Gitchie Girl: The Survivor's Inside Story of the Mass Murders that Shocked the Heartland by Phil Hamman & Sandy Hamman

you, you’ll have to go in with the rest of them. Now I told my buddies that I was gonna take you girls out and talk to you because you’re too young to get busted.”
    Sandra nodded slightly. She did not want to get busted, sent away to a detention center or a foster home. She wasn’t sure what they did with kids her age. Would she have to testify against Roger and his friends? She wanted to ask but was afraid of the answer. She wanted to see Roger again more than anything. No matter how long he got sent away, she’d wait.
    “I thought if I talked to you, you’d promise not to tell what we look like or any of that because I shouldn’t be doing you this favor. But I promise if you stick with me one hundred percent that I will get you out of this. And promise you won’t smoke grass anymore either.”
    Sandra couldn’t put her finger on it, but everything he said almost sounded like what a policeman would say. These guys claimed to be with some kind of special police force, though; she’d gathered that much. It wasn’t as if she were in any position to argue or bargain anyway. “I promise. But why did you just shoot and not say anything?” Her voice was almost pleading.
    The Boss’s demeanor changed. His jaw tightened and he seethed, “I gave a warning shot and said, Hold it!”
    Sandra remained as composed as she could. She’d learned that showing fear had seldom been to her advantage. “No you didn’t! I heard a gun, and then Stew yelled, ‘ I’m shot! They shot me!’”
    “Well, I had to shoot a couple of them because it’s easier to take them in that way.”
    “But why did you shoot Mike? His hands were in the air!”
    “Because he smarted off to me! That don’t work. I lost my temper and shot him!” the Boss sputtered. Sandra could feel his anger swelling, and she worried she had pushed him too far. He’d become agitated so she switched gears.
    “Who else did you think was a girl?” She tried to turn the tables, make it sound like she was questioning him without sounding accusatory.
    “That long-haired fourteen-year-old. That hippie.”
    “ He is not! He’s a sweet kid. His hair is long, but it’s always clean and never dirty like some guys with long hair.”
    “When I say hippie, I just use that as a word to call them or describe them. There’s really not any hippies around here like in California and those places.” He seemed to be grasping at explanations, and Sandra let his words sink in while planning her strategy. The engine hummed, and Sandra noticed an occasional clunking sound. The radio was off, the dash was dirty, and papers and cans were strewn about the floorboard. It wasn’t how she pictured an official police vehicle. The Boss was tense and talking seemed to calm him. His scattered conversation broke her concentration.
    “You know, all night tonight your friends will be blowing up balloons every hour on the hour. Then the police can tell just how much grass they’ve been smoking.” He kept glancing in his rearview mirror. “I wonder where my buddies are. Every time there’s a drug raid, they drive around in the cars while I have the truck.” She wasn’t sure what he even meant by that. “Just in case the sheriff insists on seeing you, you need to drink this Coke,” he said, handing her a can of soda. “Drink it, and they won’t be able to tell you’ve been smoking. There’s a certain acid in this Coke that kills the scent of the grass. Then they can’t bust you.”
    Sandra agreed to drink it even though she’d never heard of such a thing. Her gut instinct told her things didn’t add up. It was all so strange. Yet she had no choice but to go along with him. She was also desperate to avoid getting busted. She wanted to believe him. They drove down back roads, some paved, some gravel, turning here and there. Sometimes the Boss was silent for long stretches. Always his head was bobbing back and forth, and every so often he’d crane his neck toward the