "If you have a cold, the flu, or any other plague, go visit a Yankees fan and leave me alone"; but we knew our knocks would be greeted by the gnarled, aged, yet handsome face of its only tenant, Wade Martin.