own this rag, McEwan. And the day we do, we’ll chain the door shut.”
Russo is watching this scene with his usual expression, that of a languid predator at leisure. Given his background, Holland’s threats must seem about as tame as those from a kindergarten playground.
“I think you’re overestimating your influence, Beau,” I say calmly. Leaning forward in my chair, I turn and point to a tall picture frame on the wall. Under its glass is a copy of the first Bienville Watchman ever printed. “This rag, as you call it, has been published continuously since 1865. Through world wars, depression, civil rights battles, and hurricanes. I think we’ll survive you and the Bienville Poker Club.”
Holland gives me an eerie smile that promises undreamed-of revenge. “Our club’s been around since the Civil War, too. We know what makes the mare go. You ignore my advice, you’ll be lucky if your fellow citizens don’t burn this building to the ground. They know who’s on their side, and it’s not this fake-news mill.”
I let his threat hang in the air, waiting for his smile to fade. When it does I say, “If Dave had come in here alone, yelling and raising hell, I’d have blown it off. But since you two came in with him—a convicted felon—it’s pretty clear he’s still working for the Poker Club. So whatever he did to Buck, you’re all part of it.”
A shadow passes over Holland’s overbred features, but Tommy Russo still looks as though he wandered in here by accident. Beau straightens up and puts his hands on his hips, a vaguely feminine gesture. “Picking friends is an art, Marshall. But picking your enemies is survival. You’d better keep that in mind.”
“Got a lot of friends, have you, Beau?”
“More than you, after today.”
I fight to suppress a powerful urge to stick the knife in and twist it. In the end, I can’t resist. “I think I know one of your friends,” I tell him. “An interesting guy.”
“Yeah? Who’s that?”
“Say hello to Mr. Chow for me the next time you see him.”
Holland blanches. Dave Cowart looks blank, but Tommy Russo has stopped chewing his gum.
“Where did you hear that name?” Beau asks in a near whisper.
I turn up my hands. “Here, there—it’s hard to say with the way things are popping since yesterday.”
Holland fixes a superior smile on his face. “You have no idea what you’re fucking with. You’re not long for this world, my friend.”
I should keep my mouth shut, but all I can think about is Buck’s open skull on Denny’s drone video. I want to make Beau Holland squirm. “I think you and your buddies are one jury verdict from the penitentiary. People can’t wait to give you guys up. This morning somebody told me how you ripped off a bunch of homeowners on the I-14 corridor, using inside information. Somebody else told me about Tommy and Max and Wyatt Cash threatening illegal workers. Best of all, though, is how you jammed Avery Sumner into that U.S. Senate seat. I’ve got contacts in D.C. who’ll eat that shit up. All those insults about the other candidates? We might hijack the news cycle for a full twenty-four hours. So buckle up, Beau. You’re about to have a bumpy week.”
“I need to speak to Marshall alone,” Tommy Russo says softly.
Beau starts to protest, but before he reaches his third syllable Russo says, “Give me the fucking room.”
After Holland and Cowart shuffle out, Russo closes the door, then walks up to the edge of my desk. The predator-at-leisure expression is gone. The casino owner looks like a lion that could bare his claws and snatch me up by the throat any time he feels like it.
“You’re in the business of printing news,” he says, his Jersey upbringing suddenly evident in his voice. “I get it. You made your bones on some big political scandals. National stuff. But you need to think hard before you take your next step.”
“Tommy—”
“Let me finish, Doc. I’ve only known you five months, but I like you, okay? I respect what you do. We both know the future of this town depends on that paper mill. Also the interstate and the businesses coming in behind it—my new casino, for example. Bienville’s gonna be a showplace, while the rest of this state shrinks and sinks. I know a hometown boy like you don’t want to hurt the town he came from. What the old neighborhood is for me, this town is for you.”