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 took his matchstick out and stared at the end of it, before slipping it back into his mouth. “Fuck no, I don’t do that shit. It fucks with your brain, Eddy, fucks it up good.” He tapped Eddy on the side of the head with a sharp finger, hard, and Eddy resisted the urge to pull back. “It’s gonna be fine, though. Once this is all over, it’s back to the usual. Even better. I think this old man is the competition, Eddy, and once he’s out of business, our friends are gonna have a goddamn monopoly around here. In fact, you’ll be the only store in town, practically one-stop shopping. Isn’t that what they used to call you? Fast Food, Take-Out, something squirrelly like that?”
“Nah,” Eddy said, “not so much anymore. That ain’t me.”
Johnnie flicked his match into the water and made another appear from somewhere, clenching it between his teeth. “Then smile, Eddy, you practically just got promoted to manager.”
—
I SMOOTHED THAT OVER FOR YOU, but let’s be honest: we’re still gonna have a talk about it.
Fortunately, it’s going to be a much different conversation than it could have been . . .
Later, when they tied Eddy to his chair—Ringo checking to make sure the restraints they’d made from his bedsheets were tight—Eddy wondered just how much worse that different conversation would have gone . . .
—
JOHNNIE ASKED THE QUESTIONS, and the others—except for Ortiz—took turns hitting him. Mostly in the stomach, and ribs, although the big one—Roman—cocked him good in the face. It rocked his head back and he spit a mouthful of blood, maybe a tooth. It was like he’d been in a bad car accident, and now he really was wishing he had taken that meth—all of it—because he’d still be flying high above his body, and it would almost be like someone else, someone he didn’t even know, was getting the shit beat out of him.
That motherfucker probably deserved it, not Eddy.
Johnnie asked him about this old man he didn’t know and the wetback girl deputy. He asked him what he told the cops after he got arrested, and what Charity might have told them, and what happened to their Motorola radios and his cell phone, and Johnnie had Eddy unlock it so the fucker could search through it. Johnnie also looked through the cell he’d given him, the one Eddy had hidden with the meth, to make sure there weren’t any other calls to or from it. Eddy wasn’t sure he was giving the right or wrong answers, because there didn’t seem to be much connection between what he said and the punches he got, so whenever the opportunity presented itself, he basically lied through his teeth . . . through all the blood in his mouth.