My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

Why are you helping me? Harry asked. June’s eyes went hard. Because Trent Huxley is a cancer on this town, and somebody needs to cut him out. I tried leaving him alone. Tried minding my own business. But what he did to your daughter, that’s a line you don’t cross. This won’t be legal, Harry warned. If things go wrong, you could end up in serious trouble.

Honey, June smiled grimly. I’ve been in trouble since I was 16. A little more won’t kill me. Harry’s third stop was the Riverside Trailer Park, a collection of rusted mobile homes and broken dreams on the wrong side of the railroad tracks. Marshall Irwin’s trailer was at the back of the lot, distinguished from his neighbors by a small vegetable garden and an American flag that flew from a makeshift pole.

Marshall answered the door wearing combat fatigues and a thousand-y stare. He was 42, built like a scarecrow with prematurely gray hair and hands that shook slightly when he thought nobody was looking, but his eyes were clear, and when he recognized Harry, his posture straightened. Mr. Kain, what brings you to my corner of paradise? Need to talk to you about a job.

I’m listening. Harry stepped inside the trailer, which was sparse but clean. Military precision in the way everything was arranged, from the folded blankets to the books lined up on a makeshift shelf. A purple heart sat in a place of honor on the small dining table. My daughter was beaten by her husband last night. She’s in a hospital.