When I turn the disk over, my hands go cold. The eagle I was looking at has been replaced by an image of President John F. Kennedy in profile. Below the line of his neck is the date 1964. And right about where his ear should be, another hole has been punched through the coin. This hole is rimmed with torn silver, as though bored by a speeding bullet. On its inner lip I see small dark flecks, just like the ones I now see in the tiny grooves on the coin’s edge.

“Blood,” I say, surprising myself. “Jesus.”

Unfolding the paper that held the coin, I find a neatly typed note.

Dear Mayor Cage,

I’m happy that things turned out okay for you and your family, especially your little girl. I hope that with my daddy gone you can finally get some peace. I never cared for all that Klan shit my family was into. I just wanted to hunt deer and turkeys, produce my TV show, listen to my Allman Brothers and Jimmy Buffett. Lay back, you know? But we can’t choose our families, can we? That’s why I’m living the “Banana Republics” lifestyle over here in Europe. Maybe I was always meant to be an expatriot. (sp?)

But in spite of that, I believe Daddy’s story was important, especially the stuff about Uncle Frank and the JFK thing in Dallas. Like History Channel important. That ghostwriter I hired was salivating over all the stuff I have, but I fired him. He was only in it for the money and the heat. Had no feel for the South, man. No understanding. I’ve read a couple of your books now, and you know the South all right. You know where the dirt roads go. So guess what? YOU’RE the man to write Daddy’s story. And look, I’ll split the money with you 50/50. All you have to do is write the book.

I start to laugh. If I could count the times I’ve heard that proposition . . .

Now if a movie or something comes out of it, like that Oliver Stone one with Kevin Costner, only better—more real, you know?—we’d have to renegotiate, of course. But I’m open to whatever. I’m a fair guy.

I hope you and your little girl are doing real good now.

Peace+

Billy Knox

P.S. I sent you the coin as a sign of good faith. I got no use for it. Never did.