“Alonso was very, very clever. You know the church up on the cliff?” For a moment, I can taste the salty air, feel the wind blowing through my curls. Smell the cigarette smoke. I nod. “When the Visconti brothers came to the Devil’s Coast, Alonso immediately bought that church, got ordained, and established himself as the parish deacon.” He sits back and crosses his arms. His eyebrows are raised, like he’s waiting for me to connect the dots. “And?” He sighs. “And, why do you go to church?” “Uh, to pray?” “To confess. Alonso knew Devil’s Dip’s deepest and darkest secrets. With that ammo hanging
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