As Walt darted back up the aisle, Sonny tried to rise, but Walt punched him in the solar plexus. Two seconds later, Walt had exposed the antecubital vein.

Tom jabbed in the needle and injected 5 mg of the sedative.

“ATTENTION IN THE VAN!” said a metallic voice.

“PA speaker,” Walt said, still holding Sonny. “I’ve got to go out there.”

When Walt let go of Sonny’s arm, the old man fell back onto the cushions of the bed and lay still.

“I’d better come with you,” Tom said.

“Hide your gun and the drugs first.”

Tom nodded, though he couldn’t see what good that would do if he couldn’t hide Thornfield as well.

“Throw a blanket over him like he’s sleeping,” Walt ordered. Then he opened the side door of the van and climbed down the step.

“STOP WHERE YOU ARE!” ordered the PA voice.

Tom’s heart began to thump against his sternum. He wanted to slide the gun into his rear waistband, but he fought the urge and did as Walt had instructed, concealing his black bag and the pistol in a drawer beneath the RV’s bed. Red lights began flashing outside, sending sizzling arcs of scarlet light through the van’s interior.

A car door slammed outside.

Tom took a deep breath, then went out through the same door Walt had used. A Louisiana state trooper wearing a flat-brim cowboy hat stood beside a white patrol car with its driver’s door standing open. The flashing red light bar backlit him like an actor walking into the climactic scene of a film. Tom could hear radio chatter inside the car. Even as he hoped that the trooper hadn’t called in Walt’s license plate, he realized that the way the van was parked—nose out from the borrow pits—meant the trooper couldn’t have seen the plate number yet. Walt had probably parked that way on purpose, just in case.

“What’s the problem, Sar’nt?” Walt asked as Tom closed the door.

The trooper walked toward the van, his hand on the butt of his pistol. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Captain Walt Garrity, Texas Rangers.”

“Texas Rangers?”

“That’s right. Retired. But I still work as an investigator for the DA in Houston.”

“Where’s your ID?”

“In my wallet. Can I take it out?”

“Not just yet. What about you?” asked the trooper, gesturing at Tom.

Tom silently cursed his stupidity. “It’s in the van.”

“I see. Captain, we’ve had reports of a van like this one being used to move crystal methamphetamine around the state.”

Walt laughed. “You think a couple of old farts like us are pushing meth?”

“You’d be surprised. Why don’t we get your friend there to open up the van, so I can take a look inside?”