Backpedaling up the steps, I stare into the pickup’s open window, searching for the glint of a gun barrel. To my surprise, the truck screeches to a stop, its diesel engine idling low and heavy, like that of a tank. A dark face hovers in the driver’s window; I can just make out the whites of eyes in its upper half.

“You the mayor?” asks a voice that’s not quite James Earl Jones deep, but very nearly so.

“That’s right,” I answer, still wary of an attack.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I have an office.”

The lips part enough for me to see yellow-white teeth. “I ain’t gonna hurt you none.”

“You’re going to hurt somebody, driving like that.” Edging down off the steps, I move warily toward his window. “You’re going the wrong way on a one-way street.”

“That right?” The man laughs without humor. “Well, I’m new in town.”

“Where are you from?”

The eyelids blink once, slowly. “You don’t know who I am?”

His face is darker than those of many local blacks, and squarer than most, as well. There’s a grayish cast to his skin, or perhaps even a blue tint, but it’s hard to tell by the dashboard lights. He has a strong jaw and nose, but I can’t tell much about his eyes. Up close, the sclera are more yellow than white, giving him a jaundiced look. I’m about to say I don’t recognize the face when I realize I must be looking at Viola’s son—Lincoln Turner.

“Does this truck have Illinois plates?”

Lincoln grins. “Give that man a see-gar!”

“What do you want here?”

“Your daddy killed my mama,” he says, all humor gone from the bass voice. “I’d say we’re overdue for a meeting.”

An emotion I’d like to call something else but which is in fact raw fear has scrambled my nerves. I suddenly need to piss—badly.

“Why are you here at my house?”

“I wanted to see your face. And to tell you something. There was a time when your daddy could have done what he did to my mama and have nothing happen behind it. But that time’s past. Even in Mississippi.”

“Are you so certain about what happened to your mother?”

“My auntie doesn’t lie, Mayor.”

Turner must be referring to Cora Revels. I consider raising the question of his paternity, but a dark street doesn’t seem like the best place to bring up a gang rape. Better to let Shad broach this subject with Turner.

“This isn’t the proper venue to discuss these matters, Mr. Turner.”

He grins again. “A lawyer, even now? Out here?” His voice is taunting. “Are you inviting me into your house? With your fiancée and your little girl?”