I was so drunk, I don't even remember bashin' the bastard's brains in. Didn't even know his name. What about you? Eh? Oh, I was forgettin' you're innocent, you didn't kill nobody. Ain't that right?"Brodie stared back at his cellmate's skeptical leer without smiling, and presently Shooter shrugged and went back to picking lice out of his beard. Through the horizontal slit in the stone wall, Brodie could see a section of cloud drifting past like a slow-moving turret. A thunderstorm was coming."Kinda peculiar, though," Shooter resumed after a minute, reaching out with the hand that wasn't shackled to squash a fat, lumbering bug on the damp floor between them. "Ain't it? I mean, you wakin' up next to a stone-dead whore, blood everywhere, and no idea in the world how she got that way. I'd say that was damn peculiar.""Shut up, Shooter," Brodie said, without much hope. He put his head back against the oozing wall and shut his eyes. The sounds of dripping water and muffled weeping came to him through the grate in the iron door."Can't blame a judge for not swallowing that, you ask me.
