Quotes from John Sandford

You're threatening me?" "I'm not threatening, I'm articulating," Palmer said.

An "A" had fallen off the sign over the bar's door, so it now said "Ple sure Palace," but it didn't make any difference, because everybody who was nobody called it Smackie's.

It's like a fuckin' nightmare," Letty said. "One of those where you're trying to find your school locker and you keep running from one to the next, and it's never yours.

Hold my hand." "What?" "C'mon, hold my hand. He's a 'phobe. Lean your head a little sideways into me, look me in the eyes, and we walk toward the front of the store, taking our time . . ." Lucas said, "Ah, shit," and took Virgil's hand. One of the FBI agents said, watching them, "Oh my God.

for a few moments, and he went inside. Halfway down the hall and around a corner, he

The bartender took another bite of the sandwich, chewed, then said, through the masticated bread and egg, "Yeah, the Minneapolis cops already been here. They're looking for him, too. He was here last night, pretty late, then he went away. Haven't seen him since.

I'll do that," Kidd said. "Why was Sandra's age important?" "Think about it for one second," Lucas said. Kidd thought about it for one second, then said, "Ah. She's an adult now. You can twist her arm until it falls off, and nobody can tell you to quit." "Perzactly," Lucas said. "And that's what I'm going to do . . . if that's what it takes.

Taryn Grant's phone buzzed, a call, not an alarm. She was lying on her bed, waking up from a much-needed afternoon nap. She stretched, yawned, picked up the phone, and said, "Hello?" "What are you doing?" Her campaign manager, Connie Schiffer. "Took a nap. I just woke up.

Small, out-of-the-way county fairs were okay, with their traveling carny shows that might have been taken from a Stephen King short story, and their weird, idiosyncratic events like speed chain saw sculpture—one minute to do a four-foot bear—and snowmobile water-skipping. A big institutional fair was just that: institutional. Sure, deep-fried ice cream bars might be a good idea, but after you've eaten a few, then what?

people who were working that day, the ten-of-twelve.

LUCAS SPENT THE DAY walking up to small houses in small towns, getting nowhere perceptible. At two o'clock, he'd taken a break at a café in Oskaloosa, one of the towns from which Henderson had gotten an e-mail. An investigator named Perry Means, from the Division of Criminal Investigation, was waiting for him at the café. Lucas handed over the sample of Lawrence's hair, which Means put in a plastic evidence envelope.

We see things as they are, we project out consequences of our actions, very pragmatically. We don't stir in a lot of hope, we don't turn blind eyes.

The living room and bedroom were acceptably neat, for a bachelor who lived alone, and smelled faintly of food that was made in cans and cooked in pots, and also of scented candles. The office was a mess, with stacks of paper everywhere.

Where you living, James?" Del asked. "You living with your mom?" "I gotta place. Look, I'm doing all right. I got a part-time gig with this guy. . . . I didn't kill nobody. I don't got a gun.

I've been told, by somebody who knows these things, that Don knows a lot about the, mmm, tactical maneuverings of the party, and everybody involved in these things.

It's a game, you know," he said, testing her. "You can't back off in a game and win. You either go balls to the wall, or somebody takes you out and you're no good anymore.

From what I hear, if we're going down to the well—the cistern—we're gonna want to burn the clothes afterwards," Del said. "I'd rather burn a polyester shirt than a two-thousand-dollar Italian suit. Or three-thousand-dollar Romanian shoes." "British shoes. And when you're right, you're right.

WHEN SHE WAS GONE, Lucas went inside, badged his way back to the homicide unit, and found Roger Morris peering at a brown paper bag with a small grease stain at one end.

On the way out, Lucas ran into Treena Ross in the hallway. She was wearing a lime-green dress and matching lime-green shoes with two-inch heels. She was carrying a dog the size of a walnut that seemed to have been bred to be frightened; it whimpered when it saw Lucas, and then Ross coming up behind.

Weather stuck her head in and said, "You're not coming to bed?" "Not for a while." She was up late; not working in the morning. "Something came up.

We've traded quite a bit of information over the years," Means said. "I worked out of Mason City for six years, so we got to know each other. He's sort of a hound when it comes to women." "Not sort of," Lucas said. "He's the fuckin' Hound of the Baskervilles when it comes to women. Every time he gets around my daughter, I make sure I've got my gun.

That hadn't occurred to me," Lucas said. "Because you're not a natural politician," the governor said. He laughed again. "This is the kind of thing that makes life interesting." "Unless you're Dannon. Or Carver." "Well, yeah, I suppose," the governor said. "I'll assign somebody to say a prayer for them.

Kids are wonderful, even when they're not.

Lucas bought a purple-flavored Popsicle