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?
GARRISON SWEPT THE REPORTS back into his briefcase and poured himself another shot of bourbon, three fingers of Garrison Brothers, no relation. It was an old joke, one Darin would always laugh over when they were sharing a bottle after work. Darin used to come over all the time after his own divorce to grill out or watch a game or have a few drinks. Anything so he wouldn’t have to go back to his own empty apartment.
The house was quiet, as it was all the time now. No TV, no stereo. He’d always loved mellow classic rock, and although the girls used to make fun of him for knowing all those old songs by heart, he sang them on surveillance all the time—an audience of one, sitting in his car alone. He was even caught on an open mic once, and Darin wouldn’t let his boss live it down—he bought a fake plastic microphone that mysteriously appeared and disappeared around Garrison’s office for nearly two years. He had no idea where it was now, packed away after Darin’s death, but the memory still made him smile.
Karen had left the kitchen radio behind for him, but just like with the TV, he hadn’t turned it on since she’d left, and he wasn’t going to start now.
When he’d visited Chris Cherry out at his house on the Far Six, he’d told the young sheriff he wasn’t sure he could ever get used to all the stillness and silence out there, but that had been a lie.
Garrison had gotten used to it just fine.
TWENTY-FIVE
The deputy was taking Eddy home, back to his trailer in the canyon. Charity was still pretty pissed at him and had refused to do it (and his spic lawyer, Paez, had said it probably wasn’t all that good an idea anyway), and that’s when Eddy realized he didn’t have anyone else to call. Sure, when he was holding some shit, he was everyone’s friend, but when he was in some deep shit, those “friends”—a loose collection of fuck-ups like himself—mysteriously up and disappeared, like cockroaches scurrying from the light. Truth was, without Charity around, Eddy had no one, and other than his trailer, had nowhere else to go, which was how he now found himself being given a lift home by the deputy he’d attacked.
After Eddy spilled his guts, Danny Ford had declined to push the assault charge from their little run-in—just like he promised—and Paez seemed to think the sheriff’s department wasn’t planning to put the five bodies floating in the river on him, either, so for the moment, he was both free and sober.
The world was a goddamn funny place.
Funnier still to think that, right now, this Danny Ford might be the closest thing Eddy had to a friend in the whole world.