It felt like he had been there for a year.“You’d better hope that Sonny gets home soon,” Sam said.Pepper knew that the gang wouldn’t let Sonny...live. They would go after him with everything they had. This had become a matter of pride to them, and they weren’t going to lose face over one stupid cowboy. Sonny was going to die and he was going to be stuck there for the rest of his life.At the idea of living like a slave until he died, Pepper felt his brain shutting down. He stared at the floor not. But he had a spry energy about him and his small eyes were alive and friendly in his doughy face. He was in a jacket and tie and his plastic ID dangled from a pocket. When he talked he was precise and measured with no contractions. There wasn't a word that hadn't been carefully considered, as if he were talking for the legal record.He dropped his file to the table and reached out to shake our hands. "Mrs. Feinstein, Miss Doyle, I am Agent Haspart of the Bureau of Alcohol, Firearms and Tobacco.. More

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