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In Saigon during the waning days of the Vietnam War, a small-time journalist named John Converse thinks he'll find action - and profit - by getting involved in a big-time drug deal. But back in the States, things go horribly wrong for him. Dog Soldiers perfectly captures the underground mood of America in the 1970s, when amateur drug dealers and hippies encountered profiteering cops and professional killers - and the price of survival was dangerously high.
the Training School because they steal.” “I’m a good stealer.” “No, no,” Hicks said, “you cut that out, that’s for punks. You’ll wash the punk off you when you’re out in the fleet. Just keep your mouth shut and watch how people do. Watch how the Japs do, they’re the coolest people in the world.” Just as he had feared, he began to feel cold. His side began to hurt as though for the first time. “I know you,” Hicks said. “I wish I didn’t but I do. You better do something about the way you cringe
whether I’m lying or not. That’s the beauty of it. As it happens, I’m telling the truth.” Hicks fidgeted in his chair. “It’s a stupid expensive way to move weight. If the CIA needs the likes of you and me they’re not what they’re supposed to be.” “Who is, these days?” Converse leaned forward in his chair; he seemed guileless. “Look, Ray—it’s certain people. Certain greedy people with CIA connections. They stand to make a tremendous profit and they can’t use their regular channels. They can
it. I’ll take it, he thought. To take it was to begin again from nowhere, the funny little fucker would have to soldier on. Living dogs lived. It was all they knew. SHE WOKE TO MOONLIGHT, PHOSPHORESCENCE BEHIND HER eyes dimming to sparkles. There was the slamming of a car door. At first she could make no sense of the place. Hicks was asleep in a chair, his feet up on the writing desk. Moonlight lit half his face. Standing her knees trembled, a strange liquescence rippled under her
another thought. What the fuck? Happy-go-lucky, that’s us. We don’t give a shit.” “Oh, man,” Smitty said. “I’m sorry.” “Just keep fucking up. See what it gets you.” Smitty pouted. “You know,” he said, “I’m thinking maybe you’re right, you know. About we tell him to shove it.” It would be soon, Converse thought; he felt the diver’s fascination for the deeper down. He was glad to be alive. Danskin stared moodily down at his own boots. “How far, señor? To the house.” The Mexican indicated
curiosity, leaned together to listen. “What’s she saying?” Converse asked. “She’s telling them her troubles.” The girls across from Jill had turned toward Ian and Converse and were nodding sympathetically. “Later she’ll come back and want them to tell her their troubles. She’s writing a report on Saigon bar girls.” “What for?” “Oh, for the information of the civilized world,” Ian said. “Not that the civilized world gives fuck all.” They drank in silence for a while as Jill told her troubles