All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. ‘For once, you’re talking like a sensible man. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. Waving a white flag, naturally. They will say that it was murder. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself.
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