Preach hummed to himself a creaky old Creole tune as the miles flew by, beating time on the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. The warm wind whistled and gnats slammed into his windshield as he cut through the night. Life—even one as long as his—was often a bowl of fucking cherries.

At two-thirty in the morning, he pulled off the interstate into the deserted blacktop parking lot of an all-night diner. It was clad in formed aluminum and looked like an Airstream recreational vehicle. Five flagstone steps led up to the front door. Preach parked and got out.

Inside, the place was as devoid of life as the parking lot. To his right and left, along the windows, was a series of booths. In front of him was the counter, fronted by a line of chromium and vinyl stools that swiveled back and forth. A blowsy blonde stood behind the counter placing pies in a glass carousel. No one was at the register. A shadowy figure inhabited the booth at the far end of the diner, where the lights had gone dark. The figure, hooded and difficult to make out clearly, was hunched over a cup of coffee that looked as if it hadn’t been touched, although it might have already gone cold.

Preach bellied up to the counter and sat. The blonde turned from her pie placement and gave him a weary smile.

“What’ll it be?”

“Eggs up; bacon, crisp; grits with extra cheese; coffee, black, no sugar.”

“We got cornbread,” she said hopefully, “fresh-baked.”

“Sounds too good to pass up,” Preach said.

She nodded, appearing happy as a child at Disneyland, gave his order to the kitchen, then turned back to him, poured his coffee.

“Come far?” she said.

“Going far.”

“I hear ya.” She nodded. “You’re from the bayous, yeah?”

He heard a vehicle turn into the parking lot. It was big, probably one of those new-style SUVs. “Yes, ma’am, that I am.”

“I knew it. My grandpappy was from down yonder.”

He sipped his coffee, which tasted of eggshells and bitter grounds. “Ain’t we all related there.”

The two of them shared a laugh at that one.

The front door opened behind him, someone strode in, sat on a stool nearby: a man with a weathered face, leathery skin, big as a bear and, from the look of him, just as mean. In the corner, the shadowy figure seemed to ripple, as if with a tremor of foreboding. Preach felt it like a hand on the nape of his neck, a gentle dispatch from the other side.

“Eggs, plenty of ’em, bacon and sausage, plenty of it. And make it snappy.”

“Would you like coffee, sir?”

“Did I order coffee? And why are you standing around gawping. I said make it snappy. Are you deaf as well as stupid?”