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July Sky.

Bright-blue sunny California.

Happy tourists.

Like, this is the California you pay for. This is the California you saw on TV and in the postcards. This is more like it.

Ben, Chon, and O sit in the Coyote and watch Dennis’s press conference on the television above the bar.

It’s genius.

Dennis-rock star-poses beside a blown-up photo of Doc taken back in the sixties.

“Doc Halliday,” he says, “was killed resisting arrest as he tried to flee across the border. This represents the final breakup of one of America’s oldest and most powerful drug rings, one with connections to the vicious Mexican cartels.”

“You okay?” Ben asks O.

“Absolutely crunchy,” she says, looking at her guys.

Knows you get two chances at a family-the one you’re born into and the one you choose.

She has hers.

Her dad was always dead to her.

Now Dennis’s mouth twists into a somber frown. “Sadly, a corrupt policeman, William Boland, was involved in the ring and also killed. Two others, Duane Crowe and Brian Hennessy, apparently killed each other in a gunfight. Both are believed to have been involved in the murders of Scott Munson and Traci McDonald.”

Karma, Ben thinks, is a bitch.

Theirs, and mine.

I might not be guilty of Scott’s and Traci’s murders, but I am responsible. Lot of karma to pay off.

Maybe set up some kind of foundation, help out in the Third World. Start paying it back.

There are some things you carry alone, Chon thinks, looking at the two people in the world who he loves.

Inside you.

Heavy but bearable.

Like your own DNA.

He looks back up at the television.

“The final breakup of the Association,” Dennis says, looking into the camera, “is a major victory in the War on Drugs.”

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