on their heads operating mowers and leaf blowers, hod carriers and framers constructing an extension on a house?were all foreigners, not the repressed and indigenous people Somerset Maugham and George Orwell and Graham Greene had described in their accounts of life inside dying European and British empires. Those who owned and lived in the big houses in Nick Dolan?s neighborhood were probably all native-born but had managed to become colonials in their own country.

When Hackberry had called Nick Dolan?s restaurant and asked to interview him, Dolan had sounded wired to the eyes, clearing his throat, claiming to be tied up with business affairs and trips out of state. ?I got no idea what this is about. I?m dumbfounded here,? he said.

?Arthur Rooney.?

?Artie Rooney is an Irish putz. I wouldn?t piss in his mouth if he was dying of thirst. Let me rephrase that: I wouldn?t cross the street to see a pit bull rip out his throat.?

?Has the FBI talked with you, Mr. Dolan??

?No, what?s the FBI got to do with anything??

?But you talked to Isaac Clawson the ICE agent, didn?t you??

?Maybe that name is familiar.?

?I appreciate your help. We?ll be out to see you this evening.?

?Hold on there.?

It was late when Hackberry and Pam arrived at Nick?s house, and shadows were spreading across the lawn, fireflies lighting in smoky patterns inside the trees. Nick Dolan ushered them right through the house into his backyard and sat them down on rattan chairs by a glass-topped table already set with a pitcher of limeade and crushed ice and a plate of peeled crawfish and a second plate stacked with pastry. But there was no question in Hackberry?s mind that Nick Dolan was a nervous wreck.

Nick began talking about the grapevine that laced the trellises and the latticework over their heads. ?Those vines came from my grandfather?s place in New Orleans,? he said. ?My grandfather lived uptown, off St. Charles. He was a friend of Tennessee Williams. He was a great man. Know what a great man is? A guy who takes things that are hard and makes them look easy and doesn?t complain. Where?s your gun??

?In the vehicle,? Hackberry said.

?I always thought you guys had to have your gun on you. You want some limeade? Try those crawfish. I had them brought live from Louisiana. I boiled and veined them myself. I made the sauce, too. I mash up my own peppers. Go ahead, stick a toothpick in one and slop it in the sauce and tell me what you think. Here, you like chocolate-and-peanut-butter brownies? Those are my wife?s specialty.?

Pam and Hackberry looked at Nick silently, their eyes fastened on his. ?You?re making me uncomfortable here. I got high blood pressure. I don?t need this,? Nick said.

?I think you?re the anonymous caller who warned me about Jack Collins, Mr. Dolan. I wish I?d taken your warning more to heart. He put a couple of dents in my head and almost killed Deputy Tibbs.?

?I?m lost.?

?I also think you?re the person who called the FBI and told them Vikki Gaddis and Pete Flores were in danger.?

Before Hackberry had finished his last sentence, Nick Dolan began shaking his head. ?No, no, no, you got the wrong guy. We?re talking about mistaken identity here or something.?

?You told me Arthur Rooney wants to murder both you and your family.?

Nick Dolan?s small round hands were closing and opening on the glass tabletop. His stomach was rising and sinking, his cheeks blading with color. ?I got in some trouble,? he said. ?I wanted to get even with Artie for some things he did to me. I got mixed up with bad people, the kind who got no parameters.?

?Is one of them named Hugo Cistranos??

?Hugo worked for Artie when Artie ran a security service in New Orleans. We all got flooded out by Katrina and ended up in Texas at the same time. I don?t got anything else to say about this.?

?I?m going to find Jack Collins, Mr. Dolan. I?d like to do it with your help. It?ll mean a lot for you down the line.?

?You mean I?ll be a friend of the court, something like that??

?It?s a possibility.?

?Stick your ?friend of the court? stuff up your nose. This crazy fuck Collins, excuse my language, is the only guy keeping us alive.?

?I?m not sympathetic with your situation.?

?You don?t have a family??

?I looked into Collins?s face. I watched him machine-gun my deputy?s cruiser.?

?My wife beat the shit out of him with a cooking pot. He could have killed both