Ever since TJ Byrd took to the social media airwaves to convince the world she was innocent and he was the bad guy in this drama, man, how his life had changed. He’d been getting nonstop harassing phone calls at his home and over at the liquor store. Hello there, Killer. Why’d you do it, Chester? You are a sick, sick man. Kids, gosh-dang kids, would race by him on the Jericho Square giving him the high sign, and worst of all was seeing those stupid-ass free byrd T-shirts they were selling at the Rebel.

Chester had to squirrel himself away in the stockroom just to get a little break, telling ole Jimbo out front to tell anyone who asked that “No, Mr. Pratt is not around and probably won’t be for a long while.” Jimbo knowing not to ask much more than that, fine with ringing up the weekend liquor sales and knocking that phone off the hook. Ass-pocket bottles of whiskey and gallon jugs of Aristocrat vodka, boxes of wine for the ladies who wanted to drink themselves numb as there was little else to do in Tibbehah besides Sunday services and Taco Night at the El Dorado.

Chester hoped and prayed, really praying to his Lord that all would be forgotten and forgiven. He meant it. Hell, it wasn’t his fault what happened to Gina, all he’d been trying to do was scare her a little bit, make her back off on trying to get a return on her investment so durn quick. He’d told her, just two nights before he’d sent the Nix boys, that you couldn’t make your money back in a few months, that wasn’t the way of the world. He said he’d be able to come up with half by summertime, right around margarita season, and if she had any problem with that then she could just go and find herself a lawyer. But Gina didn’t like that. Didn’t like that a bit, ’cause she knew what she’d done, looting her own baby girl’s savings, was illegal as hell, and if Chester didn’t step up with her money, TJ was going to make a big ole family feud. The way Chester saw it, TJ still was to blame for the mess. She should’ve had more respect for her momma and her decision-making.

Chester added a little more Beam to his coffee and closed his eyes while he lay back in a big old leather chair patched up in duct tape, breathing deep into his nose, not wanting to turn on the damn TV or check his emails on account of all the hate out there. Why oh why would these stupid-ass kids fall for a hick like TJ Byrd, take her side in what was a most personal and private matter?

Knock, knock.