Excerpt from All the Sinners Bleed by S. A. Cosby, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"What for?" Albert asked.

"They wanna make sure the sheriff's office will 'fulfill its duties and maintain crowd control' in case any protesters show up. You know, since Ricky is Caucasian, I'm biased against them because of my 'cultural background,'" Titus said. He kept his voice flat and even, the way he'd learned in the Bureau, but he caught his father's eyes over the top of the newspaper.

Albert shook his head. "That Sours boy wouldn't have said that to Ward Bennings. Hell, Ward would've probably marched with 'em with his star on his chest. 'Cultural background.' Shit. He means cuz you a Black man and he a racist. Lord, son, I don't know how you do it sometimes," Albert said.

"Easy. I just imagine Sherman kicking their murderous traitorous great-granddaddies in the teeth. That's my Zen," Titus said. His voice stayed flat, but Albert burst out laughing.

"Down at the store last Friday, Linwood Lassiter asked one of the boys with the sticker on his truck why don't they put a statue to … what's that boy name? The one with them eggs?" Albert said.

"Benedict Arnold?" Titus offered.

"Yeah, build a statue to that boy, since they like traitors so goddamn much. That boy said something about heritage and history and Linwood said all right, how about a statue to Nat Turner? That boy got in his truck and spun tires and rolled coal on us. But he didn't have an answer," Albert said.

Titus narrowed his eyes. "You get a license plate number? What the truck look like?"

"Nah, we was too busy laughing. It looks like every truck them kind of boys drive. Jacked up to the sky and not a lick of dirt in the bed. They do them trucks just like some of them fellas that come up on the bay in them big fancy boats but don't never catch no fish. Use a workingman's tools for toys," Albert said.

Titus finished his coffee. He rinsed out the cup and set it in the sink.

"They don't care about Benedict Arnold, Pop. He didn't hate the same people they do. I'm gonna go get dressed. I'm on till nine. There's still some beef stew left from Sunday in the refrigerator. You can have that for supper," Titus said.

"Boy, I ain't so old I can't make my own supper. Who taught you how to cook anyway?" Albert asked.

Titus felt a tight smile work its way across his face. "You did," he said. But, Titus thought, not until Mama had been in the ground and you'd finally found Jesus.

"Damn right. I mean, I'll probably eat the stew, but I can still turn up something in the kitchen," Albert said with a wink. Titus shook his head and headed for the stairs.

"Maybe I'll get some oysters and we can put some fire to that old grill this weekend. Get your trifling brother to come over," Albert said as Titus put his foot on the first step. Titus stiffened for a moment before continuing up the stairs. Marquis wasn't coming over this or any other weekend. The fact that his father still clung to the idea was at various times depressing and infuriating. Marquis worked for himself as a self-taught carpenter. He stayed on the other side of the county in the Windy River Trailer Park, but he might as well have been in Nepal. Even though he made his own hours, they could go months without seeing him. In a place as small as Charon County, that was a dubious achievement.

Titus went into his bedroom and opened his closet. His everyday clothes were on wire hangers on the left. His uniforms were on wooden hangers on the right. He didn't refer to his everyday clothes as his "civilian" wardrobe. That gave his uniforms a level of militarization he didn't like. His everyday clothes were color-coordinated and hung in alphabetical order. Blacks first, then blues, then reds, then so on. Darlene had once commented that he was the most organized man she'd ever met. His shoes were ordered in the exact same manner. Kellie, his former girlfriend from his time in Indiana, used to rearrange his clothes whenever she spent the night. She said she did it for his own good.

Excerpted from All the Sinners Bleed by S. A. Cosby. Copyright © 2023 by S. A. Cosby. Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.