Dirty White Boys

Dirty White Boys

Stephen Hunter

Language: English

Pages: 496

ISBN: 044022179X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

They busted out of McAlester State Penitentiary--three escaped convicts going to ground in a world unprepared for anything like them....

Lamar Pye is prince of the Dirty White Boys.  With a lion in his soul, he roars--for he is the meanest, deadliest animal on the loose....
Odell is Lamar's cousin, a hulking manchild with unfeeling eyes.  He lives for daddy Lamar.  Surely he will die for him....
Richard's survival hangs on a sketch: a crude drawing of a lion and a half-naked woman.  For this Lamar has let Richard live...

Armed to the teeth, Lamar and his boys have cut a path of terror across the Southwest, and pushed one good cop into a crisis of honor and conscience.  Trooper Bud Pewtie should have died once at Lamar's hands.  Now they're about to meet again.  And this time, only one of them will walk away....

The Escape (Animorphs, Book 15)

















Another was lanky and sullen, with Michael Jackson’s pretty hair, a gold necklace, and ropey, veiny arms. His eyes were deader than coal. The third was just a kid, eager to impress, his face drawn in tight and impassive to broadcast the word tough to the world. He looked at Richard with haughty eyes. And the fourth was the famous head-boss nigger, Rodney Smalls. Rodney looked at him through narrow eyes. Rodney was an immense man, sagacious and violent, a magnificent despot, who ruled with an

to the cruiser and I just cried. I sat there and I cried.” Ted just sat there, face slack, eyes dull. Burnt out, used up. He’d let the thing eat him alive. “Well, Ted, you’re a fine young officer,” Bud finally said. “I think it would be a shame to let a thing like that worry on you too much. Sometime you got to back down. Those boys had you cold. What was the point of getting killed for nothing? They’ve probably killed each other by now anyway. Why not just pass it as done, and swear to do your

wn-duh,” said Odell. More gibberish. Then it cleared magically in Richard’s head: Roll down the window. His trembling fingers flew to the crank and he wound it down, feeling an idiot’s smile splay across his face. He was beyond panic, he was in some place where butterflies of pure fright flitted and danced. “Howdy, ma’am,” said the young cop. Mouth agape, Richard nodded moronically. “It’s such a hot day, I was somewhat worried to see y’all sealed up like that. A dog can die in an hour locked

glass into fear: Lamar could almost feel it shatter through the room. A child began to cry; moms squirmed to draw their children in to them, and dads put out their hands to calm the older kids, though their faces drained of blood as the great possibility of death dawned on them. The airmen at the far table were sheet white, almost pissing in their fancy blue uniforms. The gun smoke spread through the room like vapor. It was incredibly quiet except for the sudden clickety-click as the spent

talking up such a storm.” “I can appreciate it.” They walked through the barn and out back to her work area. Her potter’s wheel stood under a lean-to, the coal-fired kiln next to it, and on her bench were several cans of paint and her pots. They blazed with color. She seemed to be doing some imitation Indian thing with them, but they were better than any pottery he’d seen in the reservation shops. The colors were jagged, almost savage, and stood off the ocher like blood pouring from a wound.

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