BILLY KNOX SAT on the front deck at Valhalla, staring out through the cold dusk toward the Mississippi River. Billy had his chair tilted back, his feet on the rail, and a big glass of bourbon in his hand. His father sat in a teak glider to his right, Forrest’s pit bull curled up beside him, and Sonny Thornfield stood at the rail beyond Snake. The cheep of crickets and the calls of night birds filled the air, but Billy was listening for the deep rumble of barges passing on the river, a mile to the west. Most of the land directly across the river was unpopulated wildlife refuge, but the clouds had begun to glow to the southwest as the lights of Marksville, Louisiana, came on.
The past two hours had been the most uncomfortable of Billy’s life, outside of prison. After Forrest and Ozan flew away in the big state-police helicopter, Snake had begun saying all the things he hadn’t had the guts to say to his nephew’s face. Worse, he kept looking to Billy for agreement, and even prodding him for information. Billy had claimed that Forrest had spent their time alone giving him instructions on how to protect their financial assets during this crisis, but his father wasn’t buying it. And the more Snake drank, the nearer he came to what Forrest would consider treason.
“You know what I think?” Snake mumbled into his glass. “I think he’s got Dr. Cage already. That’s why nobody can find him. I think Forrest has the doc holed up in some safe house, and he thinks he’s working some kind of deal. But what’s really happening is the doc is working him.”
When no one responded, Snake jabbed Billy’s shoulder with his fist. “What do you think, son? Only stands to reason, don’t it?”
“No,” Billy said wearily. “If Forrest had Dr. Cage, he’d be a lot less worried than he is.”
“So you say. And another thing. I don’t like Forrest bringing his SWAT guys into our business. What the hell do we need them for?”
“Keep your voice down,” Sonny said. “We don’t know who the hell might be out here right now. Or whether there might be microphones around here.”
Snake waved his hand as if to brush these worries away. “And why’s he jamming the cell phones? Huh? Who’s he afraid we’ll talk to?”
Billy had puzzled over this himself (and he’d actually switched off the jammer momentarily to make a couple of calls). “Forrest told me it was to help block FBI surveillance. But I think that’s probably for the Black Team as much as anything. He doesn’t want anybody being able to prove they were here, later on.”
Snake grunted, obviously dissatisfied with his explanation. “I tell you, those Black Team bastards wouldn’t hesitate to kill us if Forrest ordered them to. In fact . . . that might be why he’s calling them in. You ever think about that?”
“You’ve had one too many drinks, Pop. Seriously.”
“Black Team, my ass,” Snake went on. “I can outshoot every one of those pissants. They never shot nothing but nigger dope dealers through a night-vision scope. They don’t know nothing about war.”
Billy looked over at Sonny, who looked older than ever with a white frizz of stubble on his normally clean-shaven face. Sonny was staring back with naked fear in his eyes.
“You boys listen to me,” Snake said. “Walking into the CPSO tomorrow to get arrested don’t make no damn sense, with meth charges waiting for us. I don’t care what Forrest has planned for Walker Dennis. That’s just plain suicidal. I think Forrest wants us in jail.”
“That’s crazy, Pop,” Billy said finally. “What’s Forrest got to gain from you going to jail?”
“It’d take the heat off him, for one thing. You seen his name in the newspaper yet? No.”
“Forrest can’t let you go to jail. You could rat him out any time you wanted.”
“If we lived long enough.” Snake clutched Billy’s arm. “Forrest could have us killed in jail.”
“Come on. . . . You need to get some sleep.”
“He’s done it before.” Snake’s eyes flashed with certainty. “I know that for a fact. So do you.”
Billy was thinking about Forrest’s final words to him, but he forced himself to chuckle. “He couldn’t kill all of you, could he?”
“He wouldn’t have to,” Snake said, his eyes still shining with animal cleverness. “If he killed me, the rest would fall right into line.” Snake looked back over his shoulder. “Ain’t that right, Sonny?”
Sonny Thornfield swallowed audibly. “I say we’re already in line. I don’t see what the problem is. Forrest will take care of us. Let’s just get this thing done tomorrow, then start the move to the businesses Forrest’s talking about.”
“Sonny’s right,” Billy said. “All Snake told me after you guys went out was to keep you calm and get you there in the morning. Forrest isn’t looking to kill you. He’s trying to save you. We’re family, for Christ’s sake.”
Snake let his hand fall from Billy’s sleeve and slumped in his chair, his gaze once again lost in the vast darkness over the river. Half a minute later, he sat up suddenly, his head cocked like that of a hunting dog. Traveller came to his feet, puzzled but curious.
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“I heard something,” Snake said. “Listen.”
WALT HAD BEEN LYING beneath the bed for so long that his back and legs were numb. Just once he had crawled out to check if the pit bull was still outside—it was—and then to listen at the door for the drone of voices.
The men below were still talking.
Walt’s only consolation was that a half hour ago he’d received a coded text message from Tom telling him his location. He didn’t know how the message had come through, since he’d begun to suspect the presence of a cell frequency jammer. But apparently Tom had found a way to cross the river and had made his way to Quentin Avery’s house in Jefferson County. This gave Walt a destination to aim for, if he could ever get out of this place. But the transmission of that message had also put Tom at risk. Walt had deleted it immediately, for if the men downstairs dragged him out from under the bed, they would find his phone before they killed him.