“Twenty-three, with legs going on forever and long red hair. And those tits. Christ Almighty. The best tits I’ve ever seen. My mouth’s watering just thinking about them. I knew she was trouble then. And, goddamn, I know she’s trouble now.”

“She cleaned up one hell of a mess,” Ray said. “Wes Taggart and J. B. Hood could’ve gotten us all sent to prison. North Mississippi was her reward. We’re not going back on that. Are we?”

“I haven’t decided,” Buster said, picking up the T-bone with his hands and chewing off those last bits of gristle. “You’re pussy-blind, Ray. You’ve never seen what kind of creature you’re dealing with. I’d watch my back, if I were you. That woman will be the death of us both.”

*   *   *

Damn, the kid was good. Caddy Colson knew all parents thought their kids had special talents, but she’d never seen an eleven-year-old throw and catch the football like her son Jason. He was nearly a head taller than most of the kids and could zip it downfield flat-footed without much effort. He was fast, too. During the start of summer drills that night, she watched Jason lead the pack, tossing a football back and forth to his new cousin, Brandon, making sure the younger boy was feeling comfortable at practice. This was only his second year playing Little League ball, but Caddy Colson truly believed, the Good Lord willing, the boy was going to get a college scholarship. Ole Miss. Or if he got really good, Auburn.

“Did you hear from your brother?” her mother, Jean Colson, asked. Both of them sitting high in the stands at Tibbehah High stadium. “He said they were coming back from the fair early.”

“He called.”

“Did he say what it was about?”

“No, ma’am,” Caddy said, trying to watch practice. The fifty or so boys were lined up, in mismatched shorts and T-shirts, bear-crawling for ten yards. Jason again leading the pack, most of the boys a good five yards behind him.

“I hope he and Maggie didn’t get in a fight.”

“Why would you think that?” Caddy said, baseball cap down in her eyes, dressed for the hot practice in a white tank top and khaki shorts with pink flip-flops. She held her keys in her hands and they would rattle on her knee every time she got excited watching her son run.

“Brandon’s daddy’s been making trouble,” her momma said. “He’s working with some lawyer in the Delta to make sure he can appear in court. I can’t imagine that sitting well with Quinn. A filthy, no-good killer and bank robber.”