That galled Eli, made him want to turn in his badge and drive a truck for a living.

Since the Lansings kept dogs—a pair of pit bulls they probably mistreated—Eli made sure the small canister of mace on his service belt was easily accessible and started up the walk.

It hadn’t been shoveled, and there were patches of ice to navigate.

The windows were all dark, but that didn’t mean nobody was home.

Fred, Sr., was a vigilant man; he would know when a rig turned off the highway onto his land. By his reasoning, a pack of savage liberals might invade at any moment, day or night, holiday or none.

Eli stepped around a sorry-looking Christmas tree, still sporting a few baubles and dripping tinsel, lying forlornly on the walk at the base of the porch steps as though it had been flung out the front door.

He was on the porch, about to knock, when the lights came on inside, a door opened and Fred Lansing stood in the gap, scowling.

“What the hell do you want?” the little man growled.

“Happy New Year to you, too, Fred,” Eli replied lightly. “Is your boy around, by any chance?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“We’ll get to that,” Eli answered. The two pit bulls came to flank their surly master, growling low in their throats. “I’m here to see Freddie. We can talk tonight, or I can have him brought in for questioning bright and early tomorrow morning. What’s it going to be, Fred?”

“It’s New Year’s Eve, you know,” Fred muttered. “He’s not here.”

“Hot date?”

Fred colored visibly at the jibe. They both knew Freddie Lansing was considered patently undesirable by every woman and girl in the county; his reputation preceded him. He was homely as hell, with his bad teeth and virulent case of acne, and if the boy hadn’t been an intractable prick, Eli might have felt sorry for him.

Told him to see a good dentist and a dermatologist.

Trouble was, Freddie’s real problem wasn’t his looks. It was the rot slowly eating away his soul.

There were misguided people in the world. There were bad ones. And then there were the ones who were just plain evil, and proud of it. Guys like Freddie would dance on the brink of hell itself and laugh as they plunged into the flames.

Fortunately, Eli hadn’t encountered all that many Freddies over the course of his career, and he was grateful.

Out in the SUV, Festus began to bark.

Eli turned, pressing one hand against the frame of the Lansings’ screen door so Fred couldn’t use it to knock him off his feet, and turned his head.

Freddie was sitting on the hood of Eli’s rig, grinning garishly in the blazing illumination of his father’s floodlights.