I’d almost jumped away a few minutes earlier, because it was finally morning up in Alaska, and I was determined that today was the day that A.J. would talk to Alison and ask her about dead Wayne, and what she did or didn’t see on the day that he’d been murdered. I also wanted to be there when Rose and Tom announced their plans to get hitched. They’d probably get the whole family together for a cookout, and I didn’t want to miss it. Gene was snoring atop of his hooker friend when his cell phone erupted in an electronic version of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” which was kind of a strange ringtone for a man who wasn’t going anywhere even remotely good after he parted ways with his earthly remains. He lurched awake and scrambled off the bed, pulling a huge-caliber handgun from a holster that must’ve been at the small of his back, fumbling it not once but twice. I could’ve killed him six times over, but back in my day, we wore our weapons where everyone could see ’em, and where we could reach ’em easily.
