Snake’s eyes were menacing in the dark.
“Yeah, I believe it,” Sonny said nervously. After all, Wilma Deen had told them she’d walked in on the tail end of a call that she was almost sure had been to Henry Sexton. But still … “What about Forrest? You think he’s cool with this?”
Snake snorted. “I don’t give a shit. All Forrest is thinking about is moving up in the state police and whatever power play he’s got going with Brody in New Orleans. I don’t plan to move down to that hellhole, even though God did the world a favor and washed all the welfare trash out of there. I’m staying right here, and I ain’t lettin’ Morehouse or Henry Sexton send me to Angola to live out my days. Brody Royal’s okay with this, and that’s all I need to know.”
Sonny didn’t want to think about Snake trying to exploit tensions between the two most powerful men in their universe.
“Billy’s mama ruined him,” Snake muttered. “Thinks he’s the goddamn king of everything now. One of these days I’m gonna tear that boy a new one.”
I’ll lay odds you won’t, Sonny thought, but what he said was “I got some Skoal. Want a pinch?”
“No.”
Sonny was fishing for his tin when Snake tensed beside him.
“The light’s gone,” Snake said. “Let’s move.”
Sonny followed him silently across the road, as silently as you could move over packed gravel anyway. When they reached the front porch, Sonny pulled back the screen door with a slow screech and tapped lightly against the wood.
Someone turned the knob and drew the door inward. The repellent odors of a sickroom wafted out of the darkness. As Sonny drew back, a pale, hollow-eyed face appeared in the crack of the door, hovering like an apparition. Wilma Deen, Glenn Morehouse’s sister.
“How many of you?” she asked, her wrinkled face pinched with suspicion.
“Just me and Snake.”
She opened the door wider and drew her flannel housecoat tight.
“Glenn sleepin’?” asked Snake.
“He’s woozy, but he ain’t down yet. Which is odd, because I doubled his usual dose.”
“Well, I need to talk to him anyway. Let’s go. I’m soaked to the skin already, and I don’t fancy bein’ here longer than we got to be.”
The three of them gathered inside the tiny foyer. Wilma had the indurated skin of a lifelong chain smoker, and her eyes held a weariness that made Sonny tired.
“Has he talked to Henry Sexton any more since that last phone call?” Snake asked.
“I don’t think so. I’ve hardly left him. I went to the bathroom earlier, but he was dozing. What ya’ll gonna do? You ain’t gonna hurt him, are you?”
“Not like we oughta,” Snake said. “Not like what the oath says.”
Wilma gave him a mistrustful look. “Well, we’ve got a problem, anyway.”
“What problem?”
“Glenn’s got a gun in there.”
“What?” Snake whispered. “In the bed with him?”
She nodded. “His old .45. First time I’ve seen it out of the closet. He’s been acting paranoid for a few days. The doctor calls it ‘hypervigilance.’ He says people get that way sometimes when the end is close.”
“It’s closer than he thinks,” Snake muttered. “But we didn’t come for no shoot-out. Besides, it wouldn’t look right.” He looked hard at Wilma. “You got to go in there and get that gun, Willy.”
She reddened at this childhood nickname. “How’m I s’posed to do that?”
“Hell … you’re his sister. You’ll figure something out.”
“Wait a second,” Sonny said. “Even if we get that gun, if Glenn’s all paranoid, he could fight us. That won’t look right, either.”
“He can’t fight you,” Wilma assured them.
“Shows what you know,” Snake said. “I saw Glenn break a Jap sergeant’s neck while he had two bullets in his back.”
Wilma shook her head as though exhausted. “He ain’t what he was no more. There ain’t much left now.”
Sonny felt weak with grief and regret.
“What am I supposed to do when you’re finished?” Wilma asked.
“Swallow a coupla Glenn’s sleeping pills,” Snake advised. “Then go in your room and go to sleep. When you wake up in the morning, call his doctor and give the news. Glenn was feeling poorly when you put him to bed, and he was dead when you woke up. That’s all you know.”
Wilma’s eyes had gone wide. “You want me to stay in the house all night with his body?”
Snake shrugged. “It ain’t as bad as you think. I spent all night in a foxhole with two dead buddies, and one was in pieces. Remember, Billy’s gonna take good care of you for this.”
Wilma’s thin lips communicated skepticism. “What about the funeral?”
“Pay that out of your own money,” Sonny advised. “Billy will take care of you on the back end, plus some.”
“You’ll do fine,” Snake said, giving her a brittle smile. “You always was a good old girl, Willy.”
“I wasn’t always old,” she murmured. “Ya’ll are asking too damn much, you know that?”
“I know,” Sonny said, earning a glare from Snake.
She folded her age-spotted arms in front of her and gave them a disgusted look. “But I guess there’s no other way. Just swear you’ll leave me in peace when it’s done. And keep that damned Forrest off my back.”
“Don’t worry about Forrest,” Snake said. “He’s gonna make sure you get a nice piece of change out of this.”
“Bullshit. Nothing’s changed since high school, Snake. Five minutes after you screwed me, you’re were kickin’ me out of the car. Forrest fooled around with my grandniece a few years back, and he’s no different than you.”
Snake stared back at her without remorse. “All right, well … you’d better go get his gun.”
Wilma shook her head, then turned and walked down the hall toward the bedroom that held what was left of her brother.
CHAPTER 19