“She looks a lot better than you told me,” Cherie went on. “I was downright jealous.” She gave him a chiding look. “I couldn’t help wondering what she would do if she knew what we get up to over here.”

The ice on Forrest’s heart climbed up his throat. How can these bitches be so goddamned stupid? Like possums running toward a spotlight on a varmint rifle …

Cherie gave him a girlish come-hither look, then spoke in a teasing singsong: “Come on and stay. I’ll give you what you’re always begging for.”

Forrest stepped closer to the bed. He knew some truly kinky women down in New Orleans, but nothing could compare to a housewife so bored she would scratch scars into her arms to keep from going out of her mind every day. “Next time,” he said. “Alphonse is waiting for me.”

“Oh, screw that ugly Redbone,” Cherie said, and then she giggled. “On second thought, you couldn’t pay me to screw him.”

Forrest didn’t laugh. He took her by the wrist and squeezed hard enough to make her wince. “Next time I may bring Alphonse in here to take a turn. And he won’t be paying you. You think about that while I’m gone.”

Cherie looked at him as though he’d broken some unspoken rule. “You don’t mean that, Forrest.”

He walked to the door, opened it, and looked back with utter seriousness. “Alphonse, come in here a second.”

Cherie Delaune’s face drained of blood. She’d had no idea that Ozan had been sitting out in the trailer’s den, waiting to run interference if her husband showed up. But when the big Redbone walked through the door, she understood quick enough. If Ricky had come home while she was doing Forrest, he probably would have died in front of his own television.

“Ya’ll get out of here,” Cherie said in a small voice. “This ain’t funny.”

Ozan laughed, his copper-colored face alight with anticipation.

“You sure you don’t want to take a turn, Al?” Forrest said. “She’s all ready for you. And we can spare twenty minutes.”

Like a cornered animal, Cherie Delaune searched desperately for an exit, but both men were blocking the only door.

“Ya’ll can’t make me do this!” she cried, pulling the covers over herself.

“No?” said Forrest. “Who you gonna tell?”

“I didn’t mean what I said about your wife, Forrest.”

Ozan walked toward the bed.

“Get away from me!” Cherie shouted. “I ain’t no whore! Forrest!”

But Forrest was already in the hall, headed toward the trailer’s kitchen, a wicked smile on his face.

He took a jug of milk from the refrigerator, then sat down on a cheap sofa, laid his pistol beside him, and thought about Penn Cage and his family.

CHAPTER 29