“Is that where we’re going?”

Blake stopped sawing and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Gonna be like seeing heaven, Coot. Land so green it’ll make your eyes hurt. Water so blue it’ll steal your breath.”

“Blue water?”

“Gulf water.”

“What’s that?”

Blake only winked.

When the padlock came loose, Blake giggled. He opened the trunk and dug through all sorts of things inside. Ketchup bottles filled with brown whiskey, new boxes of leather shoes still packed in tissue paper. There was a basket of jewelry, pocket watches, snuff tins, and news clippings with Coot’s name printed on them.

Blake held one clipping to the light. It bore a photo of Coot speaking before a tent of two hundred people in Chanute. That had been Coot’s biggest day ever. The people had lined up outside the tent to see him. In the photo, Coot had his eyes closed tight, his arm outstretched like he was plucking an apple from the air.

Blake kept sifting through the trunk until he found a small tin box. When he did, he cracked it open using the blade of his pocket knife. The lid popped open, and Blake made a serious face. He pressed the brim of his hat upward and let out a soft whistle.

“What is it?” said Coot.

“Old fool must have a few thousand dollars in here,” said Blake.

“A few thousand?”

Blake licked his thumbs and riffled through the cash. He concentrated and moved his lips slightly without saying anything. “Almost three grand,” he finally said. Then he fell onto his haunches. “For the love of Mike, I expected maybe a few hundred, not this.”

“But we can’t take it,” said Coot.

Blake laughed once. “Just watch me.”

“He’ll kill us, Blake.”

“He shouldn’t have this much to begin with.” Blake closed the box. “E. P. owes more people more money than anyone in the state. This ain’t his money. We ain’t taking nothing. We’re inheriting it.”

E. P. began to stir in his chair. His eyelids opened. He made a sound like he was gurgling. He saw Coot and shot up from his seat. He wobbled on his feet, then fell forward. His lazy eyes landed on Blake, who held the money box beneath his arm.

“Why, you’re robbing me,” E. P. said in a weak voice. Then he landed his grip on Coot’s arm. “You’re robbing me blind.”

Coot tried to tug himself free, but E. P. hardened his grip. “Why, I oughta whip you until your teeth fall out . . .” Then the large man started laughing. He rolled backward onto the dirt. “I can’t hardly bleeve it . . .”