Something about the word “stay” was what tipped me. She kept talking about staying versus going. She was really speaking about leaving town with a pile of cash.

I held up my Glock. “I realized before I walked in here, Monroe,” I said. “If I use this, you win again. If I trade you anything, you win again.”

Monroe blocked the door then. His makeup was caking. “Well, what the fuck do you want?” He pushed at me, finally losing his cool. “Name it.”

“There’s a letter I’ve already written,” I said. “It goes out in two hours if I’m not back. Along with four hundred pages of damning evidence on your father. Your cousins. You. Those nephews of yours who got the contract for the on-ramps along 285.”

I opened the door. “And if anything happens to me . . . well, you better hope I drive safe every day.”

“Don’t leave,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“You told me something once,” I said to Monroe. “You said that influence is like gasoline. The more you use, the less you got left.”

Monroe squinted. “Did I say that?” Nodding, as if he agreed with the sentiment. Wondering where I was going.

“Your tanks are all empty, Governor,” I said. “You hear me, you son of a bitch? You’re slap out of fuel.”

62

I turned and left. Walked off the property and back up Piedmont to where my truck was. I grabbed a coffee at the Flying Biscuit and turned on the news as I drove north out of the city.

I thought of everything that had gone down over the last twelve days.

As I pictured it now at the school, Monroe’s guy Ghost had gotten the papers from Kelly early the morning of the eleventh and probably circled back around to sit on Jed’s house. See if Harrington even noticed she had stolen from him.

Then, when Jed realized the papers were gone and drove to Falls Magnet Middle School, I imagine that Ghost probably followed him. Called Monroe when he got there. The governor must’ve thought he’d hit the lottery.

Jed, a school shooter.

And me, a cop in Monroe’s pocket who owed him one and could take Jed out.

The press conference was delayed, but when it came on, it was a short one. Monroe announced that he’d recently met with his doctor, who told him he was not well.

“The stress of the job has worn on my health,” he said. “So after a long discussion with my family, I’ve made the decision to step down immediately as governor. And not to run for reelection.”

A cacophony of noises from the assembled press. Questions about what specific condition he had. Is it life-threatening? And when had he made this decision?

I flicked off the radio and drove the rest of the way in silence, thinking of Lena and Jonas. Of a moment when I came home early to surprise them years ago and found the pair on the front porch. Jonas was asleep atop his mother in the hammock, and two discarded pints of rocky road lay on the concrete below them.