An incredulous laugh escapes my lips. “This is a joke, right?”
“Hell, no, it ain’t. You wouldn’t know nothing about my operations, of course, living up in your ivory tower.”
“I don’t recall you making any arrests, Billy.”
“That’s ’cause you and your army buddy busted right up into the middle of my investigation. Committed a few crimes of your own in the process, too. That’s why your buddy left here in such an awful damned hurry, ain’t it? Had the feds all over his ass.”
Righteous anger floods through me when I think of Daniel Kelly and the service he did this town. “You’re full of shit, Billy. What’s that got to do with the price of oil?”
Byrd shifts on his seat, but every inch of his blubber exudes confidence. “Anyhow, it’s come to my attention that you’ve been threatening the district attorney with some sort of blackmail. Something about a compromising photograph?”
“Is that what Shad told you?”
“Don’t matter who told me what, Mayor. But I sure hope that’s not the case. Because the fact is, District Attorney Johnson here was one of my main confidential informants throughout my dogfighting investigation.”
As their scam comes clear, my blood pressure plummets, and I waver on my feet. “Do you seriously expect anyone to believe that?”
Byrd’s lips widen into something like a leer. “I surely do. That was a pretty high-toned bunch running that dogfighting ring, and I needed somebody who could mingle with the upper crust. Plus, them Irishmen was bringing in pro athletes and rappers and such, most of ’em black. When I told the DA my problem, he offered to make out like he was into that kind of thing, and get me some inside information.”
“And that’s how there came to be a photo of our district attorney and a star athlete torturing a pit bull?”
“That’s exactly right.” Sheriff Byrd’s dull eyes twinkle. “You know the lengths CIs have to go to, to get credibility with their targets.”
Both men are watching me carefully, awaiting my response.
“Gentlemen—and I’m using that term facetiously—I’ve heard some bullshit in my day. But I have never heard such unadulterated crap as that.”
Sheriff Byrd’s face darkens. “That’s the way it is, bud.”
Ignoring Billy, I walk up to Shad’s desk, take the photo out of my coat pocket, unfold it, and lay it on the polished wood.
“Imagine that under a thirty-point headline, Shad. And I’m not talking about the Concordia Beacon or the Natchez Examiner. I’m talking about USA Today. The New York Times. The Trib, back in your old stomping ground.”
Shad’s throat clicks as he swallows.
“Look at your face, Shad. It would take one hell of a lawyer to sell that look as duty.”
His eyes remain on the picture for several seconds. Then he slowly composes himself and looks up at me. “You heard the sheriff.”
“Does revenge on me really mean that much to you? You’ll risk everything for it?”
Without lowering his eyes, he turns the photo facedown on the desk.
“Billy,” I say softly, “will you swear to your story in court?”
“You’re damn right I will.”
At last I look at him. “Perjury. Is that a new low for you? Or just an old habit?”
Byrd comes halfway out of his chair, then slowly settles back into it. He’s not used to being talked to like that. Not twice in one day, anyway, I think, recalling Jack Kilgard’s tirade on my parents’ sidewalk.
“Your day’s comin’, son,” he growls. “I’ve got all the records I need to prove what I told you.”
“I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you worked on them all last night, over a fifth of Jack Daniel’s. You and Shad both. Only he drank pinot noir, right?”
The sheriff stands and steps toward me, but Shad stops him with an upraised hand. Some power dynamic exists between these two men that I don’t fully understand.
“The upshot of all this is simple,” Shad tells me. “The photograph you brought with you is merely a record of activities I undertook as an undercover officer for Sheriff Byrd—and for myself, obviously, as the senior law enforcement officer in the county.”
“You’re a disgrace to this office. That’s what you are.”
But Shad has regained his unruffled mien. “I know it’s a shock to find out that we’re back on a level playing field, but that’s politics, isn’t it? Change is the only constant.”
Byrd snickers, then says, “Your daddy shoulda wore a rubber when he screwed that hot chocolate back in the day.”
A white-hot flash of anger almost causes me to whirl and hit him, but at the last second I compose myself and turn to leave. As I near the door, the sound of Byrd’s smug laughter stops me in my tracks. I turn back to him and speak with utter contempt.
“You wife-beating son of a bitch. Jack Kilgard was right. Come the next election, you’re going to be looking for a job.”
Byrd’s eyes glint in his pocked face. “Maybe. But either way, your daddy’s gonna be rotting on Parchman Farm. He’s gonna die there, with all the …” The sheriff searches for a word, then falls silent.
“All the what, Billy? Go ahead and finish, so your partner can hear you. ‘With all the niggers he loves so much.’ That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? Your mind’s like a neon sign, man. You fat fuck.”
Byrd’s face twitches. Then he drops his right hand to the butt of the pistol in his belt.
“No!” Shad cries, jumping up and interposing himself between us. “Penn, get the hell out of here!”
Shaking with rage, I back slowly toward the door, my eyes on Shad. “What’s driving you, Shad? This asshole has to stop himself saying ‘nigger’ ten times a day, if he bothers at all, and you’ve climbed into bed with him!”
Shad gives me his Mona Lisa smile. “Politics and bedfellows, my brother. Sometimes I’m amazed myself.”