“This ain’t none of your business, lady,” one boy said in a voice devoid of fear.

Lou Ann aimed her pistol over his head, and a crack of flame rent the darkness. “You let Mr. Sexton go!”

“Stay out of this, you old bitch!” shouted one of the others.

Through ringing ears Henry heard the receptionist’s shaky voice echo off the wall of the building. “Let him go right now, trash! Or I’ll kill you.”

“Cut his fucking throat, Charley,” said the boy on Henry’s left, moving toward Lou Ann.

She fired again. This time the bullet dug a divot out of the cinder-block wall behind the boys.

Henry tried to twist free, but all he managed to do was collapse on the pavement. All three boys were moving toward Lou Ann now.

“Run!” Henry tried to yell, but only a whisper emerged.

As the first boy reached Lou Ann, she shot him point-blank in the stomach.

He fell to his knees and looked down at his bloody shirt.

“Shit!” screamed one of the others, stopping in his tracks and holding up both hands.

The wounded boy fell facedown on the cement.

“Don’t make me kill you,” Lou Ann said in a shaky voice.

After a second’s hesitation, the other two grabbed their fallen comrade and dragged him around the corner of building. Henry heard car doors slamming. Then Lou Ann Whittington’s tear-stained face appeared above his. Her mouth was moving, but all he heard was squealing tires.

“Henry?” She slapped his face. “Can you hear me?”

He coughed and spat blood. “Thank you, Lou. That was …” He couldn’t remember what he’d meant to say. Then he caught it, like a soap bubble flying on the wind: “… a brave thing.”

“Don’t you die on me, Henry Sexton!”

“I’m not … just resting my eyes.”

“Henry!” Lou Ann was fumbling with her cell phone. “This is Lou Ann Whittington over at the Beacon! Mr. Sexton just got stabbed! He’s beat half to death. We need an ambulance over here right away. The law, too. Hurry!”

A dark veil was descending over Lou Ann’s face. Henry heard other voices but couldn’t make sense of them. People were gasping and barking around him, but he couldn’t make out their faces, or even their bodies. He thought of Katy Royal, who was probably sitting in a room with her husband somewhere, scared to death that he’d find out she’d once loved a black boy, or that she’d been in an asylum, or God knew what else—

“Stay awake, Henry!” Lou Ann slapped his face again. “Oh, God, roll over. Can you turn your head? Your mouth’s full of blood.”