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?
That might have been the end of it, but Ringo somehow did know who Danny Ford was, or at least some of his history. Danny had done all that undercover with DPS on those skinhead gangs popping up all over Texas—real shaved-head, cross-burning, red-bootlace stuff—and Ringo made a crack that Danny’s true beef was that he didn’t like Mex-ee-cans talking about white women. Specifically, he didn’t like Mexicans fucking white women. Ringo said it was a goddamn racial thing . . . racial profiling . . . and then laughed and pushed Danny out of their way.
If he’d only kept his goddamn hands to himself.
Things went downhill fast from there, fast enough that Ringo was on his back before anyone could stop it. Danny did some sort of ninja army stuff, and then Ringo was looking straight up at him from the dirty pavement, breathing hard, blinking furiously. Ortiz, that goddamn pussy, took one big step away, not wanting to be a part of any of it, and Johnnie did the only thing he could think of in the moment . . .
He drew his goddamn gun and pointed it at Deputy Danny Ford.
It wasn’t the first time Johnnie had aimed a gun at another cop (and honestly, he knew even then, it probably wouldn’t be the last), but never in a public parking lot with dozens of other cops—federal and state—making their way to their cars. He wasn’t back in Terrell, and he wasn’t inside El Diablo Norte or some other shitty bar. Instead, he was standing across the street from a goddamn library, where Johnnie could see himself reflected in the big mirrored windows that ran along the front of it. All he could think of was a dozen people in there with cell phones, open books forgotten in front of them, filming it all. Filming him. It was ridiculous, and he knew how weak he looked, how weak Danny Ford had made him look—scared, drawing down on shadows. Danny knew Johnnie wasn’t going to shoot him right then and there, so he stared down the barrel, not blinking at all, daring Johnnie to do it anyway.
He told Johnnie the next time he pulled a goddamn gun on him, he’d better be prepared to pull the fucking trigger.
Then he let Ringo get up and walked past Ortiz and away.
They stood there for a few moments after, Ortiz calming Ringo down and Johnnie half expecting someone to run over or shout, but no one did. And just like that, it was over.
All over a goddamn girl none of them knew.
Johnnie hadn’t planned on crossing paths with Deputy Ford again, until Danny pulled up outside Eddy Rabbit’s trailer.
—
“A RANCH CALLED THE FAR SIX. Do you know it?” Johnnie asked Eddy.
“Yeah, I know it.”
“Can you get us there?”