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249 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published March 1, 1987
Murtaugh: Until now we'd been assuming that whoever was in that bed with Amanda Huntsacker was a man. Let's say it was Dixie.
Riggs: Okay. Disgusting, but okay.
Riggs: Look, if you'd straddled and blown and jerked off ten thousand guys in your short life, would you be interested in man love, if given the choice? (…) Hell no, Roger. You'd go after some woman love on your own time. And it'd probably be with a sister hooker—
Murtaugh could summon all the resources of one of the largest and most professional police organizations in the world-- and they would do him no good in this situation. He knew with a chilling certainty that he needed to strike fast and deadly if he had any hope of saving his daughter. The bastards were going to kill Rianne just as they had murdered Amanda and Mark and all the others.
If he turned to his department's brass, they would advise patience and caution. But patience and caution would put his baby in her grave.
Murtaugh needed a lethal weapon [emphasis mine] on his side, and there he sat, smoking a Winston as calmly and confidently as if he'd been plunked down on that couch by God Himself. Yes, God had loaned this crazy soul to Roger Murtaugh in his hour of need. And Murtaugh thought this without feeling prejudice toward Riggs' condition, for he now realized that a man can be no crazier than the world in which he tries to live [emphasis mine].