Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“It does not matter what you or I believe. That is all done now. It is the past. Like your sheriff.” Fox Uno stopped, hands behind him, looking into a store window. It was Murfee’s only bookstore, new and used with some rare collectibles, and Chris had spent hours there with his father as a kid. Most of the books in the display now looked dusty, showing cracked leather spines. There was a handful of faded and well-thumbed paperbacks piled together, and Chris could read the cover of one of them, a reprint of The Light of Western Stars by Zane Grey. “But if you must know, he tried to steal from both of us, Señor Cherry.”
“And you also expect me . . . us”—Chris glanced over to Amé, who so far had stood rigid and mostly quiet at Fox Uno’s other shoulder—“to believe you had nothing to do with that bus attack in Ojinaga?”
“I did not. But again, what does it matter? Here, now?”
“It matters because you’re running from what’s happening over there, and God knows what other past crimes. I should be arresting you, here and now, and ending all this.”
“Yet you do not. I have committed no crimes here, Señor Cherry. If I am not the man I say I am, then I’ve done nothing wrong. If I am, what can you prove?”
“There are others . . .” Chris started, but stopped when Fox Uno raised a callused hand.
“Ah, sí, Las Tres Letras. What you call the DEA?” Fox Uno said the letters slowly, disdainfully. “Once they decide who I am, it will not matter anymore.”
Chris shook his head. “You come here, threaten my deputy, demand her help . . .”
“I did not threaten. I did not demand. I explained to her the way things are, the way they must be. She understands this. You do not. You cannot. Es la familia.”
Chris let his voice rise, leaning in close so others on the street wouldn’t hear him. “Don’t fucking talk to me about family. We’re her family. You? You’re just a sick old man who showed up one night claiming to be someone that mattered.”
Fox Uno turned and said something to Amé in Spanish, something far too fast for Chris to catch. Fox Uno fixed Chris with those hard eyes of his, eyes that could will away the sunlight, but he was smiling. “I was wrong then, perhaps you do understand. You will do this for her, for me, because she is familia. Somos todos familia.”