Jason Colson brought Quinn a cheeseburger and fries, chocolate shake on the side, from Sonic.
Quinn was sitting in a hard chair next to Kenny’s bed at the hospital. He’d been out of surgery for an hour but was still asleep. Both Kenny’s folks had been killed in the tornado. He had a sister in Columbus, but she hadn’t made it to town yet.
“Thanks,” Quinn said, his legs stretched straight out before him, boots crossed at the ankle.
“What’s the word?”
“He’s going to be fine,” Quinn said. “But if Lillie hadn’t found him, he would have died in that ditch.”
“Jesus,” Jason said, standing by Kenny’s bed, Kenny off in dreamland. “Any idea who shot him?”
“He hasn’t been conscious,” Quinn said. “But Lillie’s working on something. She’ll find who did this.”
“Is it true these bastards ran a fucking bulldozer through Larry Cobb’s house?”
“It was a backhoe,” Quinn said. “But, yes, sir.”
“Hate to say it,” Jason said. “I knew Larry back in high school and he wasn’t worth a shit back then. You know that mill was his daddy’s, and his daddy’s before him.”
Quinn reached into the sack and grabbed the cheeseburger and started to eat. Old habits of sleeping and eating when you can. Jason took a seat in the other free chair. Behind him was a framed Bible verse and a chart on how to measure your pain, 1 through 10. Blue was no pain. Bright red meant you hurt like a bitch.
“First, Caddy,” Jason said. “Now Kenny. How you holding up?”
“Fine,” Quinn said. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Appreciate the lunch.”
“Your momma called me,” Jason said. “First reaction was that something had happened to you. I don’t like getting calls like that from your momma. We haven’t exactly been on good terms since I came back. I don’t think she really wanted me back in Jericho.”
“You don’t say.”
“I know, I know,” Jason said. He was wearing his STUNTMAN UNLIMITED jacket, red satin, along with a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate. It read Skoal Bandit Racing. “Hard to imagine. But I do think that woman will come around.”
The last part surprised Quinn and he glanced up at his father. Jason shrugged. “Thought about riding over to Tupelo tomorrow. Check on Caddy.”
“You can’t,” Quinn said. “Not until she’s got that shit out of her system in detox. They also like to separate her from the family so she can focus and get with the program.”
Jason nodded, sitting wide-legged on the chair, both father and son staring at Kenny, all shot-up and in la-la land. He had a lot of scrapes on his forehead and a busted lip from being in that ravine. A nurse came in and checked his vitals, saying hello and then turning to leave. Jason Colson appraised her backside on the way out. He raised his eyebrows.
“I guess you get used to this kind of thing,” Jason said. “Folks getting injured. Shot-up.”
“Some,” Quinn said. “But usually we just tried to get them to the LZ and the hell out of the shooting.”
“You lost a lot of buddies?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Been over there, what, eight, ten times?”
“Thirteen deployments,” Quinn said. “Ten years.”
“Long time,” Jason said, stroking that goatee, thinking on things. “I’ve lost some buds, too. Mainly drugs. Alcohol. One of my best friends—this was even before you were born—jumped off a nine-story building, doubling for George Kennedy. The sorry thing was, he’d already filmed the gag but went back to reshoot because someone had broken his world record. You know, for height. That’s the ego we had back then. He landed the son of a bitch perfect, but the fucking air bag split and killed him. I can’t even recall the name of the picture. I know Lee Majors was in it. We went on to work together for a long time on Fall Guy.”
“Caddy and I met him,” Quinn said, eating some fries. “Out on one of our L.A. trips.”
“He was big shit back then,” Jason said. “Women wouldn’t leave his ass alone. I think they believed he had a bionic pecker.”
“That would do it.”
Jason smiled, nodding over to Kenny. “I’m glad he’s gonna pull through,” Jason said. “Always liked Kenny. I could tell how much respect he had for you. I think he’d walk straight through hell if you told him to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You think Jean might let me pick up Jason later today?” Jason said. “I wanted to show him a reel of some of the gags I did in Gator and Cannonball Run. I think he’d get a kick out of it.”
“Knowing his granddad is crazy?”
“You ever turn down a dare, son?” Jason said.
“No, sir.”
Jason winked at him. “We just don’t have it in us.”
• • •
Sorry, buddy,” Mickey Walls said. “We’re closed.”
“That’s OK,” the man said, stepping into the warehouse behind the Walls Flooring showroom. “I don’t need any flooring.”
“Then what can I help you with?” Mickey said. “Like I said, we’re closed.”
“You Mickey Walls?”
The man was medium height and medium size, pretty much an unremarkable human being except for a big sprouting black beard on his otherwise hairless head. He wanted to say maybe he’d seen the fella somewhere, someplace. He looked familiar as hell.
“Yeah,” Mickey said. “If you’re gonna try and serve me with papers, why don’t you take the day off. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m not the law,” the man said.
“Oh yeah?” he said. “Then who are you?”
“I work for Mr. Stagg,” the man said. “How about we take a little ride?”
“I’m good right here,” Mickey said, standing tall in his shop. The ceiling raised up fifty feet in both directions, stacked with finished and unfinished hardwoods, rolls of laminate, and fine, high-traffic carpeting. Mickey didn’t know what else to say, as he looked at the fella, who seemed as serious as could be, and so he lit a cigarette and fanned out the match. He tucked the cigarettes back in his shirt pocket and waited.
“This isn’t a request.”
“I don’t have no truck with Johnny Stagg.”
“Didn’t say you did,” the man said.
“If he wants to talk business, let’s do it another day,” Mickey said, smoke shooting out the side of his mouth. “We’re fucking closed.”
The man smiled like an old friend of the family and opened his coat to show a shiny blued pistol of impressive size. Just as fast, the man closed his coat. Oh, hell. Here we go, Mickey thought.
“What’s your name?” Mickey said. “You never told me.”
“That’s right.”
“But you speak for Stagg?”
“I do.”
“OK,” Mickey said, shaking his head. This day had been so damn fucked-up, what was one more thing. He wondered how he’d gotten on the wrong side or the right side of damn Johnny Stagg. “Why not?”
The man drove a jacked-up blue Ford Raptor, a truck made for off-roading and mud-riding. As they walked out into the cold, the man put on his ball cap and set his sunglasses on top of the brim. The big engine revved with a growl and they were off into the cold and gray. Mickey didn’t have time for this kind of shit, worrying and trying to think just what he had done to piss off Johnny Stagg. He’d done some work for Stagg last year, but he’d done a solid job, as he did on all things. Like his business card told folks, If You Don’t Like It, We’ll Make It Right.
Whatever he did, he’d make right and then get on with his day. He had checked email and showered at the warehouse. He had a fresh change of clothes and a razor. He called Tonya eight times and left eight messages. She’d yet to call back.
“You had a busy night,” the man said.
“Just got back from the beach,” Mickey said. “I got a damn hangover that won’t quit.”
“Good for you,” the man said. “But not as bad as your pals.”
“What pals?”
“The ones who drove a backhoe into Larry Cobb’s house and took his safe,” the man said, driving slow and easy around Jericho and turning on toward two signs pointing to Choctaw Lake.
“I heard about it,” Mickey said. “Don’t have nothing to do with me.”
“I’m not the law,” the man said. “And I’m not here for a debate. Some other things were taken besides money.”
“I said, I don’t know nothing about—”
“Shut your mouth and listen,” the man said, taking the Raptor up to fifty, sixty, as the little houses started to spread out. They passed a cemetery and then a few farms and Mr. Randolph’s smithing shop. “There were two books.”
“I said—”
“Shut up,” the man said, just as easy as a man saying a prayer over supper. “We don’t care about the money. We don’t care what you’ve done or your trouble with Cobb. Just get us those books and we’re good.”
“How?”
The man stopped the big old truck on a dime, tires squealing and burning on the road. The big engine idling on the blacktop under the gray skies, bare trees, and endless rolling hills with muddy cows. “Get out.”
“Here?”
“Get out,” the man said. “Before I take offense.”
“Who the hell are you?” Mickey said. “I don’t give a good goddamn.”
But then he caught the man’s eyes and there was such a depth of fucking meanness that about the only thing to compare it with was a cottonmouth rared up. Mickey didn’t like it. But he shut his mouth and grabbed the door handle. He stepped down from the truck.
He waited for some instructions or an idea of what to do next. But the man just reached over and pulled the door closed, U-turned on the big country road, and hit the accelerator back to town. A plume of black smoke left behind like a nasty insult to all Mickey had been through today. Son of a bitch.
He looked at the sky and shook his head. He started walking back to town, to his business and his cell phone. About a mile down the road it started to rain again. And, man, was it cold.
• • •
I don’t know if some scratched-up tool is enough to roust Judge Lackey for a warrant,” Rusty Wise said.
“Eddie Fudge said they’d never used them,” Lillie said. “Not even for training. The things were dirty and moved from where they’d been kept. He was sure of it.”
“You want to make that play on the word of Eddie Fudge?”
“Cases have been made on far less than the likes of Eddie Fudge,” Lillie said.
They sat together in her Jeep Cherokee, where they’d met up by the Big Black River. The river looked cold and muddy, slowly moving under the big Erector set–looking bridge, while they talked in the heated car. Rusty kept on checking his cell phone while they spoke and Lillie was about a second away from snatching the thing out of his hands and tossing it into the water.
“I want to bring him in,” Lillie said. “I can talk to him while you work on the warrant.”
“I want to be there,” Rusty said, scratching his cheek. “And then I’ll decide about that warrant.”
“Kyle Hazlewood has a tool shop behind his house,” Lillie said. “If I’d stolen that safe, that’s where he might have taken it. I’ll try and get a look-see when I call on him.”
“And if he doesn’t go peacefully?”
“Then we’ll know even more.”
“OK,” Rusty said, still looking down at his cell phone.
“Can I ask you something, Sheriff?” Lillie said.
“Shoot.”
“What on earth is so fucking important to be texting about right now?” Lillie said. “You forgotten Kenny almost bled out in a ditch last night? Not to mention a major fucking burglary with almost a million bucks floating out there.”
“Heck, Lillie,” Rusty said. “Just telling my wife I can’t make lunch. My mother-in-law was driving up from Meridian. She’d baked a chocolate pie for us.”
“Well, thank the Lord you’re on top of things,” Lillie said. “You wouldn’t want to have a chocolate pie emergency.”
Rusty looked embarrassed. And more than a little pissed-off. Probably no one at the insurance office ever talked to him like that. But Lillie truly didn’t give a shit. “I’ll call Art and have him come out with me,” Lillie said. “Unless you want to pick up Kyle with me.”
“’Course I do,” Rusty said. “Let’s go.”
“Mickey Walls was lying out his ass this morning,” Lillie said. “Did you see how he was sweating?”
“Story checks out,” Rusty said. “He couldn’t fake being down there on the coast. We got his credit card receipts, and surveillance shows him coming and going at that condo. They sent stills.”
“Couldn’t have been any neater than if he planned it,” Lillie said. Jesus, Rusty was the most trusting bastard she’d ever met. “He might’ve been giving Tonya Cobb the high hard one, but he’s part of this shit. Screwing that woman doesn’t make him clean.”
“Lillie,” Rusty said. “Do you always have to talk that way?”
“Does it make you nervous?”
“It just doesn’t have to be like that,” Rusty said. “You can get across the same point without using that kind of language. I’d prefer not to hear words I wouldn’t want used in front of my pastor.”
“Hmm,” Lillie said. “What kind of nice words would you like me to use for shitbags running loose in our county, sir?”
“Durn it,” Rusty said. “I don’t know. That’s not the point.”
“This is a tough business, Sheriff,” Lillie said. “We don’t talk like it’s a fucking church picnic. Shooting and robbing is dirty and nasty. I come at these boys hard as they come at me. Comprende?”
Rusty Wise put away his phone and shuffled in his seat. He didn’t open his mouth.
“Why would Mickey Walls lie about talking with Kyle?” Lillie said. “Unless he had something to hide.”
“Maybe he’s nervous.”
“I want those cell phone records, too,” Lillie said. “Those dumb bastards probably been burning up some airtime. Fucking scheming. But we need more before we can get a warrant.”
“Lillie?”
“If you don’t like the way I talk, you don’t like the way I am,” she said. “Are you in or not?”
“OK,” Rusty said. “Let’s go. But one thing first.”
“What’s that?” Lillie said, cranking the engine and making a U away from the dirt patch by the river.
“Can I just please text my wife first?”
“She’ll save you some pie,” Lillie said, taking the Cherokee to up around seventy without the lights or flashers. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”