“The vacuum chamber. We put big fuckin’ dogs in there, boy. We put Doberman pinschers in there. We put German shepherds and rottweilers in there. Big, dangerous dogs, we can’t take no chances. Once you put a dog in there and close these latches, no way he’s gonna get out. If he got out, he’d tear your fuckin’ liver out, boy, so we built these latches strong. You know what we’re gonna do, boy?”

He waited for an answer, but I was in no shape to make one. He seemed vaguely disappointed.

“We’re gonna put you in there,” he screamed, smacking the plastic door again. “Then we’re gonna get a couple of lawn chairs and some beer, and we’re gonna push the button on you, and then we’re gonna sit here and watch you try to scratch your way out. Just like TV. Like a big-screen TV. I’m gonna do a little more work on you, cocksucker, because I want you to hurt before you go, but I ain’t gonna kick you in the head, and you know why?”

He turned to St. Thomas. “You know why I ain’t gonna kick him in the head, Arnie?”

“No. Why?” Arnie was grinning, the straight man in a comedy act.

” ‘Cause I want him to know what’s happening to him. You hear that, motherfucker? I want you to know.” He grabbed one of my feet and jerked me away from the wall. The back of my head bounced off the floor, and Hill booted me in the side. It was the good side, the side where I hadn’t been hurt yet, but more ribs went. I tried to move, tried to roll, tried to cover with my hands, but he was in a rage, screaming, spitting, kicking, howling

I had the good eye open, watching myself being kicked to death. St. Thomas was there behind him, encouraging him, laughing, with the little silver pistol, a cheerleader.

Then LuEllen was there with him. She came out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a hat. She had Hill’s old weapon, the .45, the one we’d fished out of the river, and she put it next to St. Thomas’s ear. At the very last second he sensed her presence and started to go stiff, but she pulled the trigger and blew his brains all over the wall of the animal control building.

Hill spun, staggered, caught himself on the wall, got around, his mouth hanging open in shock, and looked straight down the barrel of the .45.

“Don’t,” he croaked. I don’t think I could hear him, but I could see him say the word: Don’t.