Scalpers

Начало книги

For my big brother, James Wesley Walker, to whom I owe my scalp many times over, and who, once or twice, would have liked to have had my scalp.

PROLOGUE

He held up her limp form by her long, flowing red hair, which he wrapped tightly about his fist. With his left hand he reached for the knife, the blade clicking out with a noise like a viper's hiss. Unconscious, or half-conscious, he knew not which, the woman now would give over the prize he sought. It was this that made the hunt worthwhile. All the searching, the watching and waiting, all of it came to this end.

He had lured her away from the noise and crowd of the bar with a promise of a secret place where they could smoke grass. She was all for that.

She was not a beautiful woman up close, yet her flaming hair was irresistible, and her willingness made his work simpler. And now he held her radiant hair in his hand and pulled back so tightly on it that the scalp rose by degrees. It was this that made life bearable and worthwhile. She would be a fine addition to his collection.

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