“You son of a bitch,” Snake said, looking like he wanted to stab Morehouse in the heart. “Give me that syringe, Son.”

“Will it kill him in time?”

“If you’d hurry up it will!”

As Sonny reached for the syringe, Morehouse yanked both arms up off the mattress with such power that Sonny’s head crashed into Snake’s. It was all Sonny could do to cling to the big wrist.

“Watch out!” he cried, stunned by the strength flowing through Morehouse’s arm. His old comrade’s eyes were nearly white with panic, like the eyes of a coyote trying to rip itself out of a trap.

“This ain’t gonna work!” Sonny shouted, as Morehouse slung him against the bedside table with almost superhuman strength. The impact knocked the syringe to the floor. “What do we do?”

“I heard a siren!” Wilma shouted. “Jesus, do something!”

“You’ve gotta do it, Willy!” Snake told her. “Grab that syringe and shoot it into the port!”

Wilma had gone white. “I can’t do that!”

“It’s got to be done, and we ain’t got enough hands.”

Morehouse howled like a senseless brute with no power of speech. He had become fear incarnate. Wilma stood shaking like a child pushed beyond its limits. Sonny heard the siren now; its distant scream turned his bladder to stone.

“Do it!” Snake roared at Wilma. “Do it now, or we’re all going to jail!”

Morehouse was still fighting, but Sonny felt the great strength waning at last. Wilma’s eyes sought him out, silently asking permission for this act of blood betrayal. Sonny had done many things he regretted, and this might be the worst sin of all, but they had no choice anymore. As Snake cursed and Morehouse bellowed like a steer going to slaughter, Sonny nodded.

Wilma closed her eyes, her lips moving in silence. Then she picked up the syringe off the floor and moved quickly to the far side of the bed.

“Don’t fight me, Glenn,” she said softly. “It’s time to go see Mama.”

CHAPTER 21

I’M NO STRANGER to perverse crimes, but Henry’s tale of Brody Royal’s revenge on two female whistle-blowers has sickened me.

“Royal’s son-in-law forced one woman to kill the other?” I ask in disbelief. “And then he killed the other one anyway?”

“He had Snake kill her. That’s the story I got today. And I believe it.”

I gulp the rest of my bourbon and hold out my cup for a refill. “You hate him, don’t you? Royal, I mean.”

“Yessir, I do.”

Henry’s hatred for Brody Royal is obviously proportional to his love for the Norris family, but I don’t have time to plumb that connection now. “There’s no way my father was friends with a man who could do that,” I tell him. “No way.”