(“Black, like a ripe banana. And when they put it in you.…”)
“See, she didn’t sick on the sheet. Hey, just don’t do a Lenny Wilkes and puke on your shoes. He’s already famous for that,” the shorter officer called behind her as Anna stumbled away, into the unlit darkness beyond the body. To her right, she could hear Stu bellowing through the bullhorn, “Give yourself up now. We have the area surrounded. You have nowhere to go.”
“Kid, I’m gonna put you in the cell—”
Between Stu’s oddly metallic, amplified words, all Anna heard was the delicate, fragile scrunch and crackle of her booted feet slip-sliding along the hoary grass. Pressing her hand over her mouth, she told herself, You will not throw up in front of all these men. You will not do a Lenny Wilkes. You will hide yourself and then l
