“We gonna discuss this?” Snake muttered. “Or we just gonna sit here and waste the fuckin’ day?”
Billy sighed with forbearance. At times like this, he wondered why he and Forrest bothered with geriatric crew leaders. Managing them often felt like riding herd on a bunch of old women, except old women didn’t generally kill people who backtalked them. On the other hand, old men made excellent managers for the front businesses required to keep a successful drug empire running. As a rule, the suspicion of cops and DAs operated inversely with the age of the men they encountered. The unprecedented expansion of the meth trade was starting to change this built-in biological bias, but on balance, geriatric family members beat the hell out of any punks Billy could hire on the open market. Besides, the trust factor alone was worth whatever hassle working with family brought with it. The loyalty of his father’s old Klan crew could not be questioned. Yet paradoxically, it was the fanatical loyalty of the Double Eagles that had created Billy’s current dilemma.
“Tell me again why you think the only solution is to kill poor old Glenn Morehouse,” he said.
“Glenn swore an oath,” Snake snapped. “Same as we all did, he knew the penalty, and that’s what he’s got to pay.”
Billy smiled enough to show his white teeth. “I hear you, Pop.” Pride meant a lot to these old men, so he tried to tread carefully around their feelings when he could. On the other hand, he couldn’t let antiquated notions of honor put his livelihood at risk. “Tell me more about this woman who told you Morehouse is talking.”
“Sandy’s a neighbor of Glenn’s sister,” Sonny said. “She lives at the head of the gravel road that runs over to Wilma’s place. She’s Duke Williams’s widow. Reliable.”
“And Wilma wasn’t at the house,” Snake repeated. “Glenn sent her on an errand so he could meet Sexton without her there.”
“That’s pure supposition,” Billy observed.
“Huh?”
“For all you know, Henry was staking out that road on his own hook, and when he saw the sister leave, he ambushed poor old Glenn.”
“You’ve got a point,” Sonny admitted.
“Bullshit,” Snake hissed. “Henry’s never spoke a word to Glenn in his life before today, far as I know. And he’s had a thousand chances. I’ll lay you a hundred to one Glenn called him. And if Glenn spills what he knows, you can kiss all this good-bye.” Snake waved his arms around to take in their opulent surroundings. “Jimmy Buffett won’t be out on the deck playing ‘Margaritaville’ while you rub some LSU cheerleader’s ass. You’ll be sweatin’ in your bunk under a big buck nigger in Angola.”
Billy took a deep breath and tried to rein in his temper. Opening his desk drawer, he took out a tin of Copenhagen and stuffed a pinch under his bottom lip. The two old men watched as he let the glass-infused snuff abrade his lip and release calming nicotine into his blood. “And you’re so sure that you’re willing to kill your childhood buddy without giving him a chance to tell his side?”
“Oh, I’ll give him a chance,” Snake said. “Just before I slice his cods off.”
“Why would Glenn betray you guys after all these years? He did some killing himself, didn’t he?”
“Damn straight,” said Snake. “Worse than that.”
Billy knew Snake’s taste for sadism all too well; he didn’t want any details.
“Glenn drowned an FBI informant in acid,” Sonny said. “Out at the Triton plant.”
Billy shook his head in amazement. “And you really think he would admit that to a reporter?”
Snake cut his eyes at Sonny, and Billy saw some meaning pass between the two older men. Then Snake said, “When a man starts feeling death’s cold breath on the back of his neck, that sets him thinking. The sins he’s been carryin’ suddenly seem to weigh twice as much as before.”
“You speaking from experience?” Billy asked skeptically.
“Kiss my ass, boy. It takes some intestinal fortitude to walk tall all the way to the grave. And Glenn was always short in that department. If Frank was there to give orders, Glenn would beat his way through a brick wall with nothing but his fists. But leave him alone, you was liable to find him huddled in the corner crying about the dark. He’s like a big baby.”
“Sonny?” Billy prompted.
Sonny cocked his head and spoke softly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. That Henry might have ambushed Glenn. How would Henry know to go to Glenn on his own? We didn’t exactly advertise our membership.”
“Damned straight,” Snake said. “There it is.”
Billy laughed, though he knew his father would hate him for it. “Bullshit. How many times did I see you show that JFK coin of yours around when I was a kid? The one with the bullet holes in it. How many gold pieces got flashed around at family gatherings like Super Bowl rings?”
Snake averted his eyes, but Billy went on mercilessly. “Twenty men in your damn outfit. How many kids did they have? How many wives and ex-wives? You think they didn’t know any names of other members? A guy like Henry Sexton—a guy who grew up around here—I’ll bet he could get every Eagle’s name inside of six months, and maybe quicker. I’ll bet he’s had most of your names for years.”
“No way,” Sonny insisted, his chin quivering. “If he did, he’d already have printed ’em in that rag of his.”
Billy shook his head. “Not necessarily. I’ve done my own checking into Henry Sexton. He’s playing a long game.”