“Sounds fun, boys,” said Mia.

“Let’s not be nice about it, either. Combat call signs from here out,” Top said. “And we do this until it’s done.”

There was no stunned silence as the meaning sank in. Not with them. They gave a last hooah.

Top turned to Bunny. “You good?”

The big man from Orange County grinned. “Top, I’ve been doing exactly jack and shit since we came here. I’m so far past good you can’t even see me.”

Top held out his hand, and Bunny looked down at it. They shook and held the clasp for a long moment before releasing. It had the feeling of a farewell, but that was okay. They’d been through the Valley of the Shadow so many times. If this was the end, then they were both at peace with it.

“I heard the team plan, but what’s our plan?”

“Plan? I intend to shoot a lot of motherfuckers. See where that gets us.”

“Works for me.”

They grinned at each other like kids about to slash the tires on the school bus.

They walked outside, bumped fists, and split up. Bunny plunged into the woods, and Top began walking along the path that would take him to the gymnasium.

CHAPTER 159

LABORDE, TEXAS

I reached LaBorde and got lost twice trying to find the place where my dad’s old buddy lived. I’d been there and even had the address, but the GPS in the pickup kept taking me onto dead-end streets.

Then I saw the house.

The porch was shaded by old trees, and two older middle-aged guys—one white and one Black—were sitting on the porch. I parked and walked up to the foot of the stairs.

“Permission to come aboard,” I said.

“Come on up,” said the white man, and he got up with creaking knees to offer his hand.

Hap Collins was thin, unshaven, and looked like he’d spent the night getting beaten up behind a bar. There were bruises all over his face, and he had two black eyes and a big piece of bloodstained tape across the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus,” I said, “what happened to you?”

“Someone took a serious dislike to him,” said the Black man. “And you can’t fault him for that.”

Leonard Pine was the same age, with a bit of a beard going gray and a pale cowboy hat that had seen better decades. Like Hap, though, he was on the wiry side of lean and had the kind of calluses on his knuckles and other parts of his hands you only get from hitting heavy bags. Or heavy people.

“You’re the son,” he said.

“I’m the son.” We shook.

“Met your dad a couple of times. Knew his way around a fishing line. We hauled in some bass. Nothing for the record books, but good to eat.” He paused. “Sorry to hear about what happened.”