hamilton whirled , feeling too slow , feeling all too sure that he had , despite his routine precautions , been too bold to ever get old , because there was nothing routine about this , no sir , the guy had gotten behind him and soon there would be more blood in the cab of the old chevrolet pick-up , his blood , because a guy who would drive a portable abattoir like this from maine almost to the new york state line was a psycho , the sort of guy who would kill a state trooper with no more thought than he 'd take to buy a quart of milk .