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ourselves some slack. And we no longer have to worry about what his connection to Jim may have been and whether that might turn into another problem for us.”
    Cassidy felt sick about what they were discussing. He gazed up at the stern portrait of his ancestor. He had always felt like Reverend Jack was looking down on him, judging him and how he was running the town he had built. He had faced some tough challenges over the last few years, real tough challenges, but nothing like this. This was like Armageddon, apocalyptic—world ending.
    Outside, the wail of a siren rose and he glanced up to see a cruiser come to an abrupt halt on the driveway, its spinning lights painting the oak paneling red and blue.
    â€œThere’s my ride,” Morgan said, heading to the door.
    â€œWhere is this guy?” Cassidy asked. “You taken him in for questioning?”
    â€œNo. I thought it best to keep him off the record, in case he has to—disappear. Last I saw, he was heading to the church.”
    Cassidy stared out of the window at the white stone of the church beyond the wall. “Let me go talk to him first.”
    â€œNow why would you wanna go and do that?”
    â€œBecause if I’m going to sacrifice a man’s life to save my town, the least I can do is have the courtesy to look him in the eye first. And I still think we should establish whether the crash was an accident or not.”
    Morgan shook his head and took in the room. “Must be nice, living in your oak-paneled world where everyone plays by rules and any disputes can be resolved with a handshake. Let me tell you how things work out in the real world. Talking to this guy is going to achieve absolutely nothing. If anything, it’s going to complicate things. You don’t strike up a friendship with a man you’re about to execute. And it won’t matter a damn to Tío whether the crash was an accident or not. His son died and someone is going to have to pay for it. Someone—or something. Ever hear of a place called El Rey?”
    â€œRings a bell.”
    â€œIt’s a little town up in the Durango Mountains. The local banditos took it over and it became a sort of Shangri-la for criminals fleeing south across the border. Anyone who made it there with enough money to pay for protection could stay as long as they liked, knowing no law would ever touch them. El-Rey is also Tío’s hometown. Or it was. It’s not there anymore.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œTío happened. I don’t know the exact details, but when Tío wasa kid there was some kind of family tragedy involving his father and brother. Could be they fell afoul of the bosses or something, but whatever happened, Tío never forgot it. When he rose to power years later, he got his revenge. El Rey was the headquarters of the old bosses, so it made sense for him to take it over. But he didn’t. What he did was massacre every living soul in the town and burn the place to the ground. It was symbolic, I guess: out with the old and in with the new. But it was also revenge, pure and simple, an old-fashioned blood vendetta. Tío did the killing himself, the way I heard it. Showed the world what would happen if anyone dared to hurt him or his family.” He pointed out of the window at the smoke rising beyond the church. “And his son just died, flying into our airfield. So you think about that when you talk to this guy. I’ll be at the control line if you need me.” Then he opened the door and was gone.

15
    S OLOMON STOOD INSIDE THE DOOR OF THE CHURCH LETTING HIS EYES adjust to the gloom after the fierce sunlight outside. Huge stained-glass windows poured light into the dark interior, splashing color onto what appeared at first glance to be a collection of old junk.
    To the left of the door a full-size covered wagon stood behind a model of a horse and a mannequin dressed in nineteenth-century clothes. A fully functioning