My chest goes tight and his mention of Caitlin and Annie. The subtextual threat is clear. “Maybe another time.”

As I turn to go, Turner’s voice rumbles in his chest like distant thunder. This must be his version of a chuckle. “Are you going to be defending your father in court?”

“I’m not a defense attorney, Mr. Turner.”

“Call me Lincoln.” He revs the big engine twice, and I resist the urge to cover my ears. “That’s not what I asked you,” he reminds me. “I asked, are you gonna be defending him?”

I turn back and give him a level stare. “I don’t think this case is going to reach a courtroom.”

The luminous teeth shine again in his dark face. “Oh, yes it will. You can bank on that, my brother.”

“I was sorry about your mother. I only knew her when I was a boy, but I remember her. I liked and respected her.”

The teeth vanish. “You didn’t know shit about her.”

My fear that he might be carrying a weapon returns. “I didn’t mean to presume anything. You have a good evening,” I say absurdly, backing away from the truck.

I’m already on the sidewalk when he shouts, “All that fancy legal education you got? All those years you spent in the courtroom? They’re not going to help your daddy one bit!”

We’ll see about that. “Aren’t you an attorney yourself?” I call.

“Not like you. I didn’t go to a high-dollar law school with a world-class library and scouts from the big firms waiting for the graduates. I went to a night school, the kind ‘real’ lawyers joke about. Until I hand them their asses in court, that is. I’ve been scrapping out a living since the day I was born, Mayor. I’ve seen things white-shoe lawyers like you can’t even imagine. So don’t be thinkin’ we’ve got anything in common. Just remember what I told you: your daddy’s going down—all the way down—like he should have done a long time ago.”

This guy just lost his mother, I remind myself, but she was terminally ill for nearly a year. His fury is clearly based on a perception of insult much older than that. Could he have some idea that he was likely conceived during his mother’s rape by Mississippi rednecks?

“What do you really know about my father?” I ask.