“Only if I go too,” said the imam. “You know the rule. You don’t go anywhere on my plane alone.”

“Afraid I’ll run off with your damn pilot?” baited Retta Mae.

The imam said nothing. But his expression changed. He turned his head toward the inland waterway and watched the trawler’s wake disappear through his dining room window.

“We’re enjoying a nice calm dinner,” he said quietly. “Don’t tempt me into ruining it all by having to hit you, sister.”

“Any excuse, right, Imam?”

Silence.

God, she hated the man. There was no way of getting out from under him. If she ran away, his goons would find her and kill her. Could she kill him first? Probably, and if she did she’d gladly go to prison. It would be a better life than this one. That’s for sure. Only she’d never get to prison. Rasheed’s lieutenants would bury her and the imam in the Everglades before the cops even heard about it, then carve up his empire. But then, maybe if she got to New York alone she could disappear in the city and…

“Think I’ll come to New York with you,” said Jamal, smiling. “Think I’ll try out for that TV program too.”

“You have your congregation to milk, Rasheed.”

“I’ll let Imam Deekins take this Friday’s television hour.”

They were quiet. Retta Mae tried to think of what to do next. She asked Rasheed Jamal what his field of expertise would be on The Big Question.

“Islam. And yours?”

“General knowledge,” she said quickly. “I’m smart, Rasheed. My high school principal told my mother I had the IQ of a genius. I could have gone to college if I had the money.”

“Then you should be a shoo-in to get on the program, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll bet I get on and you don’t,” said the imam.

“For how much?”

“If I get on and you don’t, you marry me.”

“And,” asked Retta Mae, “if I get on and you don’t?”

“I marry you.” The imam laughed a hearty laugh.

“What if you lose, Rasheed? You ready to die?”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” answered Retta Mae.

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

“How come, honey?”

“I’m tired of living.”

“That tired?”

“Yes, that tired.”

Quiet settled again over the dining room table.

It was late September 2012.

A little over a week had passed since the big heavyweight championship fight. And now Billy Constable was in the same dirty gray van with the one sliding door, sitting in the same seat he had seen Sonny sitting in. There were two thugs up front. A third thug, sitting next to Billy, was squashing Billy’s left shoulder up against the side of the van. The thug was huge and ugly and wore a leather porkpie hat. His job was to keep Billy away from the sliding door. Sanseli was sitting behind Billy, talking into Billy’s right ear. Someone was sitting to the right of Sanseli, but Billy didn’t know who it was because he had been told not to turn around.