“Time’s up, Rowe. Time’s been up. Bank has foreclosed. Sent you an eviction notice. I hung it on your door and gave you a month to get out, and that was forty-five days ago. We’ve looked the other way several times and called the sheriff twice.”

“Did you call him tonight?”

“Not yet. Tonight, I figured I’d deliver my own message.”

Bo heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking.

“Please, Finn. This is my land.”

“No, sir. This property belongs to Z Bank. So . . . let’s see here. I’m thinking that I came out here to check on things since I’m the head of security for the bank. Saw you out here. You’re clearly drunk and out of control. You fired your shotgun at me and then, in a courageous act of self-defense, I had to shoot you in the—”

“Stop!” Bo yelled. He had crawled out of the trash bin when he’d heard the click of the handgun, and now he was standing to the side of the receptacle. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the longhaired man pointing what looked to be a 9-millimeter semiautomatic pistol at Booker T.’s knees. Behind the man, Bo saw two other figures dressed in dark clothes. He couldn’t tell if they were men or women, but they were both carrying guns that were now aimed at Bo.

“Well, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” the longhaired man said, gazing at Bo while still holding his weapon on Booker T. “You would be Mr. Haynes, right?”

“Bocephus Haynes.”

“I heard some news today about you, Mr. Haynes. Didn’t you recently take on a new case?”

“Who are you?” Bo asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Finn Pusser. Head of security for Z Bank.” He kept the gun pointed at Booker T. “You and Mr. Rowe are trespassing on land owned by the bank.”

“And I was just telling my cousin that we needed to be leaving,” Bo said.

Finn snickered. “From the looks of your face, Mr. Haynes, it appears that Mr. Rowe wasn’t heeding your advice. Same as he hasn’t been following the directives of the sheriff’s office to stay off this property. It’s time a message was sent that he can understand.” He paused. “Seems to me that I still need to exercise some self-defense. You boys . . . got all riled up out here, tied one on, and decided to meet my pleas to leave peacefully with gunfire.”

Bo felt his cheeks and neck flush with an anger that he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager playing football for Giles County High and an opposing coach of an all-white team had referred to him as boy. “What did you call us?” he asked, his tone low.

Finn held the gun steady on Bo’s chest. “In all this excitement, I can’t remember.”