Second Life: Dumping the Scum novel · Chapter 17 of 24

Chapter 17: The Notebook

I zoomed in until the pages went soft.

"Porch Light," in blue ink, in Breckin's big loopy hand.

Every line I'd sung at the showcase.

Not one line I hadn't.

"He copied it off the showcase video," Hudson said.

"And 'Rented Tux' off somebody's phone at the honky-tonk," I said. "That's why there's no last verse. He doesn't have one."

"He wrote it in your book."

"In my book," I said. "So when they say it's his book, there's a coffee ring to prove it."

Wynona held out her hand for the laptop.

She read the statement through her glasses on the chain.

Then she closed it, very gently.

"I've been in this business longer than that man's been alive," she said. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen a label put in writing."

"Is that good?"

"It's good for us, honey. It's bad for whoever wrote it."

The next morning the tire shop opened at seven, the way it always did, with an air gun.

Emmylou came out of her room in a bath towel and a bandana.

"Every day," she said. "Every single day, like a rooster made of violence."

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