“Can he still turn state’s evidence?” I go on. “Could he still get a plea deal that would protect him? Is that what you want to know?”
Without looking at her husband, Nita Devine nods slowly.
“Speaking as a former prosecutor, I can tell you that the answer to that question is an unequivocal yes. The best witnesses are almost always accomplices to crimes.”
I’m not sure if what I see in her face is relief or despair. But behind whatever that emotion is, I see what looks like surrender. It’s time to leave them stewing in their fears, and in this life they have made together.
“So that’s what sweet-talking looks like,” I say as I get back into the Audi.
Serenity laughs softly, but I hear satisfaction in her voice.
“He’s going to talk,” I tell her.
“Did he say that?”
“No. But he’s more than halfway there. The wife is past ready.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. The question is, how long will it take them to come to it? If it takes too long, they’ll be the next ones to get measured for caskets.”
“They’ve gotta know that,” Serenity says.
“The wife knows. That’s why it’ll be sooner rather than later.”
“We gonna sit here all day?” she asks.
“You didn’t have to tell him about the sticker on the truck.”
“Do you not have photos of it?”
“I don’t know. But since Walt Garrity was here before us, I’m ninety-nine percent sure we do.”
“Then let’s go. I’m thirsty. I need a beer.”
As I pull onto the narrow street and drive slowly between the bass boats and empty trailers parked against both curbs, I say, “You got a little radical back there. But it made all the difference. That shotgun move scared the shit out of Devine.”
“Just basic close-quarters combat drill.” Serenity does some sort of kung fu move with her hands, then laughs again. “It’s like Eddie Murphy said in 48 Hours. I’m your worst nightmare—a nigger with a badge.”
“Except you don’t have a badge.”
“Neither did Eddie.” Tee winks at me. “Perception is everything, right?”
Chapter 15
Sulphur, Louisiana
Snake Knox stood with his back against the interior wall of the sod farm’s administrative office, his arms folded across his chest. Opposite him stood Toons Teufel, sergeant at arms of the Varangian Kindred, and three muscular club members in riding leathers. Snake figured they did the strong-arm work that had always been part of the gun and drug businesses. Rocket scientists they were not.
To Snake’s left stood Wilma Deen and his bastard son, Alois, who’d been staring dumbfounded at Snake ever since they were brought in. The transformation Junelle had worked on him was that profound. Snake didn’t like that Toons had brought Wilma and Alois to the farm. The only reason he could see for it was that Toons wanted to be able to kill all three of them at the same time. He figured the arrogant shit was trying to get up the nerve to do exactly that now.
“Four men,” Toons repeated. “We’ve lost four men because of you, and for what?”
Snake said, “You choose a rough business, you take casualties sometimes.”
“Two men at the gas station,” Toons said, counting on his fingers. “Two men outside the Steel Tiger. And what the fuck have we got out of it?”
“The names of two friendly judges, a bent DA, and a dozen dirty cops.”
“That ain’t a quarter of what you promised us!”
Snake offered nothing.
Toons raised his right forefinger and shook it, then kept shaking it as he walked toward Snake. Snake kept his eye on Toons’s other hand, in case he made a move for the gun at his side or one of the two knives he wore at all times. Toons also carried a sap, Snake knew, something you didn’t see much these days, but which could be a hell of a weapon in the hands of a skilled man.
“I’m tired of you stalling,” Toons said, his wide eyes looking like he’d been sampling some of the gang’s product. “We didn’t lose anybody doing our business. We were doing your business. And I don’t understand your business.”
“You don’t have to. Lars does, and that’s all that matters.”
Toons grimaced at the mention of his boss’s name. “I’ll tell you what Lars understands, Grandpa. You promised us the remains of Forrest’s network. You promised us ranking officers in the drug units. The HIDTA, for example. And you promised us judges, Snake. Judges.”
“I’ve already given you two, plus I got two of your mules out of trouble down in Iberia Parish.”
“We’re supposed to get direct access to all Forrest’s judges.”
“If I give that to you, you’ll cut my throat the first time I go to sleep.”
Toons tried to keep a straight face, but a near hysterical smile broke through, and his eyes danced. “Now that’s an idea, Snake man. I must confess, I have thoughts about that.”
Snake pushed himself off the wall and spat into a trash can by the crappy metal desk. “I tell you what, Toons. You keep on fantasizing. Go choke your chicken while you think about cutting my throat. And I’ll keep focusing on my business. Because that’s what businessmen do.”
Snake started to walk out, but Toons moved in front of him.
Snake fought the urge to jerk the gun from his belt.
“I don’t like it when you don’t show me the proper respect,” Toons said.
“Then act like you deserve it.”
“You know what my name means, Snake?”
“Yeah. You’re Looney Tunes, like the cartoon.”
“My last name. Teufel. It means ‘devil.’ You think Lars made me SA because I’m a fucking comedian?”
“I stay out of Lars’s business, Toons.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re all up in our business. You’re getting my men killed. And I—don’t—like it.”
“Your men are getting themselves killed. Which don’t inspire confidence.”
Toons went into his pocket and brought out a butterfly knife, which seemed to be the bladed weapon of choice among a lot of the VK.
Snake forced himself to breathe slowly, and he didn’t move one centimeter. He didn’t look at the knife, either. He looked straight into Teufel’s glinting eyes.
“Lars may buy your dime store psycho act,” he said. “But I know the truth. You ain’t no devil. I’ve seen the devil, boy. I’ve shaken his hand and supped with the motherfucker on many a dark night. And I’ll tell you this for free. You and your gorillas here wouldn’t last two days in the Marine Corps. Now, get the fuck out of my way.”
The man tasked with enforcing security for the VK stared into Snake’s eyes for fifteen or twenty seconds. Then he decided to pretend he’d been joking all along.
When Snake walked out of the office with Wilma and Alois on his heels, he looked down at his right hand to be sure he wasn’t shaking.
He wasn’t.
“That’s telling that asshole, Pop,” Alois crowed. “Hey, let’s go over to that barn for a minute. I want to show you something.”
Snake looked back at the office, then over to the old horse barn that now served as a warehouse for the sod farm. “Wilma, you go into the house with Junelle. Act like you’re glad to be here, even if you can’t stand the bitch.”