“Well, hell, Lisa Livia,” Agnes said mildly. “Maybe a hitman isn’t a good plan, either.”

Lisa Livia picked up her fork again. “Well, he sure put a smile on your face this morning.”

“That’s just sex,” Agnes said, and thought, That’s a lie, and then Rhett woke up and barked, and Agnes realized somebody was standing on her back porch looking at her through the screen door. “Hello?”

“I knocked,” the woman said, her drawl more of a chirp. “I truly did, but you all didn’t hear. I’m Kristy. From Wesley’s Wonderful Wedding Memories.”

Lisa Livia rolled her eyes.

“Come on in, Kristy,” Agnes said. “This is Lisa Livia, the mother of the bride, and I’m Agnes.”

Kristy opened the screen door and came in, cute as a bug with her pixie face, short dark hair, and tight little body strung with cameras and bags and a lot of other stuff that looked professional but could have been garbage for all Agnes knew. Rhett looked at her and barked again, and Agnes shushed him, so he sighed and went back to sleep as Kristy smiled at Lisa Livia.

“You can’t possibly be the mother of the bride,” Kristy said to her. “You must be her sister.”

“Right,” Lisa Livia said, and kept eating omelet.

“Have you had breakfast?” Agnes said to Kristy, looking at her cheese omelet with longing, but ready to give it up for hospitality’s sake.

“No, ma’am, but thank you for the offer,” Kristy said, and Agnes liked her better.

“Well, feel free to look around,” Agnes said. “The wedding is going to be in the gazebo and the reception is in the barn, which you’ll find if you follow the flagstone path off to the right of the porch there. Anything you need to know?”

“I’ll just wander around taking some trial shots,” Kristy said, batting her big blue eyes. “Any of the wedding party present besides Mrs. Fortunato?” She nodded to Lisa Livia.

“Miss. Never married.” Lisa Livia picked up her toast.

Kristy nodded again, having evidently given up on bonding.

“Nope,” Agnes said. “Unless you count the flamingos.”

Kristy nodded, smiled, and escaped through the back door.

“I’m just saying,” Lisa Livia said when she was gone, “you have a lot more in common with Shane than with some normal guy. Taylor freaked when you attacked him with a meat fork. Shane took it away from you and made you come your brains out. I think that’s significant.”

“He kills people,” Agnes said. “Lucky for you,” Lisa Livia said.

Agnes picked up her omelet and took it to the table and sat down across from Lisa Livia. “I’m definitely not going to have sex with him again.”

Lisa Livia nodded. “I’m definitely going to sleep with Carpenter.” Agnes sighed.

“Agnes, stop fighting your nature. You’re a killer. Accept that and you’ll be a lot happier.”

“I’ve never killed anybody,” Agnes protested, and then stopped, realizing that might have sounded holier than thou, considering the people she was hanging out with.

“And with the grace of God you never will,” Lisa Livia said. “The important thing is, we know we can if we have to.” She finished her omelet and pushed her plate away. “So what are we doing today?”

“I have to bake the wedding cakes,” Agnes said, “and call in that cake supply order to the bakery in Savannah. And write my column. Clean up the Venus with you. And sometime in there, I’d like to go through your mother’s boxes and find something that will completely destroy her life so that she’ll never again feel the warmth of the sun on her face or know a happy moment.”

“There you go,” Lisa Livia said, and got up to take her plate to the sink.

“And then I have to make lunch,” Agnes said, and began to eat her omelet.


Shane pulled up to the old warehouse on the edge of the swamp on the east side of Savannah. He’d already decided subtlety was not the desired course of action. He just didn’t feel like it. He kept his sunglasses on and got out of the Defender into the humid heat just as a stocky man with the rippling muscles of a steroid-injecting weight lifter and the sloping forehead of Cro-Magnon man stepped out of a personnel door set in the larger sliding doors in the front of the steel building. He wore flip-flops, swim trunks, and a black muscle shirt, which showed off not only the aforementioned muscles, but also a dazzling array of tattoos from his wrists to his shoulders.

“Whaddya want?” the man asked.

“You speaking to me?”

“Yeah, I’m speaking to you.”

Shane shook his head. “You’re supposed to say: ‘I don’t see nobody else standing there.’“ “What?”

Shane sighed. No one watched the classics anymore. “The Torrentino brothers in?”

The man’s head jerked in what Shane assumed was a negative. “No, and you ain’t going in there.”

“Wrong,” Shane said, and hit the weightlifter in the throat with a quick strike of his fist, avoiding all the layers of muscles elsewhere on the body. Weightlifter’s hands flew up his neck as he gasped in pain.

Shane snap kicked into his groin, eliciting a squeal of pain, and the weightlifter went to his knees, curling over, his hands going from neck to balls. Shane did an elbow strike to the back of the man’s head and he was out, prostrate on the ground.

Shane checked the unconscious body for weapons and found none, but he did find a money clip, with “Rocko” picked out in rhinestones, holding twenty-eight crisp hundred-dollar bills. He flex-cuffed Rocko’s bulky arms behind his back just in case he came to before the business inside was done, and then went inside the warehouse, but the weightlifter had been telling the truth, the place was empty. He did a quick search and found evidence that the Torrentinos had been there, including two La-Z-Boys and a large-screen TV with an impressive collection of porn videos stacked to one side.

The Torrentinos as the masterminds behind the hits began to seem less likely than ever. But Rocko with those hundred-dollar bills…

Shane heard cursing and abandoned the warehouse. Rocko was sitting up, moaning, for which Shane was grateful, doubtful he could toss that much unconscious weight into the Defender. It also meant Rocko had a very thick skull, which wasn’t surprising.

“On your feet,” Shane said, giving Rocko a quick poke in the back with the muzzle of the dock.

Rocko muttered something, but staggered to his feet. Shane guided him over to the Defender and shoved him into the passenger seat, his hands still awkwardly secured behind him with the plastic flex-cuff. Shane got in the driver’s seat. He threw the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot. Then he remembered something. He dug in his pocket and pulled out Agnes’s To Do List.

Shane reached down and turned on the navigation system and punched in the address for the bakery in downtown Savannah. He was glad for the tinted windows as he drove into the city. Rocko was becoming more agitated as consciousness seeped into his brain, so after Shane double-parked in front of the bakery, he whacked him on the head again.

Then he walked into the bakery.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter said.

Shane checked the list. “I need fifteen pounds of fondue and-”

The woman said, “Excuse me?”

“It’s for a wedding cake.”

“You mean fondant.”

“Whatever. And…” He handed Agnes’s To Do List over to her. She squinted at it. “Is this the Agnes Crandall order?”

“Yeah.”

She handed it back. “She called it in. I thought she was going to pick it up later. Doesn’t matter. It’s ready.”

Ten minutes later, two bags of miscellaneous cake stuff and three five-pound tubs of icing heavier, the Defender was heading north.

He glanced over. Rocko was blinking the blood out of his eyes from the second whack. He had an incredibly thick skull.

“Try not to get blood on that cake stuff.”

“Fuck you,” Rocko said, shaking the blood off his face and onto one of the tubs of fondant.

Shane sighed. “You set up the Two Rivers hit. Who hired you and who was the target?”

Rocko turned his beady little eyeballs toward him. “Who are you?”

Shane sighed. “My name is Shane.”

Rocko spit on him. “Fuck you, Shane.”

“Rocko, we can do this hard or we can do this easy. You got paid five thousand for a contract You subcontracted Vinnie ‘Can of Tomatoes’ Marinelli two thousand to do the actual job. He subcontracted it to a dumbshit named Macy for five hundred. Both Vinnie and Macy are dead. I killed them. The job isn’t done. So whoever paid you isn’t gonna be happy. Who paid you?”

“Fuck you.”

Shane crossed an old turn-bridge over the Savannah River. He saw a sign for the Savannah National Wildlife Refuge and turned off, drove down a one-lane dirt road, then onto what could barely be called a track until he was pretty sure they were deep into the swamp. Then he stopped the Defender, got out, went around to the passenger side and opened the door, quickly stepping back, Glock at the ready. “Get out.”

“You going to kill me?” Rocko demanded.

“Not if you tell me what I want to know.” Shane reached into his pocket and pulled out an airline voucher. “Then you take this to the Savannah Airport, get on a plane, and no one around here ever sees you again. Got it?” He slapped the voucher down on the hood of the Defender.

Rocko’s eyes shifted from the voucher to Shane. “Bullshit.”

“Who gave you the contract and who was the contract on?”

A very large alligator basking in the sun about fifty feet away was eyeing them, perhaps sizing them up for a snack. Shane squinted. The gator had a scar where one of its eyes should have been. It was a hard life everywhere, even in the swamp. The one-eyed reptile slid into the water with a splash and began to lazily move toward them.

Rocko heard the splash and glanced over his shoulder. “I took an oath. I ain’t violating it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Rocko frowned. “To make my bones with the mob, I gotta stick with the oath, right? I can’t violate the contract. It’s like, ya know, that doctor-patient thing. Or when a lawyer talks to a client.”

Spare me from idiots, Shane thought. “That’s movie bullshit.” A mosquito landed on his neck and took a bite. Halfway from its resting spot, the gator had paused, sizing up the situation with one eye. Shane figured it had more brains than Rocko.

Rocko’s head moved back and forth on his bull neck. “Can’t squeal. Mob oath.”

“Mob oath. You telling me Don Fortunato hired you?” Shane asked.

Rocko’s eyes widened. “You from the Don?”

“If I was from the Don, would I be asking you if the Don hired you?”

The furrow appeared in Rocko’s forehead as he tried to figure that out. “I’d like to work for the Don.”

Scratch the Don, Shane thought. He saw the muscles in Rocko’s shoulders begin to bulge and he knew what he was doing and he also knew that the plastic flex-cuff probably wasn’t going to hold. The tattoos on Rocko’s arms were rippling now from the effort. A naked woman on the right bicep was swaying seductively.

“Rocko,” Shane said with a deep sigh. “I really don’t want to kill you. But I will if you come at me. Think, damn it. There’s no mob oath if you’re not working for the mob. So you can tell me.”

The flex-cuff went with an audible pop and Shane shot Rocko in the left thigh as he started to charge at him. Cursing, the weightlifter grabbed the leg and hopped about.

“I told you not to do that,” Shane said.

The gator was moving forward again, smelling blood.

Shane moved toward the truck. “Rocko, we need to get out of here.”

“Fuck you,” Rocko said, hopping away from the Defender. “I can’t believe you fucking shot me.”

“I’ll shoot you again if you don’t tell me who the contract was on. Agnes Crandall?”

Rocko was in too much pain to hide the look of recognition that flickered across his face at the name.

“Okay, got that. Now tell me the guy who hired you and I’ll get you back to the truck before the gator gets you,” Shane said, and when Rocko looked even more stubborn, he added. “I’m telling you, you dumb fuck, there is no mob oath.”

“Hey, she made me take it, right there on the phone. I took the mob oath-”

“She?” Shane said.

Rocko glared at him. “Fuck you, I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’ and I ain’t breakin’ the oath, neither.” He turned and began a limping run along the edge of the swamp.

“Damn it, Rocko!” Shane yelled, but it was already over, the gator came out of the water, an explosion of green scales and big teeth, and closed the ground between them in seconds, its jaws snapping shut on Rocko’s leg. Rocko screamed, and Shane fired a couple of rounds into the gator, feeling bad for it, but the bullets seemed to have no effect as it rolled with Rocko into the dark water, dragging him into the depths.