“The public doesn’t give two shits about Buck Ferris,” growls Buckman. “Maybe his wife does, but damn few others. Why don’t you ask Quinn Ferris if she’d be satisfied with us burying her husband’s killers in a gator hole south of town?”
I’ve got a feeling I won’t win this argument. “That reminds me, the deal we made for Quinn Ferris yesterday stands. One million.”
Buckman grunts with displeasure, but he nods assent.
I’ve pushed these men about as far as they’re going to go, at least for now. “Why don’t we revisit the two outstanding deal points later today?” I suggest.
Buckman looks around the room. With a warning edge to his voice, he asks, “Is our business concluded then? But for those two points?”
In the tense silence that follows, Arthur Pine says, “Claude, I’m worried that Beau might be right. Marshall said it himself: this is potentially the biggest story of his life. No matter how pure his intentions today, it’s hard to believe that he’ll sit on this forever. We could jump through all these hoops, and in the end he could still screw us.”
Jian Wu is looking at me as he would at some dangerous criminal it would be better to execute immediately.
“That sounds like projection to me, Arthur,” I observe.
“He’ll keep his word,” says Buckman.
“Why?” asks Pine. “He told me last night that he’s going to take us down. Why believe him now?”
“Because he’s a good son of Bienville,” says Donnelly. “He’s a hometown boy, just like his daddy. Duncan always treated us right, and Marshall’s no different. Not when it counts.”
If Donnelly had let Buckman answer, the old man would have said, Because if he doesn’t, his mother and everybody else he cares about will die. But Donnelly kept everything smooth on the surface, in the Southern tradition. The subtext is always known, but never spoken.
I stand and look at each man in turn. “You guys need to understand something. Sally’s material has been digitized. Even if you tortured me to get every copy, you could never be certain you got it all. It can live on any server in the world.”
“Then what the hell are we getting for all our money?” Pine asks.
“Life outside jail. By the way, I’ve also set up what’s known as a Dead Hand switch. If anything suspicious happens to me or mine, the media won’t be your only problem. My contacts at the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA will receive full reports within thirty minutes, whether I’m dead or alive. Make sure Holland and Russo understand that. You may not like it, but this is the best deal you’re going to get.”
Blake Donnelly looks left at Buckman, who seems to wrestle with his decision, but finally gives the slightest of nods. Donnelly gets up and walks down the long table to me, switching on his iPhone as he comes.
“Tap your phone number in there for me, Marshall.”
I do. “Oh, one more thing.”
Buckman’s pained smile tells me I’m stretching his goodwill. For a moment I think of something Nadine told me before we parted this morning: They should put a fifty-foot-tall statue of Sally Matheson on the bluff. Because she’s going to be the salvation of this town. But what I say is “The cop who waterboarded me is named Farner. I want that son of a bitch fired by the end of next week. I want my arrest record from last night expunged. Also, Sheriff Iverson doesn’t run for re-election.”
“Done, done, and done,” says Donnelly. “Have a good day, Marshall.”
The oilman extends his hand, and God forgive me, I take it. This is the way business is done in America in 2018.
“Walk me out, Blake,” I tell him. “I don’t want any bullshit from Beau or Tommy.”
On the street outside the bank, I check my text messages. One from Nadine informs me that my father is still unconscious, but his cardiologist plans to bring him out of the coma later this morning. Nadine is at her store, but she’s staying in close touch with my mother. I text her back: Deal terms agreed. Will pick you up on way to hospital, probably 1 hour from now. Have errand to run first.
She texts me a thumbs-up emoji in reply. Then she adds: Be safe.
After a last look at the Greek Revival façade of the Bienville Southern Bank, I get into the Flex and head east out of town. I want to be back