“How about I buy you a sausage biscuit at the Piggly Wiggly?”

“Now you’re talking,” Quinn said. “And a tall coffee, too. I’d rather spend our time watching the livestock show.”

“There’d be less bullshit.”

Quinn pulled a Liga Privada cigar from his shirt pocket as he caught Maggie’s eye and nodded, both standing and making their way out of the pew and past the Vardaman supporters, who were again on their feet, waving their red bandannas. Damn proud rednecks but with few who looked like they actually did manual labor. The Watchmen folded their arms over their chests and stared from behind their dark sunglasses as they left the pavilion. Walking away, Quinn heard something about the Southerners being pushed out of their home by immigrants and gangbangers.

Vardaman said he wanted his people to stand their ground and turn back the clock to a more glorious time.

“Turn back the clock?” Maggie said. “Christ Almighty. Is he really going to win?”

“Hate to tell you,” Quinn said. “But he already has.”

*   *   *

“You’re going to kill him,” Twilight said. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Lillie said, watching the shadowed figure disappear from the railing and head back into his room at the Star Inn. “That’s not my intention.”

“But you want to?”

Lillie didn’t answer. She’d wait until the locals got there, close off any exits, and then knock nice and polite on his door. How it all went down would be up to Wes Taggart’s sorry ass.

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Lillie nodded and, damn, if she didn’t feel herself tearing up behind her sunglasses, just thinking about the condition they left Boom in. Taggart and his late pal, J. B. Hood, had taken to Boom with a couple of Louisville Sluggers, the cowardly way of knocking a man who was six foot six and two-sixty to his knees. Nobody was sure he would make it, as he slid in and out of a coma, coming to and not being able to see or hear right for a while, having to go through therapy just to walk straight. Yeah, Twilight was probably right. She really wouldn’t get too emotional if a shitbird like Wes Taggart happened to make the wrong play.

“I’m not what you think,” Twilight said, removing the cash from the envelope and counting it out quick with a licked thumb. She tucked the wad into a pink lacy bra.

“Just what do I think?”

“I’m not damaged or trash,” she said. “I know what I want. God gave me this body to flaunt. And I’d rather eat filet mignon than a meatball special at Subway.”

“Preach, Sister,” Lillie said, watching two patrol cars show up in her rearview right by the shark’s mouth. She reached for her door handle and looked right at Twilight. “See you around.”