Snake lit a Winston and waited for Royal to join him in the lee of the terminal building, watching the businessman’s eyes for signs of irritation at his unexpected visit. Royal might be one of the two or three richest men in the state, but thirty-seven years ago, Snake had killed four people at his command, and at this very airport. To Snake’s way of thinking, that gave him special access. He saw only frank curiosity in Royal’s eyes as the man stepped under the metal awning.

“Surprised to see you out here this time of year,” Royal commented, not offering his hand. “What’s going on?”

“I thought we might have a word, sir. A quiet word.”

“Of course. Well?”

“You may have heard that Glenn Morehouse is dying?”

Royal nodded once.

“Glenn’s living out at his sister’s place. I’ve been by there a few times, just to visit, and … well, I got a funny feeling. Glenn’s all the time reading Henry Sexton’s newspaper stories about the Double Eagles and talking about the old times—and not in a good way, either. He’s done got religion. Born again.”

Royal’s eyes had clouded at the mention of Henry Sexton. “Born again, you say? That’s never good.”

“No, sir. And his sister, Wilma—she’s a good girl, old school—Wilma says Glenn made some suspicious phone calls last week when she was out of the room.”

Royal watched an airport attendant chock the Avanti’s wheels. “You think your old comrade in arms is thinking about clearing his conscience before he meets his maker?”

“I’d hate to think so, sir. But if you ask me straight out … that’s what I’m thinking.”

“Morehouse was one of the original Eagles, wasn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Hard to believe he’d turn traitor.”

“The fear of death does funny things to people, I find.”

“Religion does, too. Have you spoken to Billy or Forrest about this?”

“Yessir. But they don’t seem too concerned about it. At least not enough to do anything ahead of time.”

Deeper consternation creased Royal’s face. “I see. And you thought …?”

“I just figured you ought to be made aware of the possibility. Considering …” Considering our shared history, Snake finished silently. “If you wait till the levee breaks, the whole damn Corps of Engineers can’t hold back the flood.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Royal clapped Snake on the shoulder. “You did the right thing coming to me. I’ll think about it. Now, I need to get to my bank. There’s a lot going on in New Orleans just now.”

Snake shook his head in admiration. When Brody Royal said “my bank,” he meant it in the literal sense. He owned the motherfucker. The Royal Cotton Bank.