The Devils Punchbowl

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Who pay the highest price for my writing life.

Thank you.

No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right and keeps on a comin’.

―—Captain Bill McDonald, Texas Ranger

“You’re an animal.”

“No, worse. Human.”

—―Runaway Train

THE DEVIL’S PUNCHBOWL

CHAPTER

1

Midnight in the garden of the dead.

A silver-white moon hangs high over the mirror-black river and the tired levee, shedding cold light on the Louisiana delta stretching off toward Texas. I stand among the luminous stones on the Mississippi side, shivering like the only living man for miles. At my feet lies a stark slab of granite, and under that stone lies the body of my wife. The monument at its head reads:

SARAH ELIZABETH CAGE

1963-–1998

Daughter. Wife. Mother. Teacher.

She is loved.

I haven'’t sneaked into the cemetery at midnight to visit my wife’s grave. I’'ve come at the urgent request of a friend. But I didn't come here for the sake of friendship. I came out of guilt. And fear.

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