Sonny cocked his head and spoke softly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. That Henry might have ambushed Glenn. How would Henry know to go to Glenn on his own? We didn’t exactly advertise our membership.”

“Damned straight,” Snake said. “There it is.”

Billy laughed, though he knew his father would hate him for it. “Bullshit. How many times did I see you show that JFK coin of yours around when I was a kid? The one with the bullet holes in it. How many gold pieces got flashed around at family gatherings like Super Bowl rings?”

Snake averted his eyes, but Billy went on mercilessly. “Twenty men in your damn outfit. How many kids did they have? How many wives and ex-wives? You think they didn’t know any names of other members? A guy like Henry Sexton—a guy who grew up around here—I’ll bet he could get every Eagle’s name inside of six months, and maybe quicker. I’ll bet he’s had most of your names for years.”

“No way,” Sonny insisted, his chin quivering. “If he did, he’d already have printed ’em in that rag of his.”

Billy shook his head. “Not necessarily. I’ve done my own checking into Henry Sexton. He’s playing a long game.”

Sonny leaned closer.

Billy spat dip juice into an empty shot glass. “Henry’s in constant contact with the FBI. Field agents call him for regular updates on the stories he’s working. And the stories he’s working are your old glory cases. Albert Norris, Joe Louis Lewis, Jimmy and Luther. Now, that’s not the end of the world—not so far—but we don’t want the Bureau digging any deeper than they already have. Not while you’re on my payroll. And not when the attorney general’s putting eighty-year-old men away for murders that happened when I was in diapers.”

“Preacher Killen was a dumbass,” Snake grumbled. “That’s why Frank never brought him into the Eagles. Ernest Avants wasn’t much better. We got to shut Glenn up ASAP, Bill. And he’s not the only one. That goddamn reporter—”

Billy held up his hand to silence Snake. “Don’t even go there, Pop.”

Sonny said, “How do you know about Henry Sexton’s contacts with the FBI?”

Billy smiled. “That’s my business, Uncle Son. But take it as gospel.”

Billy wasn’t related to Sonny by blood, but Sonny appreciated the term of affection.

“As I was about to say,” Snake muttered with a glare at Sonny, “it ain’t only Glenn we need to take care of. It’s time to shut down Henry Sexton, too.”

Billy looked sharply at his father, but Snake pushed on regardless. “We shoulda done it five years back, before he printed half the shit he has already. And you know it, William.”