I warned Dad of this very threat only hours ago. “I get that. But what I told you before is true. This woman Kaiser has, Dolores St. Denis, she can put Snake on death row.”

Lincoln isn’t impressed. “How long will that take? A year? Two? You think if Kaiser arrested Snake tonight, he couldn’t reach out from whatever jail he’s in and kill the doc? Man, what world do you live in? I thought you’d been a prosecutor in Texas.”

This guy is starting to piss me off. “Okay, let’s say Snake dies tonight. A certain threat to Dad may be reduced, but he’s still going to spend three years in jail.”

“So?”

“He won’t live to serve that time. He’s in heart failure now. Anything over a year was a death sentence.”

Lincoln turns up his palms. “We can’t change the sentence. What are you suggesting?”

“I need to get him out. Free. Snake can do that. Because he killed your mother. Him and Sonny Thornfield. And I need to get him to admit that on tape.”

Lincoln snorts, then laughs in derision. “You can forget that shit. The only way Snake would do that is if he was about to kill you. Taunting you. And we’re not trying that kind of sting.”

“Tell me where he is, Lincoln. Can’t we bug the place?”

“No way. And he won’t be there long enough for us to set up something fancy and wait. This is an in-and-out thing.”

“Lincoln . . . you remember I’ve got a daughter, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So if I were to get killed on this little trip with you, she’d be an orphan.”

“Is that what you were thinking when you went out to that hunting camp to see Forrest Knox three months ago?”

Touché. “I wasn’t thinking then. That’s my point. And you’re not thinking now.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve thought it through. I’m here because something told me that, given the chance, you’d go with me. So either tell me to get the hell out, or pack your shit and let’s go.”

“I’m bringing a tape recorder.”

“You can bring a box of Havana cigars if you want, just bring your fucking piece. And some extra ammo, if you got it.”

“Handgun?”

“That’ll work. But if you’ve got a long gun, bring that, too. It’s a fluid situation we’re going into.”

The process of decision is a funny thing. One minute you’re explaining all the perfectly rational reasons why you can’t do something insane; the next you’re opening a drawer and taking out a nine-millimeter pistol, then going into the next room to fetch a Remington .308 hunting rifle from your father’s old gun cabinet.