It wasn’t like you were wearing it out.It’s not like they had less than they started with. “Leave her.”They were nothing but drunk Indian chicks. The girl was sitting in the alley, dazed, surrounded bydiscarded advertising leaflets that had blown out of theDumpster. Theytook a few seconds to get some clothes on the girl. When Reed finished, Clay was back in uniform. “You about done?” he asked, as the Bobbie Gentry songtrickled out into the alley. Clay keptturning and finally found a country station playing “Odeto Billy Joe.” An all- news station was babbling aboutRobert Kennedy’s challenging Lyndon Johnson. Clay took it out, turned it on and hunted forsomething decent. The squad car’s only radios were police- band, so Clay andReed carried a transistor job that Reed had bought in a PXin Vietnam. “God damn,” Reed said, “you got yourself a virgin.” Heducked into the backseat and said, “Here comes Daddy.” Clay was in the alley, staring downat himself. Reed slipped off his gunbelt and dumped it on top of thecar behind the light bar. A minute later hefinished and crawled off. He put one big hand over her faceand said, “Shut up, bitch,” but he liked it. It clattered off the side and fell into the alley.Ĭlay was in full gallop when the girl’s howl pitched up,reaching toward a scream. Reed laughed and said,“Hurry up,” and lobbed his empty beer can toward one of theDumpsters. “Christ, she sounds like afuckin’ coon- dog,” said Reed, a Kentucky boy. Larr圜lay peeled the drunk Indian girl, tossing her clothes on thefloor of the backseat, wedging himself between her legs. They were in a service alley, tucked between two Dumpsters.Carl Reed, a beer can in his hand, kept watch.

Shadow prey by john sandford