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The only thing that really worried me was the ether. If so – well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere.
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All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of high-speed driving all over Los Angeles County – from Topanga to Watts, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. "We're not like the others." O Christ, I thought, he's gone around the bend. "Or I'll put the leeches on you." He grinned, seeming to understand. How long before one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family. I glanced over at my attorney, but he seemed oblivious – watching the road, driving our Great Red Shark along at a hundred and ten or so. Maybe I'd better have a chat with this boy, I thought.
Not that we all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. Luckily, the noise in the car was so awful – between the wind and the radio and the tape machine – that the kid in the back seat couldn't hear a word we were saying. Will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car?
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