A white-hot flash of anger almost causes me to whirl and hit him, but at the last second I compose myself and turn to leave. As I near the door, the sound of Byrd’s smug laughter stops me in my tracks. I turn back to him and speak with utter contempt.

“You wife-beating son of a bitch. Jack Kilgard was right. Come the next election, you’re going to be looking for a job.”

Byrd’s eyes glint in his pocked face. “Maybe. But either way, your daddy’s gonna be rotting on Parchman Farm. He’s gonna die there, with all the …” The sheriff searches for a word, then falls silent.

“All the what, Billy? Go ahead and finish, so your partner can hear you. ‘With all the niggers he loves so much.’ That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? Your mind’s like a neon sign, man. You fat fuck.”

Byrd’s face twitches. Then he drops his right hand to the butt of the pistol in his belt.

“No!” Shad cries, jumping up and interposing himself between us. “Penn, get the hell out of here!”

Shaking with rage, I back slowly toward the door, my eyes on Shad. “What’s driving you, Shad? This asshole has to stop himself saying ‘nigger’ ten times a day, if he bothers at all, and you’ve climbed into bed with him!”

Shad gives me his Mona Lisa smile. “Politics and bedfellows, my brother. Sometimes I’m amazed myself.”

I stab my right forefinger at Billy, and though I say nothing, the subtext is clear to two Mississippi boys.

In a voice laced with malice, he says, “You better pray your daddy’s bail ain’t revoked. And you’d better make sure he don’t break one condition of his bond. If he does, I’ll own his ass until the last day of trial. And I can make it mighty rough on a prisoner in my jail. Think about that tonight when you’re laid up with your dyke girlfriend, trying to get to sleep.”

The prospect of my father in this man’s custody sends a shudder down my back, and Billy Byrd doesn’t miss it. He smiles like an arrogant prizefighter first sensing fear in his opponent.

“Don’t forget your picture,” Shad says brightly, walking to his desk and retrieving the printout, which he holds out to me.

“Keep it. Put it on your Wall of Respect, since you’re so proud of it.”

My right hand tingles as I grasp the doorknob, and something makes me turn to the DA one last time. “Stop this while you can, Shad. Before it gets so big you can’t stop it.”

Almost imperceptibly, the district attorney shakes his head.

“Hubris, Shad. Remember the word?”

Like a black Leonard Nimoy, he raises one chiding eyebrow. “That’s a question better asked of your father, I think. Don’t you?”

CHAPTER 40