Darren hated when white folks did that, when they acted like race was something they hadn’t even considered until you brought it up. He guessed they’d been taught it was polite or something, like not mentioning you have a fleck of black pepper between your teeth. But Darren’s only takeaway was the discomfiting realization that the person sitting across from him hadn’t seen the real him for the past fifteen minutes. It was an invisibility that infuriated him. He thought he and Wilson were past all that. “Come on,” he said to his lieutenant. “You sending me into a Brotherhood mess, least you can do is tell me why.”

Wilson’s face became pinched, like he was preparing to pass a particularly difficult kidney stone. He let out a little puff of air and conceded that, yes, there were reports of a lot of racial strife in the area where the kid was from, a small lakeside community called Hopetown, fifteen miles or so from Jefferson.

“I’ve never seen a Hopetown on any Texas map,” Darren said.

“I don’t think it’s been on a map in twenty, maybe thirty years. It’s a dying little town out there, and trouble’s been stirred up by newcomers clashing with folks that’s been living there for, hell, I don’t even know how many years. Anybody wading in this thing’s gon’ need to talk to as many witnesses as he can, and they ain’t all gon’ look and talk like Brotherhood folk, if you get me.”

“There are black folks in Hopetown,” Darren said, cutting to it.

“A few, yes.”

Darren agreed to do it before he knew how he would explain this to his wife.

“There’ll be a Marion County deputy to escort you.”

“Believe I can find my way around East Texas.”

“It’s for your own protection.”

“I don’t really think it’s necessary—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Wilson said, his final words on it.

“Anything in particular I should be looking for?” Darren asked.

“Any piece of paper or witness statement that can tie Bill King to Brotherhood operations, we’ll take it,” Wilson said. “It’s Hail Mary time.”

Darren stood up holding the file folder, Bill King’s letter tucked safely inside, and slid his Stetson on his head. He was due for a haircut, but there would be no time for that now. He got all the way to the door before Wilson called for him to halt. “Oh, and, Mathews,” he said, a knowing expression on his face. “No more break-ins, huh? I just got you back where I want you. Let’s don’t fuck it up.”

Darren gave his lieutenant a tight smile.

Then he tipped his hat and left.