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?
Johnnie let it sit there a few beats longer, before sliding it off the beer-slicked table.
“You guys shouldn’t feel so bad about this. We’re still going to get paid. Hell, Ortiz, you’ll even be able to buy that wife a new car to put into your new garage.”
—
HE ORDERED ANOTHER ROUND of beers for everyone except himself.
He kept talking fast, while he still had them under his thumb.
“It’s a nobody, a no one. No one is going to care. We clip him and we’re done.” Johnnie had heard the word “clip” on one of Zam’s TV shows and used it all the time now.
“Someone cares plenty, otherwise they wouldn’t be asking us to do this. And it’s not Terrell, Juanito. We’re going to have to travel,” Chavez said, but not as forcefully as he’d complained before.
“Fuck,” Ringo said, shrugging. “We’re only driving up the road. It’s just Murfee.”
“Right,” Johnnie added. “Just Murfee. And hell, we’re cops. We got every reason to be wherever we want to be.”
“Tell that to that Sheriff Cherry over there. Or to that deputy, Danny what’s-his-name,” Chavez said. “He’s a prick. You have history with him, right?”
Johnnie nodded. “We had a dustup, but it was nothing. He didn’t like something I said about some girl.”
“Let me get him in my sights,” Ringo said, faking a gun with his fingers and pointing it right between Johnnie’s eyes. “I fucking owe him, too.”
“Okay, I got it. We all got it,” Johnnie said. “But we’re not going to see Danny Fuck-off or any of the rest of ’em. We’re in and out before anyone knows we’re there.” But Johnnie honestly didn’t know how things were going to play out, had no fucking idea at all.
“You’re going to get it all squared away, right?” Ortiz asked, looking back and forth at everyone across the table. He asked it as if Johnnie could give him a sort of guarantee, as if he could promise that it would rain tomorrow.
Fuck it, fine.
“Right as rain.”
“What do you know about the . . . mark?” Roman asked. Since Rae had finished her set, his attention was now fully back on the table.
“Like I said, he’s a nothing, a nobody,” Johnnie lied, although the others had to know that wasn’t exactly true. Their mark had to be somebody, for all the effort. “He crossed our Indian friends or fucked up and failed ’em, and now they just want him taken care of. They can’t get any of their own shooters across the border right now to do it, so it’s gotta be us. If he’s even hidin’ out on this side.”