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?
They stood that way for what felt like a long time, sharp points of a triangle, each staring at the other.
Chris asked, “What do you know about five bodies we discovered on the river? Young men, basically kids. Drug mules. You show up a day after we found them. That’s a hell of a coincidence, right? Do you understand that word in English? Are you going to tell me you had nothing to do with that?”
Fox Uno shrugged. “Who can say? There’s much violence on the river now. These men may have worked for me or not. Again, it does not matter.” The old man stared at Chris with eyes as hard and sharp as knife edges, flashing as Amé’s had done only moments before. “Yo soy la Muerte.”
“Right, Fox Uno, the great and terrible. We know all about you. But pull back the curtain, and what are you really? What’s left of you now?” Chris gestured at the street, at people passing them without a second glance. “Here, in my town, you’re nothing at all. Don’t dare threaten me. Not here.”
Fox Uno said nothing.
Chris tapped Fox Uno on the chest. “If we do this, you really are gone for good. And you’ll put an end to this bloody little war of yours in the Big Bend, on both sides of the river. You’re done with Amé and Murfee, do you hear me? Forever. If you come here again or try to talk to her or contact her in any way, you’re not going to have to worry about running anymore. I swear to you, I will kill you myself.”
For emphasis, and to be sure he was clear, Chris said it again in Spanish: “Te mataré.”
Fox Uno laughed. “Then that will make us both murderers, ¿si? We are not so different, you and I.” And for a second time, he said something in Spanish way too fast and low to Amé, before stepping past Chris to start across the street, to where Zita and Danny were sitting watching them. He left Chris’s hand hanging in the air, pushing back against nothing.
As the old man moved carefully across the sunlit street, Chris let him go. Instead, he turned back to Amé. “What did he say?”
She hesitated before answering. “He said he likes you, but you sound like Sheriff Ross. He knows now why the sheriff wanted you dead.”
Then she also crossed the street, to where Fox Uno, Danny, and Zita were waiting with ice cream.
TWENTY-TWO
She smelled smoke sometimes.
Maybe it was because she used to be a smoker—unfiltered Camels—although she gave that up when she learned she was pregnant with Jack. But that smell was still there for her and always would be: in her clothes, in her skin . . . in her memories.