That was good. I didn’t have to worry about Marshall so much if he was with Caudell. It meant Peanut was serious about him working for him, and he wasn’t getting put directly in harm’s way. It also meant, if either of them needed to take a fall, it would be Marshall who took it. He’d end up in a cell in Sweetwater right next to Deddy.

Peanut said, “Now that we got the pleasantries outta the way, I need to remind you of your debt. It’s even larger than it was, Mack, because I had to save your ass again. You got reckless over at that church and left a damn warpath behind you. On the one hand, I appreciate it because I ain’t gotta worry ’bout the preacher now, but Darryl Tracy was damn near ready to throw you under the jail. I can’t have that with you already owing me like you do. Taking off on me like you did the other night doesn’t help your case any and puts you even further in the red. On top of all that, I pinned that preacher’s murder on two of my boys to keep Darryl Tracy off your ass. That puts you squarely in the loss column, Mack, and I own you for the foreseeable future.”

“You don’t own shit, Peanut.”

“Now ain’t the time to be mouthy. Just know that when I come calling, you drop whatever it is you’re doing and do whatever I ask. I’m your top priority now, Mack. Until I say otherwise.”

Peanut leaned forward and used the arms of the chair to boost himself out of it. He checked the time on his watch and said, “I gotta be going. Katie asked me to pick Ray up from baseball practice. That boy’s gone be good, Mack. Gotta helluva arm on him. You oughta come see him play sometime.”

Peanut smacked me on the shoulder as he made his way toward the door and then stopped. “In case you’re wondering, I pinned that preacher’s murder on Wiley and Tommy. Them boys was underperforming, and I was looking for a reason to get rid of ’em. At least you did me that favor.” He opened the screen door, and before it smacked shut behind him, he said, “Be seeing you around, Mack.”

11.

Mama stopped in to check on me late one afternoon. I sat on our trailer’s redwood deck, drinking straight from a bottle of bourbon, watching the horizon change colors. Mama sat down in the rocking chair next to me and watched me drink. It wasn’t until I sat the bottle off to the side that she spoke.

“You’re drinking too much, Mackenzie,” she said, her tone a flat rebuke of my problem.