picked up his dirty dishes.

?Want a little R and R across the border tonight?? he said after the waitress was gone.

?What I can?t understand is why we haven?t been able to find the motel. It?s the Siesta motel, right?? Bobby Lee said, ignoring Liam?s suggestion.

?I looked on the Internet. There?s no such motel down here. You want to get laid tonight or not??

?I want to find the soldier and his squeeze and do our job and go home.?

?That?s when we take care of Preacher??

?I didn?t say that.?

?Maybe it?s the smart move.?

?In what way??

?He and Hugo always get the high end on payday. Why should a guy get extra pay because he?s crazy??

?Preacher is smart in a different way. That doesn?t mean he?s crazy,? Bobby Lee said.

?Having second thoughts??

?We?re soldiers. We do what we?re told,? Bobby Lee said, picking up the salt shaker and looking at it.

?You?re lots of things, Bobby Lee, but soldier isn?t one of them.?

?Want to explain that??

?What did you say you?re studying? Interior design? I bet you?ll be good at it.?

Bobby Lee put a matchstick in his mouth. ?I got to take a drain,? he said. He went into the restroom and soaped his hands and forearms and rinsed his skin clean and cupped cold water into his face with both hands. He had to swallow when he looked into the mirror. His bald spot seemed to be spreading outward. His eyebrows formed a single black line across his brow, giving his face a crunched look, as though a great weight were pressing down on his head. His throat was starting to sag under his chin; his unshaved jaw had specks of gray. He was twenty-eight years old.

This whole gig stank. Worse, he?d allied himself with Liam Eriksson, who had just mocked him to his face. Bobby Lee sat on the stool inside the toilet stall and checked the bars on his cell phone, then punched in Preacher?s number.

?Yeah?? Jack?s voice said.

?Jack, glad you?re there, man.?

?What?s going on, Bobby Lee??

?Where are you??

?Like the Beach Boys say, ?I get???

?Yeah, I know, you get around.?

?Got some news for me?? Jack said, undisturbed by Bobby Lee?s impatience.

?Not exactly.?

?What did you call me for??

?Just checking in.?

?Having trouble with Liam??

?How?d you know??

?You got a lot of talent, Bobby Lee. Of the seven deadly sins, envy is the only one that doesn?t have a trade-off.?

?You lost me.?

?Lust, hate, covetousness, pride, sloth, greed, and gluttony bring with them an appreciable degree of pleasure. But an envious man gets no relief. It?s like a guy drinking liquid Drano because another guy has wine on his table. One thing you can be sure about, though. The man who envies you will eventually blindside you proper.?

?Liam envies me??

?What does a fellow like me know??

?A lot. You know a lot, Jack.?

?Something going on, boy??

?Nothing I can?t take care of.?

?That?s the way to talk.?

?See you, Jack.?

Bobby Lee closed his cell phone and stared at the back of the stall door. It was patinaed with drawings of genitalia that had been scratched into the paint. For just a moment he wondered if the drawings were not an accurate representation of the thoughts that went on inside Liam?s head. How could he have been willing to throw in his lot with a bozo like Liam and betray a pro like Jack? Jack might be a religious head case, but he was no Judas, and Hugo and Liam were. Taking off Artie Rooney?s finger seemed like an extreme measure, but at least with Jack, you always knew where you stood.

So where did that leave Bobby Lee?

Answer: playing it cool, gliding on that old-time R&B. A little time would pass and all this would be over and he?d be bone-fishing in the Keys, eating fried conch, drinking St. Pauli Girl beer, and watching a molten-red sun slip into the waters off Mallory Square.

As he started back toward the booth, he glanced through the latticework partition that separated him from the front of the restaurant. Suddenly, he realized he was looking at the couple Liam had told him to turn around and check out. The woman wore jeans and a khaki shirt and a badge on her breast. The tall man Liam had said looked like John Wayne was sitting across from her in the booth, his Stetson crown-down on the seat. He was cutting up his food, his profile silhouetted against the sunset. Bobby Lee could also see the holstered white-handled blue-black thumb-buster revolver that hung from his gun belt.

Bobby Lee also had