I shake my head, then turn and walk toward the car.

“Wait!” calls his wife.

I look back, skepticism plain on my face.

Nita says, “What if a man was, uh—”

“What if your husband was there when Sonny was killed?” I ask. “Took part, maybe?”

Dark blood comes into her cheeks.

“Can he still turn state’s evidence?” I go on. “Could he still get a plea deal that would protect him? Is that what you want to know?”

Without looking at her husband, Nita Devine nods slowly.

“Speaking as a former prosecutor, I can tell you that the answer to that question is an unequivocal yes. The best witnesses are almost always accomplices to crimes.”

I’m not sure if what I see in her face is relief or despair. But behind whatever that emotion is, I see what looks like surrender. It’s time to leave them stewing in their fears, and in this life they have made together.

“So that’s what sweet-talking looks like,” I say as I get back into the Audi.

Serenity laughs softly, but I hear satisfaction in her voice.

“He’s going to talk,” I tell her.

“Did he say that?”

“No. But he’s more than halfway there. The wife is past ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. The question is, how long will it take them to come to it? If it takes too long, they’ll be the next ones to get measured for caskets.”

“They’ve gotta know that,” Serenity says.

“The wife knows. That’s why it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

“We gonna sit here all day?” she asks.

“You didn’t have to tell him about the sticker on the truck.”

“Do you not have photos of it?”

“I don’t know. But since Walt Garrity was here before us, I’m ninety-nine percent sure we do.”

“Then let’s go. I’m thirsty. I need a beer.”

As I pull onto the narrow street and drive slowly between the bass boats and empty trailers parked against both curbs, I say, “You got a little radical back there. But it made all the difference. That shotgun move scared the shit out of Devine.”

“Just basic close-quarters combat drill.” Serenity does some sort of kung fu move with her hands, then laughs again. “It’s like Eddie Murphy said in 48 Hours. I’m your worst nightmare—a nigger with a badge.”

“Except you don’t have a badge.”

“Neither did Eddie.” Tee winks at me. “Perception is everything, right?”

Chapter 15

Sulphur, Louisiana

Snake Knox stood with his back against the interior wall of the sod farm’s administrative office, his arms folded across his chest. Opposite him stood Toons Teufel, sergeant at arms of the Varangian Kindred, and three muscular club members in riding leathers. Snake figured they did the strong-arm work that had always been part of the gun and drug businesses. Rocket scientists they were not.