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Field of Prey
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Field of Prey [Format Kindle]

John Sandford

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Descriptions du produit



There comes a crystalline moment in the lives of most young male virgins when they realize that they are about to get laid, and they will clutch that moment to their hearts for the rest of their days.

For some, maybe most, the realization comes nearly simultaneously with the moment. With others, not so much.

For Layton Burns Jr., of Red Wing, Minnesota, a recent graduate of Red Wing High School (Go Wingers!), the moment arrived on the night of the Fourth of July. He and Ginger Childs were wrapped in a blanket and propped against a tree of some sort—neither was a botanist—in a park in Stillwater, Minnesota, looking down at the river, where the fireworks were going off.

Fireworks were not going off in Red Wing, because the city council was too cheap to pay for them.

In any case, Stillwater did have fireworks. Layton, a jock, had his muscular right arm wrapped around Ginger’s back, then under her arm and in past the unbuttoned second button on her blouse, where he was getting, in the approved parlance of the senior class at Red Wing High School, a bare tit. One of those hot, nipple-rolling bare tits. Not only a bare tit, but a semi-public one, which added to the frisson of the moment.

While intensely pleasant, this was not entirely a new development. They’d taken petting to a fever pitch, but Layton was the tiniest bit shy about asking for the Big One.

Ginger had her hand on Layton’s thigh, where, despite his shy- ness, his interest was evident, and then as the final airbursts exploded in red-white-and-blue over the hundred boats in the harbor below, Ginger turned and bit him lightly on the earlobe and muttered, “Oh, God, if only you had some . . . protection.”

Until that very moment, one of the few people in Red Wing who wasn’t sure that Layton was going to get laid that summer was Layton himself. His parents knew, her parents knew, Ginger knew, all of Layton’s friends knew, all of Ginger’s friends knew, and Ginger’s youngest sister, who was nine, strongly suspected.

But Layton, there in the park, wasn’t organized for the moment. He groaned and said, in words made memorable by thousands of impromptu daddies, “Nothin’ll happen.”

“Can’t take a chance,” said Ginger, who was no dummy, and for whom, not to put it too bluntly, Layton was more or less a passing bump in the night. “Do you think by tomorrow night?”

Wul, yeah.

· · ·

By the next night, Layton was organized.

He’d gotten the green light to borrow his mom’s three-year-old Dodge Grand Caravan, which had Super Stow ’n Go seating in the back, converting instantly into a mobile bedroom. He’d stashed a Target air mattress and a six-pack of Coors with a friend. And he’d stolen three, no make it four, lubricated condoms from a twelve- pack that his father had conveniently left unhidden in the second drawer of his bedroom bureau, for the very purpose of being stolen by his son, his wife being on the pill.

Layton also had the perfect spot, discovered a year earlier when he was detasseling corn. The perfect spot had once been a farmyard with a small woodlot on the north side. The farm had failed decades earlier. Most of the land had been sold off, and the house had fallen into ruin and had eventually been burned by the local volunteer fire department in a training exercise. The outbuildings had either been torn down or had simply rotted in place. Still, the home site had not yet been plowed under, though the cornfields were pressing close to the sides of the old yard.

A narrow track, once a driveway, led across a culvert into the site; and there were good level places to park. An hour before he was to pick up Ginger, Layton signed onto his computer and went out to his favorite porn site to review his knowledge of female anatomy; which also reminded him to put a flashlight in the car in case he wanted to . . . you know . . . watch.

Layton had built a sex machine, and it worked flawlessly.

He got the beer and air mattress from his friend, picked up Ginger, and they headed west on Highway 58, out of the Mississippi

River Valley, up on top, then down through the Hay Creek Valley, up on top again, and out into farm country. The ride was short and sweet in the warm summer night, with fireflies in the ditches and Lil Wayne on the satellite radio, which was a good thing, because Ginger was hotter than a stovepipe, and had her hand in Layton’s jeans before they even got off the main highway and onto the back roads.

They found the turnoff into the farm lot on the first try, pushed aside some senile, overgrown lilacs as they wedged into a parking space, pumped up the air mattress with an air pump powered through the cigarette lighter, and got right to it.

There was some confusion at the beginning, when Layton un- rolled the first rubber, rather than rolling it down the erect append- age, and was reduced to trying to pull it on like a sock. A bit later, if Layton had been more attentive, he might have noticed that Ginger knew a good deal about technique and positioning, but he was not in a condition to notice; nor would he have given a rat’s ass.

And it all went fine.

They did it twice, stopped for a beer, and then did it again, and stopped for another beer, and Layton was beginning to regret that he hadn’t stolen five rubbers, when Ginger said, demurely, “I kinda got to go outside.”


“You know . . .”

She had to pee. Layton finally got the message and Ginger dis- appeared into the dark, with the flashlight. She was back two minutes later.

“Boy, something smells really bad out there.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t care. She didn’t care much either, especially as she’d reminded him about the flashlight.

So they messed around with the flashlight for a while, and Ginger said, “You’re really large,” which made him feel pretty good, al- though he’d measured himself several dozen times and it always came out at six and one-quarter inches, which numerous Internet sources said was almost exactly average.

Anyway, the fourth condom got used and stuffed in the sack the beer had come in, and Layton began to see the limits of endurance even for an eighteen-year-old—he probably wouldn’t have needed the fifth one. They lay naked in each other’s arms and drank the fifth and sixth beers and Ginger burped and said, “We probably ought to get back and establish our alibis,” and Layton said, “Yeah, but . . . I kinda got to go outside.”

Ginger laughed and said, “I wondered about that. You must have a bladder like an oil drum.”

“I’m going,” he said. He took the flashlight and moved off into the trees, wearing nothing but his Nike Airs, found a spot, and as he was taking the leak, smelled the smell: and Ginger was right. Some- thing really stank.

It was impossible to grow up in the countryside and not know the odor of summertime roadkill, and that’s what it was. Some- thing big was dead and rotting, and close by.

He finished and went back to the car and found Ginger in her underpants, and getting into her jean shorts. “I want to go out and look around for a minute,” he said. In the back of his mind he noticed his own sexual coolness. Even though her breasts were right there, and as attractive and pink and perky as they’d been fifteen minutes ago, he could have played chess, if he’d known how to play chess. “There’s something dead out there.”

“That’s the stink I told you about.”

“Not an ordinary stink,” Layton said. “Whatever it is, is big.” She stopped dressing: “You mean . . . like a body?”

“Like something. Man, it really stinks.”

When they were dressed, and with Ginger holding onto the back of Layton’s belt, they walked into the woods—as if neither one of them had ever seen a Halloween movie—following the light of the flash. As they got deeper in, the smell seemed to fade. “Wrong way,” Layton said.

They turned back and Ginger said, “Hope the light holds out.” “It’s fine,” Layton said. Fresh batteries: Layton had been ready. They walked back toward the area where the house had been, and the smell grew stronger, until Ginger bent and gagged. “God . . . what is it?”

Whatever it was, they couldn’t find it. Layton marched back and forth over the old farmstead, shining the light into the underbrush and even up into the trees. They found nothing.

“Don’t ghosts smell?” Ginger said. “I saw it on one of those British ghost-hunter shows, that sometimes ghosts make a bad smell.”

Every hair on Layton’s neck stood up: “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

They started walking back to the car, but by the time they got back, they were running. They jumped in, slammed the doors, clicked the locks, backed out of the parking place, and blasted off down the gravel road, not slowing until they got to the highway. The bag with the used condoms and the empty beer cans went into an overgrown ditch, and fifteen minutes later, they were headed down the hill into the welcoming lights of Red Wing.

Layton lay in bed that night and thought about it all—mostly the sex, but also about Ginger’s best friend, Lauren, and what a wicked threesome that would be, and about tha...

Revue de presse

Praise for Field of Prey

“Suspenseful . . . Sandford has tricks to play to confound readers before the tension rises and leads to a violent and surprising conclusion.”—Publishers Weekly
“Intense.”—Kirkus Reviews

Praise for Silken Prey
“Sandford’s Davenport novels are always very good, and this is the best one in a long time. It’s suspenseful, witty, and wise in the ways of modern politics. And the conclusion is darkly unforgettable. A superb thriller.” —Booklist
“The perfect summer read, as far as I’m concerned.” —Stephen King on Today

Praise for John Sandford
“[A] very skilled and smart writer.”—E. L. Doctorow, The New York Times Book Review

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 2502 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 392 pages
  • Pagination - ISBN de l'édition imprimée de référence : 0399162380
  • Editeur : Putnam Adult (6 mai 2014)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B00FX7UL72
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°30.129 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Commentaires en ligne 

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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) 4.5 étoiles sur 5  2.933 commentaires
37 internautes sur 41 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Different 10 mai 2014
Par C. Berg - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
I do not know why I kept feeling this was not written by Sandford. It was vague, choppy, and I felt very disoriented reading it. It had potential but did not deliver.
59 internautes sur 70 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 The first John Sandford book under five stars....... 11 mai 2014
Par Jack S. - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
Stupid plot that was stretched till the end to solve. I thought he had some assistance with the writing like other writers are doing today. I wish he hadn't put this one out as it put a dent in my respect for him. Then at the end with Emmanuel Kent the homeless protester Lucas falls way out of character pandering to far left liberal bias trying to come off as comical but failing with Davenport supporting a redistribution of wealth to heal his Karma

No! Na-na-no! This was not the Same Lucas we have known. This should have been titled Safe Prey as it went through all the motions without the enthusiasm and desire for the story John Sandford became known for.

If this was my first John Sandford book I would have given it one star only out of respect for his past accomplishments brought the three. Sorry, Lucas would agree with me had he been there.
101 internautes sur 123 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Starts off well, but doesn't hold up. 7 mai 2014
Par Ken - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
I have long been a fan of John Sandford's books, and I own and have read every one he's written. I realize that Lucas Davenport has evolved over the course of the series, and is in a different place in his life now, than in the early books. That is one thing I very much enjoyed about "Buried Prey" since it gave us a view of Lucas when he was just starting out on the force. Otherwise, I haven't found his last few books quite as compelling. When I first started this book, I thought perhaps he had returned to form, and I was captivated. That didn't last, however. [What follows may reveal details about the plot that you may not want to know if you haven't read this book yet, so be forewarned.]

I'm not a real big fan of literary "tricks" and I prefer a straightforward crime drama...I was very disappointed to see Mr. Sandford employ the plot device used in "Mr. Brooks" and "Psycho." Also, I found it ludicrous that Letty would be included in a meeting of law enforcement officers, offer her opinion, and her opinion be given credence. No, she's not stupid, but she is 18 (if that) and still in high school, and despite her history, I don't think a professional law enforcement group would want to include a civilian (unless an expert or consultant) in a strategy meeting, much less a high school student. (I certainly hope future books don't go down the path of a father-daughter crime fighting duo!)

I also found that the inclusion of the cases being handled by Virgil Flowers and Del to be a distraction...I wondered where he was going with them, and they really didn't serve to advance the story line; instead, they muddled it. I read with concern the section where Del was shot, thinking he was going to be killed off a la Marcy, but the book ended with him still alive. Perhaps that is the setup for the next book...the governor doesn't become VP and doesn't get re-elected as governor, so Rose Marie is out, and Lucas and Del (who is somewhat disabled from his wounds) have to leave the BCA. Then, they form their own detective agency, doing contract work for the state and the FBI.

I hate to say it, but I think the Prey series is tired...and despite the last book, which wasn't the best of the Flowers series, I find the Flowers series more enjoyable. I miss the Lucas Davenport of old, and there is a reason why in most movies and TV shows the detective doesn't have a wife, children, and encumbered, his actions and interactions are limited. Very few fans would tolerate Lucas having an affair, and cheating on Weather! Likewise, they are often a distraction rather than an asset to the plot. I'll still buy the books, but I don't have the high hopes that I once had after several disappointments in a row now.
61 internautes sur 73 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
2.0 étoiles sur 5 Mr. Sandford, Where Have You Gone? 14 mai 2014
Par Kaye Riggs - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
I read a couple of reviews here before downloading it to my Kindle. Not because I wanted to see if it was any good, but because I wanted to get a sense of how good it was.

Sadly, after reading the first quarter of the book, I find myself in agreement with the reviewers here who refuse to believe Mr. Sandford wrote it. The story is, if not completely lame, at least partially crippled and the dialog--usually one of Mr. Sandford's strong points sounds unrealistic and forced.

Whomever wrote this is not the writer who brought us the story of Clara Rinker.
33 internautes sur 39 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Read Them All 20 mai 2014
Par James C. Byrne - Publié sur
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
Got to agree with others. Not sure if Mr. Camp wrote this all himself or if he had help. There were flashes of Sandford but Lucas has turned into Alan Alda. He wasn't as sharp, wasn't as sure of himself, and the usual cop culture/humor was missing. There was just enough to keep me reading, but I didn't stay up all night to finish as I used to. Big holes in the plot. Fairly early on there was enough info on suspect that Barney Fife would have been on the trail, never mind a bunch of squared away cops and Davenport. I mean come on, there's one hardware store in town, the suspects name is provided early on as a lead, and nobody follows up on it? I'm still not sure why Del and Flowers kept coming up. They were distractions. I also agree with others about the whole guilt thing Lucas develops with a nut job that ends the book. What the heck is that there for? Is Sandford trying for depth and sensitivity in Lucas at this stage of the game? If so, then be kind to the readers and retire him or kill him off in fitting fashion.

Been a Sandford fan since the first book and have read every one, many of them twice. Hundreds of hours of enjoyment reading and I'm grateful. Money well spent. But, after the last few, the anticipation of a new Sandford release is worn off a bit. Guess that is what happens when you knock it out of the park time after time. The expectation is that you'll keep doing it. Probably not fair, but there you go.
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