Preacher's Little Traitor

I mailed the ledgers to the ATF with my own name redacted. Then I moved to Nebraska and stopped looking over my shoulder. Four years clean, groceries on the asphalt of a Walmart parking lot, and there he is — Preacher, the chaplain of the I-80 Saints, the man I caught in the chapel with the road captain's widow, holding a federal indictment file and a photo of the two of us at a club barbecue. He doesn't touch me. He doesn't beg. He tells me the ATF needs a live witness, and it's going to be him, and he'll trade six years of his life for the immunity that keeps me out of prison. The rest of the story happens in a courtroom and every month of the six after.