Eddy scratched at his dirty scalp, like he was thinking hard, but he was just delaying.

They were all standing in tall grass around their two vehicles, on an unmarked access road, nothing more than an old cattle trail. Johnnie had made them mount up and hightail it from Eddy’s trailer right after Ford left, just in case he came back (and this time with help), so they’d driven around for an hour and found this place, and had been sitting here for another couple of hours, until he finally got the last call.

The Far Six.

The indios told him they needed to get to a ranch called the Far Six. That’s where the old man was. But like everything else in this damn county, it wasn’t easily found on some map. It was here, somewhere.

Ringo was leaning against the Suburban, smoking, whispering with the others. Roman was eye-fucking him, and Ortiz looked like he wanted to shit himself. Only Chavez appeared calm . . . weirdly calm. Ringo had been as put out over seeing Danny Ford as Johnnie had been, and he’d almost shot him through the fucking trailer window just on principle. His pride hadn’t recovered from getting tossed on his ass in that parking lot.

What the fuck was going on around here? What had he gotten them into?

He chewed his matchstick and watched the sky. It was no different from the sky over Terrell. The same pretty, pearly blue, scrubbed over with the same gray-white clouds, but home was a goddamn world away.

The wind blew softly over the grass, pushed it down with invisible fingers. It was still louder than Eddy, who hadn’t said another word since Johnnie put the question to him.

“Goddammit, I’m not asking again. Can you get us there?”

Eddy relented. “Yeah, it’s off Ranch Road 19. Hard to find, but that’s not the real problem.”

“Okay, then what the fuck is the problem?” Of course there’d be a problem. There was always a problem. One problem after another, each of them rammed further up his ass.

“The sheriff lives out there. Sheriff Cherry. That’s his place.”

Of course.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?”

Eddy shook his head, and Johnnie could have sworn that fucker was smiling, like he was enjoying this. “No, that’s the place. I’m sure.”

Johnnie looked at this latest news flash from every angle. What the fuck did it mean? How was Sheriff Chris Cherry tied up with an old narco? Or was it the female deputy?

Danny Ford?

“Juanito, did that piece of shit just say we’re going to the sheriff’s ranch?” Chavez, who’d seemed so relaxed a moment ago, was now loud, suddenly looming over Johnnie. He smelled like dog shit, always like day-old dog shit, like those animals he loved so much.

“Pretty much, that’s what he said.”