After a long last look, Royal holds out his hand to shake, but I can’t bring myself to go that far. “I’ll give you my cell number,” I tell him.

The old man gives me a haughty look and withdraws his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I can find you anytime I need you.”

“I hope so. The clock’s ticking.”

As I turn to make my exit, the door flies open and slams against the wall. Randall Regan fills the doorway, a large purple bruise covering his throat. He looks like he rear-ended someone and slammed into the steering wheel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands, starting toward me.

For the first time I remember the straight razor in my back pocket.

“Easy, Randall!” Brody barks, raising his hand to stop the charge. “Mayor, I believe you know Randall Regan, my son-in-law.”

“We’ve met.”

“Screw this,” Regan hisses. “I’m done playing with this guy, Brody.”

Regan takes another step toward me and reaches for my throat, but just then a soft yet commanding voice says, “Hold it, ace. Listen up a sec.”

Regan’s hand stops within inches of my throat, and he turns his head enough to locate the speaker. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks Kirk.

“Just an interested bystander.” Kirk faces Regan from an angle, as though prepared to throw him across the room if necessary. “But I’m not going to let you hurt anybody. Strictly for informational purposes, if you touch the mayor, you’re going to wake up in the ICU next to your wife.”

Regan’s eyes rake up and down Kirk Boisseau’s frame, estimating his speed and power.

“Randall?” Brody says, “I appreciate you coming to check on me, but you ought to get back with Katy. The mayor and I have come to an understanding.”

Regan straightens his jacket, his jaw working as he tries to ratchet down his fury. He’s had a hell of a day, and the idea of beating me senseless must be tempting. But Kirk looks a little too much like a spoiler to risk that. Regan holds his ground for a few face-saving seconds, his left cheek twitching, but at last he turns and stalks out, leaving the door wide open.

Brody is looking intently at Kirk. “I know you,” he says at length. “You’re Marguerite Boisseau’s boy.”

“That’s right.”

Royal laughs softly. “You owe me for a bulldozer, don’t you?”

Kirk rolls his eyes with resignation.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Seeing that little standoff was worth the balance of your loan. Now, you boys get out of here and let me tend to my daughter.” He points his forefinger at my chest. “I’ll call you later. Don’t let your girlfriend do anything stupid before you hear from me. I’m not the forgiving type.”