Walt tapped his fingernails on the table. “I look for something to happen before then. But I tell you, things would be a damn sight easier on me if I could tell Penn what I’m doing. I wouldn’t have to spend so much time hiding from him and his bodyguards.”

Tom thought about this for a while. Then he said, “No. Penn can’t know about this. First, he’s got to be able to deny all knowledge. Second . . . the people he’s talking to might sniff it on him.”

Walt squinted at his old friend. “Are you sure that’s it? Or do you just not want to tell your son he’s playing bait?”

Tom’s face hardened. “This is war. You know that.”

Garrity held up his hands. “Let’s not plow the same field twice. I’m just making sure you face this straight-on.”

“Don’t worry about that. Look, are you sure you haven’t noticed anything? Sensed anything?”

“Not even a rustle in the tall grass.”

“But you’re ready?”

Walt didn’t bother to answer this.

“You’re settled with it, I mean. In your soul?”

Walt stretched his creaky frame, then looked back at the window in the door. “Believe it or not, I talked to Carmelita about it.”

Tom blinked in disbelief.

“Don’t worry about her,” Walt said. “She saw some rough stuff in Juarez before she moved up here.”

“What did Carmelita say?”

“She talked to her brother. He’s a priest down there still.”

“Jesus, Walt—”

“He’s a priest, goddamn it. He can’t say nothing. Anyway, Carmelita told him a bit about the Knox family history.”

“And?”

“He quoted some scripture, but I can’t remember the exact words. What it came down to was this: in a just war, certain things are permitted.”

“Would he call this a just war, I wonder?”

“Given the facts he knew, he did. He gave me his blessing.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Tom rubbed his forehead, then said, “Damn, I’d give my left arm for a cigar.”

Walt smiled. “Can’t help you there, bud. Got some chaw in the truck.”

“God forbid.” Tom looked over at a cabinet mounted to the wall. “How about a game of gin?”

Walt grinned. “Penny a point?”

Chapter 12

By the time our doorbell rings at 6:35 p.m., Annie and Mia have combed through everything available on the Internet about Serenity Butler, including a video of her acceptance speech for the National Book Award. They’re particularly excited that she spoke fondly of Mississippi rather than trashing it, which would have been easy for a black writer to do.