“People said it about all kinds of shit, Satterfield reflected, and maybe it was true—maybe every first was special. First kiss. First love. First killing. Its specialness to Satterfield wasn’t the way he’d done it; in truth, he’d done it clumsily, and far too swiftly. Its specialness lay in the fact that he had done it. The killing had been spontaneous—as surprising to him as it was to her—but it had been an epiphany, a life-changing revelation. Three years had passed, but the images of... it remained vivid. Indeed, the more times he replayed them, the more vivid they grew. She was small and pretty—half Jap, half round eye, with a slender, finely chiseled face and thick, red-black hair. Satterfield saw her dancing in one of the skin bars near the base, and he liked what he saw. Before he knew it, he’d dropped fifty bucks on overpriced, watered-down drinks, and then another fifty on a lap dance that left him wild with want.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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