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The
one
open
eye
glared
with
fear
.
"
O
.
K
.
with
you
,
London
?
"
"
Don
’
t
hurt
him
too
much
.
"
"
I
want
a
billboard
,
"
said
Mac
,
"
Not
a
corpse
.
All
right
,
kid
.
I
guess
you
’
re
for
it
.
"
The
boy
tried
to
retreat
.
He
bent
down
,
trying
to
cower
.
Mac
took
him
firmly
by
the
shoulder
.
His
right
fist
worked
in
quick
,
short
hammer
blows
,
one
after
another
.
The
nose
cracked
flat
,
the
other
eye
closed
,
and
the
dark
bruises
formed
on
the
cheeks
.
The
boy
jerked
about
wildly
to
escape
the
short
,
precise
strokes
.
Suddenly
the
torture
stopped
.
"
Untie
him
,
"
Mac
said
.
He
wiped
his
bloody
fist
on
the
boy
’
s
leather
jacket
.
"
It
didn
’
t
hurt
much
,
"
he
said
.
"
You
’
ll
show
up
pretty
in
high
school
.
Now
shut
up
your
bawling
.
Tell
the
kids
in
town
what
’
s
waitin
’
for
’
em
.
"
"
Shall
I
wash
his
face
?
"
London
asked
.
"
Hell
,
no
!
I
do
a
surgeon
’
s
job
,
and
you
want
to
spoil
it
.
You
think
I
liked
it
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
,
"
said
London
.
The
prisoner
’
s
hands
were
free
now
.
He
sobbed
softly
.
Mac
said
,
"
Listen
to
me
,
kid
.
You
aren
’
t
hurt
bad
.
Your
nose
is
busted
,
but
that
’
s
all
.
If
anybody
here
but
me
did
it
,
you
’
d
of
been
hurt
bad
.
Now
you
tell
your
little
playmates
that
the
next
one
gets
his
leg
broke
,
and
the
next
one
after
that
gets
both
his
legs
broke
.
Get
me
—
—
?
I
said
,
did
you
get
me
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
O
.
K
.
Take
him
down
the
road
and
turn
him
loose
.
"
The
guards
took
the
boy
under
the
arms
and
helped
him
out
of
the
tent
.
Mac
said
,
"
London
,
maybe
you
better
put
out
patrols
to
see
if
there
’
s
any
more
kiddies
with
cannons
.
"
