Shallow Graves

National Geographic s, Cosmopolitan sand Readers’ Digest s), moldy and stained clothes. Books, dishes, newspapers, slips of paper, boxes.
    He also saw two leather gun cases in the corner.
    Slipping on cotton work gloves, he looked around, then tried the window. It was locked. Pellam took the bolt cutter and whacked out a pane of glass, reached up and undid the latch. He lifted the window and after a struggle to boost himself up, the pain shooting from his thigh to his ribs to his jaw, he half-fell and half-climbed over the windowsill.
    He listened for a moment. And heard nothing but the rustle of a car moving by. He walked quickly to the corner, and hefted one of the gun cases. Inside was a Colt AR15, the civilian version of the Army M16.
    The other case held the .300 magnum Beretta.
    A simple-looking gun, a bolt-action. Walnut stock, dark blued metal, a black shoulder guard, a high-riding telescopic sight. There were no iron sights; it was a sniper’s gun. The shells Sam had found fit it perfectly.
    Cinderella’s slipper.
    Was it proof enough? Pellam didn’t know. His only bout with the law had been on the other side (and from there it looked pretty damn easy to get yourself arrested and convicted). Pellam replaced the gun then began looking through desk drawers, the closet, the battered olive-drab rucksacks stacked on the back wall.
    Which is where they had the drugs hidden.
    Thousands of little tubes like the kind crack came in. Must’ve been five, six thousand of them. And inside each one was a little crystal like the doctorhad showed them, the crystals someone had given Sam. A little piece of rock candy.
    That solved the probable cause problem. If the gun didn’t do it then this ought to.
    A car went by. It seemed to slow and he quickly shoved the bags back into place, drew his pistol. Then after a moment, when the car was past, Pellam knelt and opened the rucksack again.

Chapter 21
    “ NEKKID,” BOBBY SAID .
    His brother nodded.
    They were in the Cleary Inn, eating prime rib. It was a pretty ritzy place for Dutchess County. Not as damn countryish as most places, the inn was filled with chrome and mirrors and plastic all shoved together and cemented down with plenty of money. The twins sat at a table with a red linen tablecloth; in their laps were thick napkins that left whitecaps of lint on their matching dark slacks.
    They may have owned a junkyard but these boys loved to eat and didn’t mind pampering themselves. A goodly part of the money they made—from the drugs, of course, since they’d had a loss on the junkyard every year they’d operated it—a goodly part of that income went into their mouths. Disposable income. (“We own a junkyard—all our income’s disposable! Ha, ha, ha.”)
    Tonight their fingernails were perfectly clean and under the aroma of coal tar shampoo they smelled sweet as the perfume aisle of a CVS pharmacy.
    Bobby said, “So there I was, nekkid as a jaybird.” He paused, wondering what a jaybird was exactly.“And the shades were up. She couldn’t’ve been more than fifteen feet away. In the backyard.”
    “Fifteen feet.”
    “In a white bra. Like torpedo tits.”
    “This’s a dumb shit story.”
    “No, no, no,” Bobby said. “It gets better.”
    Billy said, “It ain’t got good yet. How can it get better?”
    Bobby paused to eat his Yorkshire pudding, which was new on the menu. He’d never had it before. Well, pudding it wasn’t. It was like a pancake that got out of hand. Bobby thought he could show the cook here a thing or two about making pancakes.
    Billy ate some more Caesar salad.
    Bobby continued, “Then she kind of waves. Only it was, she didn’t want to come right out and wave. You know, that kind of wave.”
    Billy chewed.
    “And the next thing, I’m turning around to face her full and she was looking at my ding-dong, smiling.”
    Billy said, “You talk more about that thang than you use it.”
    “I sure did use it that night,” Bobby said. Then, after another triangle of Yorkshire pudding disappeared into his mouth: “How long is he going to be there?”
    He didn’t explain that he was talking about Pellam being at the Torrens place (they’d seen the camper on their way to the Inn) but Billy knew that’s what his brother was talking about.
    “I don’t know. How would I know?”
    Bobby said, “So, we’re just going to do it? It’ll look kind of obvious, won’t it? First his friend in the car. Then him.”
    “Uhm,” Billy