The story he told Caddy about his dad and rehab had been partly true. His mother wanted to hold an intervention. The only problem was no one wanted to come and tell his daddy how to do his business. It wasn’t an all-out lie, more of a way to assimilate with whatever Caddy had been through. He was a little jealous of her strength, that she’d undergone an actual trial by fire and had walked out stronger and even more faithful to God. That was a hell of a thing, something that, as a faltering believer, he truly admired. Caddy Colson had guts. And she was so goddamn beautiful. She wasn’t some spray-tanned honey from the Delta. Caddy Colson was the first true woman he’d ever been with.

Bentley felt a solid clasp on his shoulder and looked up to see the manager of the steakhouse. A short, squat Greek man who’d been there for years and years, a brother-in-law to the owner. Bentley left his bourbon and followed the man behind the bar and through the swinging doors of the kitchen, the steaks hissing and burning on the grill, black men in all white tending to hot bread and making salads. None of them looked up from what they were doing, knowing never to make eye contact with those headed into the back room.

The door was open and the manager spread his arms wide to welcome him in. The room nothing too fancy—wood-paneled walls, a long bookcase filled with footballs from bowl games and trophies from celebrity golf tournaments. A few pictures of pro wrestlers and a lot with the steakhouse owner and a big-titted blonde woman fishing and playing golf. A half-dozen men sat at a long table in red leather swivel chairs. It could’ve been any conference room in corporate America.

Although his father wasn’t there, Bentley knew all the men. And at the head of the table, J. K. Vardaman stood and offered him a seat at the end. There were no handshakes. Another waitress in a tight top and jogging shorts appeared to take new drink orders. Vardaman, tanned and silver-headed, placed reading glasses at the end of his nose and looked down at a legal pad. “Let’s cut the bullshit, gentlemen, and get right down to business. How about one of you boys go shut that goddamn door.”

The old men looked to Bentley. He got up and closed the door with a sharp click.

*   *   *