18Ohls stood looking down at the boy. The boy sat on the couch leaning sideways against the wall. Ohls looked at him silently, his pale eyebrows bristling and stiff and round like the little vegetable brushes the Fuller Brush man gives away.
He asked the boy: ‘Do you admit shooting Brody?’
The boy said his favourite three words in a muffled voice.
Ohls sighed and looked at me. I said: ‘He doesn’t have to admit that. I have his gun.’
Ohls said: ‘I wish to Christ I had a dollar for every time I’ve had that said to me. What’s funny about it?’
‘It’s not meant to be funny,’ I said.
‘Well, that’s something,’ Ohls said. He turned away. ‘I’ve called Wilde. We’ll go over and see him and take this punk. He can ride with me and you can follow on behind in case he tries to kick me in the face.’
