I roar around the corner, cutting the inner edge of the road until oncoming car lights force me back into my lane. I tap the break for a brief second, but immediately release it. My blood is pumping too quickly to go the speed limit.

I’m willing to risk the chance of getting pulled over. Technically, I’m not doing anything to violate my bail conditions. Not yet.

I skid into the driveway, maintaining my speed until I throw my foot on the break and skirt to a stop. I cut the engine and leave my car parked between Cliff’s department SUV and his black F150.

He still hasn’t come out by the time I reach his front door. I kick the bottom of its thick wood and start pounding with my fist until I can hear the handle turning inside. The door opens.

“What the fuck are you—”

I shoulder my way past him and into the house. It’s an old plantation estate that’s furnished with luxurious shit. Shit you can’t afford on just a sheriff’s salary.

I turn off Jeopardy blaring on the TV and stride over to the polished wooden bar at the edge of the living room. Cliff barks something at me, but I tune it out as I reach for a fifth of Bourbon off the shelf.

“Sit down Sheriff, let me pour you a drink,” I say, half filling an empty glass. “We need to talk.”

He still hasn’t moved when I turn to face him. His cheek is bulging with a thick wad of chew and his stomach is hanging out of the bottom of his t-shirt. Finally, he slams the door.

His eyes stay fixed on me as he lumbers through the living room. He reaches for his own glass when he gets to the bar, spitting a thick dark glob into it.

“Hard to imagine why a guy like you has stayed single,” I say. His tongue skims the inside of his cheek as he eyes me. “You don’t want this?” I ask, holding up the glass of bourbon.

Cliff spits into the glass in his hand in response.

“You already drunk?”

“Not a bit,” he drawls.

I nod, then turn the glass upside down and pour it all down the sink. “No drinks then.”

He sucks in a raspy breath. “You know, I told some of my boys at the state pen to let the inmates know there’s some fresh meat comin’,” he says. “It’s like Christmas.”

I fake a laugh and casually lean over the bar.

“You’re doin’ us a big favor right now,” Cliff continues. “The prosecution is gon’ love to hear that you decided to pay the sheriff a visit a few days before your trial. Some people would say that sounds a lot like intimidation. Me, I might have to agree.”

“You’re right.” I cock my head in agreement. “I mean, I can’t imagine the district attorney is half the corrupted piece of shit that you are, but I bet he was still pretty happy with this case. You did a decent job of setting it all up.”

Cliff smirks. “What can I say?” He raises his palms in mocking satisfaction.

I can smell the chew on his breath, the nauseating-minty-shit scent, but I remain expressionless.

“Yeah, the evidence is pretty solid,” I muse. “Well… most of it.”

His stomach bounces in a chuckle. “There ain’t nothin’ that’s gon’ stop a jury from throwin’ your ass in jail, I’ll tell you that. They gon’ be more than happy to convict you.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” I say. “A young woman manages to turn her life around, leaves addiction behind her, even has the local sheriff helping her start a new path. Then suddenly her whole life is stolen in some a random attack. That’s the kind of evil every jury wants to convict.”

Cliff points a fat sausage finger at me. “You know, sometimes you ain’t as dumb as you look.”

“And you sure left enough of my, what was the term you used… bodily fluids, at the scene. That’s what really got me. I could not figure out how you pulled that off.”

Cliff spits another black glob into his glass.

“And then I remembered when I caught you playing hide and seek in my house,” I continue. “That time you took my fucking gun. I thought that was all you had, but little did I know that Curious Cliff did a little digging through my trash, didn’t he? And why not, right? It was right there in my room next to my gun. Who knows what useful things might be in there. Maybe even a few condoms.”

Cliff pulls a stool out from under the bar and plops down. He shoves two fingers in his mouth and removes a hunk of chew, flicking it into his glass before digging into his pocket for a tin of Copenhagen. He pinches the tobacco in his fingers and slides it under his lip.

“You don’t have any shame, do you?” I ask, watching him. “No problem digging through garbage, pocketing old condoms, murdering an innocent woman. You don’t even have an ounce of remorse.”

His lips pull back in a smile that reveals several loose black cuts of tobacco between his teeth. I stare back at him, unwavering.

“I sure don’t. And you know what your problem is, son?” He pushes the chew into his cheek. “You ain’t ever understood the concept of means to an end. You heard that phrase before?”

I don’t shift my expression. I don’t even blink.

“See, I grew up in a place that didn’t push me towards a fancy education,” he drawls. “When I was eighteen, I went and joined the Army just to get away. Turned out to be the best decision I ever made. It’s why I’m here.”

He eyes me as if inviting me to talk, but I remain silent.

“The folks around here like education but they also like feelin’ protected,” he continues. “I’m an Army vet with four tours to his name. This county doesn’t require a college degree to be sheriff, and I didn’t need one. I knew exactly what the people wanted.”

I was worried that Cliff would be drunk off his ass when I got here, but he’s far from it. He’s fully coherent, and he’s savoring every moment of this.

“Funny how it worked out, ain’t it?” he says. “I just wanted to get away from that shit-stain of a town, and I wind up as sheriff.”

“You’re a true idol.”

“You know what always stuck with me, though?” he asks. “It was somethin’ my daddy taught me. See, one of his favorite things was our pig named Wilma. She’d won him a lot of fairs, he took a lot pride in her.” He raises his finger. “But eventually Wilma got old and had piglets. My daddy takes me out to see them one day when they’re about five-weeks old. Another week or two goes by and he takes me out there again. He tells me to fetch ol’ Wilma on a rope, and so I did. I’m only about ten or twelve standing there next to Wilma, and you know what my daddy says to me?”

Cliff hesitates until it’s clear that I’m not going to answer.

“He asked if I want to know the key to life,” he continues. “Of course, I said yes. And he says, whatever you do, don’t leave loose ends.”

A click my tongue. “What a father.”

Cliff spits into his glass. “Wilma’s days of winning competitions were over. She’d given us a few future dinners in them piglets and that was good, but my daddy didn’t keep nothin’ that wasn’t useful to him. He said it was time to get rid of ol’ Wilma. So, I stood there holding the rope while he got his shotgun and shot her in the head. And boy did we turn her into a tasty meal. And see, it didn’t matter if Wilma had won shit, that’s all she was.” He raises his hands and smiles. “Means to an end.”

After a beat, I offer several slow and sarcastic claps. “What a story. Got the rags to riches theme going on. Good for you.”

Cliff smacks my hands out of the air. “That’s the difference between me and you, you hear me?” he roars. “One of us understands the facts of life and one of us don’t.” He presses his thumb into his chest. “I understand ‘em in my core.”

“Isn’t that inspiring. But you forgot about Sophia,” I say. “Isn’t she a loose end?”

“Well, that depends.” He raises a finger, then points at the clock on the wall. “Clock’s ticking. Pretty soon your shitty life will be over. And after that, I’ll let her be. I don’t mind. She’ll find a new fucktoy and move on. You ain’t hard to replace.”

I nod. “I see.” Slow and deliberately, I glance around the room. “This is a nice place, I’ve never been inside.” I gesture at the living room and it’s three plush couches. “I bet my brother probably helped you afford a lot of this shit, huh? I bet you liked him a lot. Until Savannah got pregnant.”

Cliff spits into his glass, glaring at the sound of her name.

“My brother wanted out once he had a baby on the way, didn’t he?” I ask. “He probably wanted the chance to go start a family. But I’m sure you did not like that.” I muster a cold and disheartened laugh. “That’s a conversation that I’ve experienced firsthand. I’d bet you were pissed. How am I doing so far?”

Cliff’s lips flatten into a cruel smirk. “I’d say you’re doin’ pretty fine.”

Hot fury courses through my legs. “Sounds like the kind of situation that might cause some loose ends,” I say.

“It kind’a does, doesn’t it?”

“You told me Kris died when his liver failed,” I murmur. “From drinking.”

“You’re gon’ have to speak up, son.” There’s a ruthless gleam in his eyes.

“You lied to me.”

Cliff puts a finger behind his ear as if he still can’t hear me.

“You killed him,” I say. “You poisoned my brother.”

He straightens his head with a smile, then spits into his glass and raises it like a toast. “Loose ends,” he says.

“You fucking bastard.” Every part of me erupts instantaneously. I slam my fist on the bar as I round its corner, striding at Cliff who bounces up from his stool.

My vision is a blur. But more than Cliff, I see my brother. I cock my fist with the weight of his loss compressed in my fingers.

Cliff knocks his glass over, spilling black spit across the counter. “Do it,” he taunts as I close the distance between us. “Hit me, son! The jury will love it.”

I stop directly in front of him. The sensation that overtakes me is better than I could’ve imagined.

I drop my fists and smile.

“I’m not going to touch you,” I murmur. My smile grows even wider as I tug down on my shirt, exposing the thin wire leading to a mic taped on my chest. “I got you bastard. You’re done.”