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Show Acting Alone Page 25 that revealed his snobbish attitude toward military men in general, the attitude of the basic radiclib. (God, what a forgettable coinage.) Only days after the abortive, rollicking helicopter rescue attempt, when it seemed as though "we" had lost fifty-two Americans for sure, Shannon had first mentioned to Sam that she had a cousin over there, and had recounted her cousin's version of the embassy takeover (as reported over the phone last Christmas): ie., Spikey standing there in the compound with his loaded M-16, under strict orders to "lay down and take it up the ass." Big Sam had swelled himself up at that and, in a hokey John Wayne voice, had orked, "Damn, ma'am! If it'd of been me standing there with my automatic weapon, I'd of said to heck with orders and I'd of perforated me a couple of them sand-niggers, yup-yup-yup." "Then you'd of gotten perforated back," pouted Shannon unhesitatingly, with a delicious hint of defiance in the angle of her breasts. (Don't forget, thought Sam, that even these people with low-average IQ's are subject to things like familial loyalty.) "Don't say of gotten, say have gotten," said Sam, changing the subject. Judging from the guy's name alone - Spikey? Wamsutter? Spi-key Wamsutter? - Sam knew that this book he was going to ghostwrite would probably wind up a blood-crazed redneck tract with a title like WHEN HELL WAS DESIGNED IT WAS WITH IRAN IN MIND, or maybe, AYATOLLAH SO; and, of course, to make the book a more marketable commodity, their editor would probably make them add some silly "How-to" subtitle, to cash in on the perennial self-help craze. (Like, HOW NOT TO APPROACH A FORMER HOSTAGE WITH YOUR GHOSTWRITING PROPOSITION?) |