"He did. He's been and gone. So, you knew it wasn't her?" Clyde pulled Becca closer, as if this would protect her, or do something for her. He really didn't know. His hand softly rubbed at her arm as he stared into the ruined living room.
"You told him that? That it wasn't her? And you can't find him? The yellow-eyed son of a bitch, or Jimmy, Sam, what the fuck ever you want to call him?" Too many him's in this equation for Clyde's liking. "Tell me what you said. Exactly what you said. Then find the idiot. Or do both if you can at the same fucking time."