“Nothing. You guys may work for Royal Oil during the day, but I’m your boss now. I’ll let Randall know how things stand.” He looked from Charley to Jake. “Do ya’ll know who the publisher of the Natchez newspaper is?”

Charley shrugged.

“I do,” said Jake, using his shirttail to wipe the blood from his face. “I’ve seen her, I mean. At the health club in Natchez, when I was pumping iron. She’s hot, for an old chick.”

Billy shook his head. “She’s thirty-five, dipshit.”

Jake nodded. “That’s what I meant.”

“A thirty-five-year-old woman is better in bed than anything you ever had, numbnuts.”

“You want us to do something to her?” Charley asked, sensing they still had ground to make up with Billy.

“I’ll let you know. Right now, carry your boy to the skinning shed and leave him there. Then hose off the deck, go to the mudroom, and clean yourselves up. Leave your clothes there. Sonny will bring you fresh ones. Then go home and think about how you screwed up tonight. Say a prayer, and thank the Lord your dipstick is still connected to your body.”

“Yessir,” said Jake Whitten. “We’ll do that. Thank you.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Sonny pulled back the curtain once more, and the boys disappeared onto the deck.

Snake laughed softly. “I’ll be damned. Those punks ain’t ever gonna talk about what happened tonight. Did you think of that, son?”

Billy inclined his head toward the door through which Forrest had disappeared.

“They shit their pants when Forrest walked in with that mask on,” Sonny said.

“The only problem with all this,” Snake reflected, “is that Henry Sexton’s still breathing. I don’t blame Brody Royal for what he done, only that Randall picked a crap crew to handle the job. Now Henry’s spilling his guts to the FBI, and he’s probably being guarded around the clock. I could have shot him from four hundred yards out, from that cotton field across from the Beacon.”

“Henry may die yet,” Billy reminded them. “The last report I got said critical condition.”

“What does Forrest say?” Snake asked.

Billy gave his father a warning glance. “He’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“What about the Masters girl?” Sonny asked. “You’re not thinking of going after her? Her old man owns a shitload of newspapers.”

Billy shrugged. “Again, Forrest’s decision.”

“Well, where the hell is he?” Snake asked. “We need to talk about this. Is he already gone?”

“Ozan was waiting for him outside. I imagine they’ve gone to see Brody.”

“Whoa,” Sonny whispered. “That’s one face-off I’ll be happy to miss.”

“Forrest won’t do nothing,” Snake said. “Deep down, he knows Brody was right to hit Henry, and Brody’s the man with the power in his pocket.”