“You got my money, boy?”

Hands outstretched, Paul turned to face the question, no answer but a faint smile. He regarded the bloated bear of a man and felt nothing. More rightly, he felt the great upwelling of anger and resentment for the path of corruption and destruction across five counties and two parishes and let it go. There was no need.

The man sighed dramatically, “You know what this means, dontcha’?” When Paul only nodded, the man gave a quizzical look, “Sho seem awful calm, all these considered.”

“I’m at peace, Mr. Geddings. S’pose you wish you could say the same.” A mastiff exited the car and came to crouch at his master’s heel. His master considered the beast, an expensive pure bred out of Atlanta. He looked at the rings on his hands and back at the Cadillac in which he’d arrived.

“Don’t s’pose I do.”

“You will.”

“You uppity piss,” spat out shortly before the eruption of three rounds from a silver-plated revolver.

Eyes to the sky, Paul was finally free, free from life and sin.