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?
Juan Abrego Carrión, better known as Fox Uno—leader of the Nemesio cartel—picked up the hammer from the horse blanket.
He weighed it up and down, turning the clawed end toward the driver’s face.
His hand was old, but it did not shake now.
Yo soy la Muerte.
I am Death.
PART ONE
RÍO BRAVO
ONE
It started with two eggs and an iron skillet, and went downhill from there.
—
TAKE-OUT PEERED THROUGH THE BROKEN GLASS, his face a watery blur. If he recognized Danny Ford, it wasn’t immediately obvious to either man. Danny watched Take-Out’s eyes watching him, searching him up and down and all over before they disappeared again.
Blink, blink, and they were gone.
That was the thing about a place as small as Murfee, Texas, and as large as Big Bend County: everyone kind of knew everyone else, so the question wasn’t whether Take-Out knew Danny, it was whether he remembered him. And Danny was counting on a lifetime of Take-Out scorching his brain with about every pill and powder known to man that his memory wasn’t worth a damn anyway. Sketchy at best, as full of holes as his trailer.
The flimsy door wasn’t opening though, which wasn’t a good sign. Or maybe it didn’t mean a goddamn thing at all.
Take-Out—Eddy Lee Rabbit—was notoriously paranoid.
“Open the fuck up, I’m not standing here all damn day . . .” Danny called out to the closed door, measuring the distance between it and the top porch step, sliding back and to the side, so if Eddy was in a fighting mood, Danny would have some room to operate. He wanted to put his cold hands in his pockets, but needed them free, too. It was early September and the Big Bend was cool in the mornings until the sun cleared the mountains to heat things up, and that was just as true down here in the canyon by the river. The trailer was still painted in the long shadows that stretched all the way down to the water that Danny couldn’t see, where the giant cane and salt cedars—the tamarisks—grew wild and big and blocked his sight. He’d read somewhere that neither were native to the area, having escaped domestic cultivation in the 1800s, but since then the sprawling plants and athel trees had almost taken over the riverways, stealing all the land’s water and salt. That didn’t make them much different from a lot of other things in the Big Bend: men like Take-Out who weren’t native either and who’d moved in to claim their piece of it. There were groups of people called “tammywhackers” who spent their summers pulling the invaders out by their roots, trying to clear and reclaim the riverbanks and waterways, but to Danny’s unpracticed eye, it looked like they were losing the battle.