Part of her wanted to see Willis and Dr. Collins in the same room together. The doctor, who tried to come off as a slick southern good ol’ boy, and the financial manager, who was arrogant and snide. Two alpha dogs fighting over the bone that was Duke’s money. But the smarter, bigger part of her wanted to get on with her job and let them get on with their sideways business behind closed doors.

After a second’s hesitation, she chose to clip the gnarled toenails of the cranky old diabetic lady in exam three instead of going to Duke.

“You’ve got quite the brass pair, comin’ in and askin’ for more favors. Y’all like to write checks with your mouths you don’t seem to be able to cash.”

“I can pay.” Duke hated himself for the note of pleading he heard in his own voice. Desperation leaked out as body odor from his pores, making him grateful Angel was not there to smell his sour weakness. She already thought he was a disgusting human, no need to reinforce it.

“Yes? Let’s see it.” The doctor abruptly lost his heavy southern drawl, overcome by greed.

Willis made a disgusted noise and opened the briefcase, revealing stacks of cash.

The doctor’s face did not change, but his body quivered, tight as a guitar string, ready to shiver or snap, depending on the next move in the room. He picked up a stack held together with rubber bands, thumbing through it. “How much is here?”

Duke’s father took the bundle back from the doctor, replaced it, then closed the briefcase. “There’s enough to pay the past due bills, and enough to cover the cost of the procedure you’re about to perform.” Then he handed him a form. “This is a nondisclosure agreement. Sign it and we’ll make it worth your while.”

This is where Pops shines: organization and graft.

“I’m intrigued.” Dr. Collins fingered his turtleneck for a second.

With his overly black pompadour and horsey face, he might have been an bad actor in a hemorrhoids commercial. Standing next to Willis, who easily pulled off the community leader persona—regal in his dress shirt and slacks, his gray curls clipped and professional, his posture straight and easy—the doctor appeared foolish. Duke was relieved when Collins signed the paper and seemed to regain his composure. And his accent.

“What is it you boys have in mind?”

Duke shoved aside a pile of towels that were being stored on an exam table and hopped up, his leg stretched in front of him. “Look here, Doc, my ankle is worse. Tomorrow I have to stand and pitch in front of a team doctor and my manager. I’m afraid I’ll buckle. Unless you can give me something so I don’t feel the pain, something that won’t be detected in a drug test.”