Pratt held on to the dashboard tight, feeling his stomach turn loose. He took in a lot of short quick breaths, everything around him obscured on account of that inner fog of the car. He wiped his hand on the passenger window to see if he was somewhere he could just jump out and run into the woods. He could do it. Maybe even make it before that Bishop fella shot him in the back.

“I loved that crazy redneck woman,” Pratt said. “I wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head. This whole thing’s got me busted up good.”

“ ’Course you wouldn’t,” Stagg said. “I bet you’re as innocent as Shirley Temple’s starched white underbritches. But some folks may not recognize how much you deeply loved and cared for her. Won’t be long before that Quinn Colson may be hearing the same type of stories about borrowed money and family squabbles and that woman coming to your place of work, five, six times to demand that you make things right. Right? But, hell. You know that’s another story.”

Pratt didn’t say anything, holding his breath as Stagg slowed the car on the soft edge of the curving roadside. A sign ahead pointed the way to the community of Blackjack. Another sign pointed west up to Fate. He could hear Bishop moving up behind him, the breath getting warmer on his neck, hearing the breathing with all that goddamn Perry Como.

Pratt closed his eyes. If he’d been a praying man, he might’ve started talking to Jesus.

“I invested in you, son,” Stagg said. “And if you get yourself fucked five ways from Sunday, I won’t see a return on what I gave you.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done, Mr. Stagg,” Pratt said. “Believing in me like you did. Making sure I got that liquor license with my past troubles. Yes, sir. I sure do.”

“You can stop stroking my ding-dong now,” Stagg said, holding the wheel although the car wasn’t in motion. “Here’s what I’m offering you. I know a surefire way to cornhole those fucking kids and get the law off your ass. But you better decide right here and right fucking now that I’m more than just an investor. I’ll be your partner.”

Pratt swallowed again. He tried to breathe. Stagg cracked a window and turned on some cool air to clear the windows. Everything was so damn hot and stuffy in that old red car. All he wanted to do was get out and run as far as his skinny legs would carry him.

“I want half of Bluebird Liquors,” Stagg said. “Understand? How ’bout we head on back to the Rebel where you can sign the papers and make it all legal.”

“Can you give me a few hours to at least change my undershorts?”

“Better do it fast, son,” Stagg said. “This here is a limited time offer.”

*   *   *