Hearing an engine upstairs in the driveway, Brody walked over to the fieldstone fireplace, where a large framed display above the mantel held pride of place. The left-hand photograph in the frame showed the levee at Caernarvon, Louisiana, being dynamited in 1927. The photo on the right showed an aerial image of St. Bernard Parish, Brody’s childhood home, flooded from end to end as a result of that levee breach. The two photos bookended a cashier’s check in the amount of twelve dollars and fifty cents. Drawn on a once-renowned New Orleans bank, this sum had been issued in 1928 as “full reparations” for the loss of his family’s land, home, and two mercantile stores. Brody’s father had never cashed this check, which he’d considered absolute proof of the baseness of the human spirit. Brody himself had spent decades working to avenge his father, and now, near the end of his life, God and nature had conspired to grant him his wish.

“Mr. Royal?” said a familiar voice from the foot of the stairs.

Brody turned and motioned Snake Knox to come deeper into the room.

“What can I do for you, Snake?”

The crop duster beamed with pleasure, his eyes taking in the gleaming weapons behind the glass. He’d only been down here a few times, and he clearly felt awed by his surroundings.

“Glenn Morehouse has sung his last song,” he said.

Brody acknowledged the news with a nod. “Any problems?”

“No, sir.”

“Good work.”

Randall Regan came down the stairs, nodded to Snake, then poured himself a Stella Artois from a small Viking refrigerator and watched Knox the way a hawk watches a serpent in a field.

“There’s another problem, though,” Snake said. “Henry Sexton met with Mayor Penn Cage tonight. For a good while, too. Over at the Beacon office.”

Royal glanced at his son-in-law, whose eyes went cold. “I don’t like that.”

“I didn’t figure you would,” Snake said. “When Penn Cage gets a burr up his ass about something, he don’t quit. Remember when he put Judge Marston in prison? And that cunt of his with the newspaper …”

“Yes.” Brody sipped his whiskey. “You know, Leo Marston was a friend of mine. Also a business partner. His incarceration caused me considerable difficulty. I always felt like I owed Penn Cage for that.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything you want me to do?”

“Do Forrest and Billy know that Sexton spoke to the mayor tonight?”

Snake nodded. “Billy’s pretty worried about it, actually. But Forrest don’t seem too concerned.”

“So you came to me.”

“I figured you’d want to know.”

For the first time, Randall spoke. “You figured right.”

“I’ll take this under advisement and get back to you tomorrow,” Brody said. “Keep me apprised of any developments.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brody smiled. “That’s all.”