He had no trouble finding the barn.

The summer day was Florida hot and humid. The smell of animal and human sweat was almost overpowering inside the barn, which was even hotter and more humid than outside. The crowd didn’t seem to notice. They were focused on something else.

The crowd was loud, some people clapping and smiling at each other. Their clothes, hair and sun-pink look made it clear that for many of them this was the best they could afford for a Saturday afternoon’s live entertainment.

The only outward difference between Borg and the others around him was that they looked lean and hungry and he looked healthy and sleek in slacks, a black T-shirt and a dark sports jacket. People, particularly the twins when they weren’t wrestling the animals, paid homage to Borg by somberly nodding when he spoke. Earl Borg was the only multimillionaire in the sweatbox heat of the barn and the others all knew it. The closest person to Borg in income was Sully Wright, the citrus farmer, who could count on a net annual profit of about thirty thousand dollars if there were no blight, freezes, hurricanes or further government restrictions.

The tugging pit bull looked at the hog and made a throat-clearing sound that brought applause and hoots. The hog responded with a snort. The crowd seemed to think, wanted to think, that the hog was like a bull snorting, eager to paw the ground and attack. To Lew the snort pulsed with fear.

There was no doubt about what was about to happen in the ring. The only question was how quickly it would take place. Borg was taking last-minute bets, all cash, and pocketing it. He didn’t have to write the names of the people handing him dollars, fives, tens and even a few twenties. He was known here. He knew them.