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?
“Not good enough, amigo. Not even close.” The boot swung in, catching Eddy hard in the gut, and cocked back again.
“Goddamn, he wanted to know if I’d seen Charity. He wanted to make sure I hadn’t been tryin’ to talk to her or nothin’. He was just doing his Dudley Do-Right shit.”
“That didn’t look like a deputy visit. Hell, that didn’t even look oh-ficial. That wasn’t his Big Bend truck,” Roman said, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He was looking steadily at both Johnnie and Eddy, his eyes flat as river sand. They refused to reflect what little morning light there was creeping in through the blinds.
“What the fuck do you want me to say? I don’t plan his work schedule. That’s what he came out for, and—” Eddy stopped, sudden, wiping his mouth although it was bone-dry. It was like he’d swallowed a mouthful of that sand. He gave the pause a few extra heartbeats, selling it, but he didn’t have to sell it that hard.
“And what, dumb shit?” Johnnie asked, crouching down on his boot heels. He’d produced a handgun from somewhere, and it was resting now against Eddy’s temple. It was cool, like one of Charity’s fingers, against his skin.
“It was . . . bullshit, you know? He caught me off guard, showin’ up like he did, but I didn’t say nothin’. I played it cool.”
“Spit it out,” Johnnie pushed, and the gun’s barrel pushed, too.
Eddy tried to give him that look . . . a look that said . . . are you sure you want me to say it all out loud? In front of everyone?
It was a look that also said: I tried to save you . . . amigo.
By then, Johnnie had figured it out—it was right there in his eyes, a sudden realization, and a shadow of fear—but it was also too late. He couldn’t stop Eddy now, even if he wanted to, not after the little show he’d put on in front of the rest of them.
Not with them watching, waiting.
Johnnie’s eyes went wide, wider, that shadow in them lengthening.
Eddy smiled, a bare flicker. A match in a darkness of his own.
Got you, amigo. Got you, you motherfucker.
We’re both caught in this trap now.
“He asked me about you, Johnnie. Wanted to know if I’d seen you, if you’d been around town. He used both your names: Johnnie, and that other one you go by, Apache. I guess he knows all about you now, and he’s lookin’ for you.”
And then the room erupted.
—
THERE WAS PLENTY OF YELLING, enough that they pretty much forgot Eddy, who pulled himself off the floor and let it play out.