“Not with those Jewboys missing in Neshoba County,” Frank said. “A Ferriday, Louisiana, music store owner don’t rate compared to white martyrs from New York.” Frank forked the tenderloin off the grill and dropped it onto a platter. “Don’t worry about it. Time’s on our side. When the moment comes, we’ll know which goat to tie to the tree.” He pointed down the shallow slope of the sandbar. “Look at Snake! He’s grinning like a barrel of possum heads!”

Snake Knox was marching up toward them, the drunken young waitress locked under his right arm like a prisoner. His left hand held a walkie-talkie with a shining silver aerial. Sonny looked past him, down to the Chevy. There seemed to be someone sitting motionless behind the wheel.

“Who’s that in the car?” Sonny asked anxiously, afraid of what Snake might be planning.

“Just an old safety dummy I got from a guy at the tire plant,” Snake answered, joining them beside the grill. “You boys ready for a show?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Frank, rubbing out his sand drawing with his boot as he finished his beer.

Snake Knox turned toward the women sitting far back under the trees. Not one had given him the time of day since Friday—not even his mother—as all were friends of his ex-wife. But Snake waved anyway and hollered, “Keep your eyes on that Chevy, ladies!” Then he turned and yelled for the kids on the riverbank to give the car a good thirty yards of clearance. When Sonny’s wife realized what must be about to happen, she started running toward the children, but by then Snake had held up the walkie-talkie and pressed a button.

A blinding yellow flash lit the interior of the car for a millionth of a second, whiting out an oval disk in Sonny’s field of vision. Then the kids were cheering and running toward the car, with Frank and Snake close behind. Back under the cottonwoods, a woman gave a piercing rebel yell. Turning, Sonny saw Glenn’s sister Wilma standing in a bikini, pumping her fist high in the air. The other women looked indifferent to the commotion by the water. Sonny trotted down to the knot of people while Morehouse huffed and puffed along behind him.

The acrid stink of high explosive hurled Sonny back to the war, but the Chevy didn’t look like anything much had happened to it. The dummy was still sitting behind the wheel, though it had fallen forward like a drunk who’d passed out after pulling into his driveway. Then Snake yanked open the door with a screech of metal, and Sonny saw the result of his work.