Five days ago, Twilight, whose real name was Tiffany Dement but went by Twilight to avoid professional confusion, checked in with her momma back in El Dorado, Arkansas. Lillie, a U.S. Federal Marshal, had visited Mrs. Dement in June and made sure the woman kept her on speed dial if she heard a word from her daughter, a former straight-A student and churchgoer. Momma was worried sick, as her baby had left town six months before high school graduation, sometimes sending home money but more often just postcards from Audubon Zoo in New Orleans, Panama City Beach, or Graceland. The last one really impressed the woman as it contained a recipe for Elvis’s favorite meat loaf.

“Looks like your boyfriend cut his hair.”

“He ain’t my boyfriend.”

“If you suck a man’s peter while he’s watching SpongeBob playing his fucking nose flute, then y’all got some kind of personal deal.”

“Damn, you’re a hard woman, Miss Virgil.”

“Just honest,” Lillie said, turning and reaching down in the console between them for a pack of Bubblicious. She’d been chewing the hell out of it after she quit smoking. Damn, it hadn’t been easy.

“Is that him?” Twilight asked. “Is that Wes with his shirt off? Can I see?”

Lillie handed her the binoculars and reached for her cell phone, calling in the Biloxi police before making the arrest. She could easily handle it herself but would rather not have to deal with some local fuckwads complicating things. Twilight lifted the binoculars up to the railing, where it looked like Wes Taggart was licking the frosting off a donut. He used to have a shaggy seventies-style look, an uglier version of Scott Glenn in Urban Cowboy, but now he was jailbird bald. Almost like he was resigned to his fate.

“I don’t know what I saw in that man,” Twilight said, shaking her head. The early-morning light catching the glint from the ruby stud in her pug nose as she shook her head.

“Probably reminded you of your worthless daddy.”

“How’d you know my daddy was worthless?” Twilight said, still twisting at the ends of her purplish hair, her face a wide question mark.

Lillie leaned into the wheel of the Charger, eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray-Bans with big silver lenses, and just said, “Lucky guess.”

“He didn’t touch me or nothin’, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Your daddy or Wes Taggart?”