As the bikes approached, Snake felt his burner phone vibrate against his leg. He’d instructed Lars not to use phones out here, so he wasn’t surprised to find it was Billy Byrd calling him back.

“You found that high yellow yet?” Snake said by way of answer.

“Not yet.”

“Then why are you bothering me?”

“Two preachers showed up at Mayor Cage’s house. Nigger preachers.”

“What preachers?”

“The Baldwins, from Clayton, Louisiana.”

Snake knew them well. Old man Baldwin had been tough as nails back in the day. He’d served in the navy during the war, and when he came home, he hadn’t planned to stand at the back of the line. When things had heated up in ’64, he’d formed the Deacons for Defense and helped arm the local black community against the Klan. Even though Snake had been his enemy, he’d respected the man for fighting instead of lying down.

“After they left,” Byrd went on, “Cage went to where Quentin Avery’s staying, on the bluff. Then Avery goes out to the bluff and meets the trial judge, Elder.”

This surprised Snake. “And?”

“And he gave Elder something. Papers, it looked like. I’m guessing he got something from the preachers.”

“What would Avery go to Elder about?”

“Are you kidding? The trial, I imagine. But that’s nigger business. I ain’t got the first idea.”

“You’re a big help, Billy.”

Byrd grunted. “You know, watching those two uppity bastards standing on the bluff together, I couldn’t help but think how easy it’d be for one man with a shotgun to do the world a favor. One blast of buckshot.”

“It ain’t 1964, Billy.”

“That’s for damn sure. It’s okay to kill a white man but not a black one? World’s upside down.”

“You do what I tell you and nothing more.”

“I know. I know.”

“Keep your eyes on the mayor. And don’t forget what I told you about tonight. Surest way to head off any surprises in court.”

The sheriff sighed and hung up.

Twenty seconds later, five headlights slashed the darkness of the dirt turnaround, and five big Harleys rolled right up to the cable that prevented vehicles from riding among the columns. Snake watched the VK dismount and take weapons from their saddlebags, fought the urge to draw his own pistol.

Lars Dempsey himself led the group. Snake could pick him out, even in the dark. Dempsey’s long blond hair, gone to gray, was pulled into a ponytail. Behind him Snake recognized Toons Teufel. No mistaking the arrogant strut. The other three looked like members of Toons’s special security unit. They walked to within five yards of Snake, their heads swiveling slowly as they scanned the footprint of the old plantation house.

“You got a lot of sack,” Toons said from Dempsey’s right shoulder. “Dragging us all the way out here.”