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?
Danny nodded. He winked at Eddy, smiled big. “Brother, aren’t we all?”
This was the moment. Danny had learned both as a soldier and a cop, there was always a moment.
Yes, no.
Go, no-go.
Run, fight.
Shoot, don’t shoot.
Life was made up of these moments.
Eddy thought about it, and then laughed. It came out of nowhere, a quick bark, echoing across the canyon. It startled some scaled quail nesting out by an old tire in Eddy’s yard, and they ran around in a noisy circle before settling down again. Eddy showed his bad teeth behind a not-quite-there smile and tapped his fork against the edge of his skillet in time to music only he could hear, not whatever was playing behind him. “Well, there’s always tomorrow, right?”
That moment.
Danny laughed, agreeing with him. “Yeah, tomorrow.”
It was good . . . they were all good.
“And tomorrow’s a motherfucker,” Eddy said, still laughing, still in the moment, when he swung the skillet at Danny’s head.
—
IT DIDN’T GET HIM CLEANLY, but it got him good enough, and he couldn’t blame his bad eye. He didn’t see it coming, didn’t expect it. In that moment when they’d been laughing, he’d gotten too comfortable, let his guard down. He goddamn knew better . . . he’d always known better. Knowing better had kept him alive for two years in Afghanistan, and mostly safe while working all those months undercover with those skinhead gangs. Never take your eye off the ball: the shadowed corner of an artillery-blasted hotel in Wanat or a gun shoved down in some teenage skinhead’s jeans. Or even an old fucking skillet. But that meant you had to be looking for it to begin with.
That goddamn moment.
Because a moment was all it took to get you killed.
He ducked fast, still felt the skillet sharp across his neck and shoulder, greasy eggs in his eyes. Eddy had swung it wide like an ax, snake-quick, and if Danny hadn’t pulled back it might have opened his head from jaw to scalp. He stumbled down the stunted porch but stayed upright, catching a last glimpse of Eddy as he tossed the skillet overhand at him and disappeared back through the trailer’s open door in a full run. The throw was wide, not close, and the skillet bounced into the ocotillo, chasing the money that Danny had flung away and that was now blowing across the ground.