"The cops," Stan said, hanging back. "I gotta tell the cops."
"There'll be time enough for that later," the man said smoothly. There was the faintest suggestion of haste in his voice.
"I oughtta wait," Stan mumbled, but the man pushed him gently into the car and Stan didn't argue. He lay down on the back seat, resting his throbbing head against the cushions and the side of the car. It was a big car, he thought vaguely. Like a rich man's sedan, with a glass partition between the driver and the passengers.
He heard a hissing sound from somewhere and the world started to gray out. And then he suddenly wondered how he could be taken home if the man didn't know where he lived....
Just before he blacked out altogether, a voice said:
"I'm your friend, Stan. Say it to yourself and say it over and over. I'm your friend. I saved your life."
"You're my friend," Stan repeated dully, his mind slipping slowly into a pool of throbbing blackness. "You saved my life...."
The last thing he saw was a quick glimpse of the city streets, the slowly rotting houses, and the bright splashes of green in the front lawns and the cottonwood trees.
CHAPTER II