The FBI agent’s silent presence is so compelling that I’ve forgotten to try Carl Sims again. As I dial, Snake says: “Tell me something, Mr. FBI man.”

Kaiser inclines his head slightly to the side. “What’s that?”

“How do you know Adam and Eve weren’t black?”

When Kaiser refuses to rise to the bait, Snake says, “You ever try to take a rib from a nigger?” A slow grin spreads across the old Double Eagle’s face, the first real expression I’ve seen from him.

“What’s with this comic book racist act?” Kaiser asks. “I know you’re just putting on a show. Don’t you ever look around and realize you didn’t accomplish a damned thing with all your violence?”

Snake smiles expansively. “Oh, you’re right about that. We lost the war, all right. Yes, sir. The world we got now is the proof of that. How do you like it, Agent Kaiser? The liberals got what they wanted, and everything we feared came true.”

After six rings, Carl’s phone kicks me to voice mail again.

“You auditioning for Fox News?” Kaiser asks, still expressionless.

Snake laughs. “They could use me, that’s for sure. See, I figure the niggers have had civil rights—for real, not just by law—for about three decades now. And they’re probably worse off as a group than they were during slave times. It’s plain as day, man, but nobody wants to talk about it. Every city with a high concentration of blacks has the worst statistics in the country on crime, education, unwed mothers, infant mortality. And don’t give me that poverty bullshit, because no other ethnic group has disintegrated like that.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes.

“You think I’m wrong?” Snake asks. “Last weekend, black gangs in Chicago and Detroit killed more niggers than the whole Ku Klux Klan killed between 1960 and 1970. Last weekend. Most of ’em can’t read any better than a white fourth grader. They won’t work half as hard as a Mexican—not even at drug dealing—and the black family pretty much ceased to exist when the black church women who kept them together started dying off.”

“I see. And you think they were better off as slaves?”

“Well, sure. Hell, son, the black male just ain’t equipped to handle freedom. It discombobulates him. Look at Africa. Once the European powers pulled out, the whole place went to hell. The black revolutionaries became everything they claimed they hated. The only country on the whole continent worth a spit is South Africa, and that’s because it was the whitest the longest. You sure don’t hear American jigs yelling, ‘Back to Africa,’ anymore, do you? No, sir. Before long, starvation and AIDS will empty that whole damned landmass, and somebody with real genetic potential can start over.”

“You’re a walking artifact, Snake.”

“Hey, you asked. And don’t kid yourself: half the people north of the Mason-Dixon line have asked themselves what their ancestors were thinking when they fought a civil war to free the slaves. See, back then, the niggers were all down here. But once they started moving north, those Yankees started singing a different tune.”

“Speaking of a different tune,” Kaiser says, “why don’t you tell me why your brother Frank didn’t take that second Mannlicher-Carcano with him to Dealey Plaza back in ’63?”

This question hits Snake like a blindside punch. He works his mouth around for a few seconds, absorbing the possible implications of the question. Then, instead of answering, he turns to the one-way mirror and looks right into my eyes. “How you doing, Mayor? Yeah, I saw you earlier, when Sheriff Fatass was choking me. Your daddy’s in a world of shit, ain’t he? Spent his whole life helping coons, and now he’s going to jail for killing one. Don’t seem fair, does it? In jail for doing the world a goddamn favor.”

As I feel my blood pressure rise, I can’t help but admire Kaiser for remaining so cool before Snake Knox.

“My files tell me you’re a Holy Roller, Snake,” Kaiser says, trying to bring Knox’s attention back to him. “Like your old man.”

Snake slowly looks back at the FBI agent, his eyes flat and cold again. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve prayed mighty hard on occasion. One night, about ten thousand Chinese communists in quilted pajamas came pouring over the wire in my sector, and my squad had exactly five hundred bullets between us. That night I prayed like a man trying to polish coal into diamond with his asshole.”

Snake glances in my direction again. “You can ask your daddy about that, Mayor—if you ever see him again. Dr. Cage knows all about that kind of religion.”

Snake is speaking of my father in the present tense. But is he doing it unconsciously or not? Whatever the case, Kaiser doesn’t take the bait.

“You want to tell me about the night you crucified old Elam?” Kaiser asks in a neutral tone. “How does it feel to kill your own father?”

Snake’s face slowly ratchets around to Kaiser again, like a sniper returning his aim to his primary target. “Who you been talking to, boy? It don’t pay to listen to liars.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m not asking you about killing Martin Luther King. I know that’s whiskey talk. But I know you killed Elam, Snake. You and Frank both. Oh, you killed a lot more than that, I know. But you must have felt something when you killed your own father, even if he did molest you. Unlike when Frank killed Kennedy. I’m betting that killing a president—that president—was one of the high points of Frank’s life.”

To my surprise, Snake is smiling again, as though at some private joke. “You obviously found those rifles in Brody’s basement, huh? You ought to sell ’em on eBay. I always wanted to.”

“I could use the money,” Kaiser admits, “but selling evidence is illegal. I know one of those rifles is real, Snake. Just like the Carcano Brody kept upstairs. I know Frank was supposed to use that to lay part of the blame on Eladio Cruz, the Cuban student from New Orleans, but he decided not to take the risk.”

For the first time doubt flickers in Snake’s eyes, and Kaiser cannot mask his satisfaction. “How does it feel, Snake?” he asks. “That fear? Been a while since you felt that?”

“I’m a crop duster, son. You can’t make it in my business if you’re the nervous type. So you just wear yourself out. You’ve got till my lawyer gets here, and not a second longer.” Knox’s expression slowly morphs from a good-ol’-boy smile to a cobralike spreading of the lips, and there’s only death in his eyes. “But if you ain’t scared, you’ve misunderstood the situation. Them pretty girls you and the mayor sleep with at night? You ought to stick closer to ’em. Because I know some boys who’d love to spend a few hours in that company. And they’d never be the same afterwards.”

Kaiser stares back at Snake without expression. Jordan Glass is supposed to be headed to Moisant Airport in New Orleans, but I know Kaiser is wishing he could call her and verify that right now.

“Planting that meth on us was breaking the rules,” Snake goes on. “It surprised me, I’ll admit. But it also got my attention. So I’m gonna be giving you both some thought after I get out of here. Yes, sir. A lot of thought.”

Kaiser appears to be reading a file without the slightest concern for Snake’s words, but I can tell the old Klansman has gotten to him.

The door behind me suddenly opens, and Sheriff Dennis pokes his head in, puffing from exertion. “Thornfield’s cooling his heels in a utility closet, and your man Garrity’s babysitting him. You ready?”

“Do the other Eagles know we have Thornfield?”

“They know he’s not in the cellblock. No way to avoid that.”

“Okay, I’m coming. But let me go in with Snake for a sec, so Kaiser thinks we’re out here watching his every move. That’ll buy us the time we need.”

“Well, get to it. Thornfield looks scared shitless to me. I think he’s ready to crack.”

Walking up to the one-way mirror, I lay my fingers against the cool surface and listen to the conversation. Kaiser has gone back to tapping at Snake, searching for weak spots. The name Carlos Marcello crackles out of the speaker above me, but Snake simply stares across the metal table like a man reconciled to waiting all day at the DMV to get a new license plate. Kaiser is maddeningly patient, like all good interrogators, but it’s plain that he was right about the futility of trying to break Snake Knox.