The Lost Ones (14 page)

“Give me one reason why the servicing and care of our own vehicles and buying gas at cost won’t save thousands,” Quinn said.

Stagg, rubbing the back of his red neck, let it all hang in the wind for a few moments. He cleaned his teeth with his tongue, checked out MacDougal’s glance that seemed to ask what to do, and then said, “We’ll take it under advisement, Sheriff. We do appreciate your time. We got a vote?”

MacDougal shuffled his fat ass in his chair and made a motion to table the issue until the next meeting. He looked to DuPuy and Stagg to second.

Sam Bishop raised a single finger. He raised his eyebrows. “Hold up. You got someone to run this thing?”

“Boom Kimbrough,” Quinn said.

Stagg cackled. MacDougal and DuPuy joined in. Pickens looked mildly confused by their laughter, smoothing down the front of his wide flowered tie. He took a long sip of water, spilling some on his crotch.

“You know a more qualified mechanic?” Quinn asked. “He’s been working on tractors and cars his whole life.”

MacDougal nodded, looking stuffed and self-satisfied on the dais. He had a little gleam in his eye as he leaned back into his leather chair, looked over his glasses, and said, “If you hadn’t noticed, that boy got only one arm.”

“He’ll be my hire,” Quinn said. “I’ll put in our budget.”

“This is the craziest notion ever put before this board,” Stagg said.

“You ever heard of the Americans with Disabilities Act?” Quinn asked.

Stagg leaned back in his chair. He looked to his right and then to his left for full support, but not getting much. He again said the board would take it under advisement.

“He would be my hire,” Quinn said.

“Where we gonna get that money?” MacDougal asked, still smirking.

“From the money the county saves by not buying gas from Stagg,” Quinn said. “You need me to spell this out for you?”

Quinn felt Lillie’s fingers slip into his belt and pull him back a bit. The motion was slight and sneaky, and no one noticed it. Quinn could feel her, tugging at him. No one said a word for several moments, and Quinn finished off the conversation by thanking them all for their time and saying he looked forward to a reply at the next meeting.

Quinn steadied himself and nodded to the men at the dais and walked to the back door, Lillie and Miss Mize trailing behind him. He drank a bit from the water fountain and turned to see both the women waiting.

“That was fun,” Miss Mize said. “I do believe Johnny Stagg just shit himself.”

“Maybe too far,” Lillie said.

“Oh, no,” Miss Mize said. “This is just getting fun.”

“You didn’t know about the gas?” Quinn said. “Thought everybody did.”

“Can’t write something from sealed information and secret meetings,” Miss Mize said. “Might be done, but until someone airs it out in public, it’s not game.”

He nodded at the old woman. She winked and walked back into the supervisors’ meeting.

“Thought you were gonna pull me down on top of you,” Quinn said. “Tugging my belt like that.”

“Slow down, Sheriff,” Lillie said. “Give ’em some more rope.”

DINNER AT THE COLSON HOUSE
was served at seven. Jean was frying chicken, Quinn could smell as soon as he hit the front door. Caddy and Anna Lee were in the kitchen helping, Quinn a little surprised to see Anna Lee since his sister was back, and Jean didn’t need the help. Potato salad and some kind of carrot salad were already fixed. Soft white rolls sat ready to go in the oven, and the chicken popped and hissed in the deep fryer. Quinn’s mother was very good at frying chicken. He walked past the women and reached into the refrigerator for a beer. Hondo trailed at his heels.

“What are you doing?” his mother asked. “Don’t you dare bring that old nasty dog in my house.”

“You invited us for dinner,” Quinn said, popping the top on a tall can of Budweiser. “And he just had a bath.”

“I invited you but didn’t invite that dog.”

“Hush, or he might hear you.”

Hondo had already made his way into the living room to lick Jason’s face. Jason was playing with a couple Hot Wheels monster trucks—Grave Digger and Swamp Thing—that Quinn had bought him at the Dollar General, and laughed and rolled on the carpet while holding on to Hondo’s tail.

“She doesn’t really hate the dog,” Anna Lee said. They stood side by side, watching boy and dog roll around together. She smelled like honeysuckle.

“I know,” Quinn said. “She let him sit in Daddy’s chair the other night, and they watched the ’
68 Comeback Special
.”

“Thought Boom was gonna join y’all?”

“On his way.”

“He driving again?” she asked.

Quinn nodded. Anna Lee wore a dress that looked like a man’s faded plaid shirt over her bulging stomach. She had that healthy, flushed look that pregnant women get, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. No makeup, but not needing any, either. The ring on her finger shined big and bold in the light.

“Glad you came,” Quinn said. He took a sip of beer.

“I dropped by to see Jason and then started helping out in the kitchen. I promised Luke I’d be home an hour ago.”

“He did a smart thing calling me the other night,” Quinn said. “If he hadn’t, we might not have caught the Torres daughter and seen the situation at that house.”

Anna Lee shuddered and put her arms around herself and over her stomach. She smiled at Quinn, both of them listening to all the commotion going on in the kitchen. Caddy had already gone back to familiar territory with Jean, not really arguing but more of a kind of snapping back and forth.
Watch out, Momma. That’s too hot. Come on, move, I need to put the rolls in the dang oven.
Anna Lee had heard it for years, and they both laughed at the familiarity.

Hondo followed Jason, running past their legs. Anna Lee snatched Jason up and kissed him on the forehead and set him back, the little boy’s legs staying in motion, hitting the ground running.

“Good-bye,” Anna Lee said.

“Good night,” Quinn said.

He stood at the front window and watched as Anna Lee’s SUV pulled out and drove off. Not two minutes later, Boom’s old truck rumbled into the drive to replace her.

Boom let himself in, like he had since he and Quinn had been kids, and removed his jacket with the pinned sleeve, muddy work boots, and cap at the door. He found his place beside Caddy at the table, and she turned and kissed him on the cheek as he sat down.

“Want a beer?” Quinn asked Boom.

“Sure.”

“Get me one, too,” Quinn said.

Boom smiled and walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a couple, one in his hand and one in the crook of his arm, and sat back down. Quinn forked a couple pieces of chicken and put them on his plate. Boom seemed pretty damn good at eating with one hand, setting down the chicken and using a fork on the potato salad and coleslaw Jean had loaded onto his plate.

“How you doin’, Caddy?” Boom asked.

“You know, we forgot to say the prayer,” Caddy said.

Quinn looked up from his chicken at Boom. Boom grinned but lowered his head anyway. Caddy launched into a prayer about the grace of God and blessedness of family and the sanctity of children before she finally wrapped it up. It sounded like something she had heard someone else say on television.

“Must be good to be God,” Boom said, scraping up some coleslaw. “All these people just telling you how great you are.”

“I heard some people dog-cuss him, too,” Quinn said.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Jean said.

“Didn’t say I did,” Quinn said. “Just said I’d heard it.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Caddy said.

“I know what it’s called,” Quinn said.

“When’s the last time you’ve been to church?” Caddy said.

Jason looked from his mother to uncle to grandmother. He reached for a piece of chicken that had been cut into small bites.

“I go to church when I can,” Quinn said.

“You didn’t go Sunday,” Caddy said.

“Nope,” Quinn said. “We had a man go off his meds and threaten to kill his wife.”

“You can take a break for church.”

Quinn nodded. “Well, next time you’re praying, please tell God to slow down the shitstorm during the Sunday service.”

Boom took a sip of beer. He coughed. “How’d it go with the supervisors?”

“Not bad,” Quinn said.

“What’s goin’ on?” Jean Colson asked.

“Trying to get Boom hired to run the County Barn.”

Jean nodded and ate. She looked over at Jason and smiled at him. He smiled back. He’d yet to touch the carrot or potato salad. Jean would have to bribe him to eat anything beyond the chicken. She’d done the same when Quinn was a boy.

“Heard supervisors shot you down,” Boom said.

“They tried,” Quinn said. “But I put things in perspective for Stagg.”

“So you got a county job?” Jean asked.

“Depends on how this town reacts to tomorrow’s paper.”

“Hope it works out,” Jean said, winking at Boom. “Would y’all like some more to drink? We got plenty of chicken, too.”

“Quinn, let me ask you a question,” Caddy said, looking up from her sullen place at the end of the dinner table. She’d tied her hair in a red bandanna and wore an old gray sweatshirt and jeans. “If you died tonight, are you sure you’d be walking tomorrow with our Savior on the streets of heaven?”

Jean stopped by the door to the kitchen and waited.

Quinn put down a drumstick and wiped his mouth. “If you’re asking if I’ve ever considered my mortality, you might want to consider where I’ve been for the last ten years. I thought about it every waking hour.”

Caddy looked back down at her plate and ate a little potato salad. Boom looked to Quinn and raised his eyebrows. Jean went back to the kitchen for more food.

“How’d you do it?” Caddy asked.

“Do what?”

“Stop the man from killing his wife.”

“I arrested him.”

Caddy nodded. “You coming to church Sunday?”

“If I can.”

“What’s the most important thing to you?” Caddy asked. “If you made a list.”

“Right now?” Quinn said. “Probably eating some fried chicken in peace.”

“Do not curse the deaf or put a stumbling block in front of the blind, but fear your God.”

“Appreciate that, Caddy,” Quinn said. “Now, would you please pass the goddamn chicken?”

Caddy picked up and threw down her plate and ran for her bedroom. Quinn kept eating. Jason bowed his head at his plate. Boom kept eating, too, and drinking beer. Quinn didn’t even bother to look at his mother, who’d come back to the table, knowing the scorn that would be there.

“Caddy said you hadn’t talked to her since she’d come home,” Jean said. “That’s what she’s mad about.”

“I talked to her enough.”

“She doesn’t feel welcome here,” Jean said.

“Because I’m not going to church regular?” Quinn asked. “I’m sorry, Momma. But this new Caddy is going to take some adjusting to.”

Quinn put his arm around his nephew and kidded with him a bit while they ate. Caddy didn’t return to finish or to help with the dishes. Quinn and Boom tried to get Jean to sit and relax while they cleaned up, but she said they’d probably put everything in the wrong place and insisted on helping. Nearly an hour passed before Quinn and Boom walked outside so Quinn could smoke a cigar.

“When did Caddy get right with the Lord?” Boom asked.

“Pretty sure it was last week.” Quinn looked up at the sky, a cool, clear, crisp night. “Boom, let me ask you a question. Have you seen Donnie since the other night?”

Boom shook his head.

“What about that girl he was with?”

Boom shook his head again.

“I know he hangs out with Shane and that fat kid, what’s his name?”

“Tiny.”

“Ever see him with any other Mexicans?”

“Only at the El Dorado.”

“Donnie’s into some shit,” Quinn said. “Lillie and I are working on it. Maybe you can ask around a bit without people knowin’ you asking.”

Boom nodded. “How deep?”

Quinn pointed to right under his chin.

17

THE SOUTHERN STAR BAR HAD BEEN OPEN FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD
buy beer in Tibbehah County, which was nearly two years. The Baptists fought hard to keep Jericho dry, but in the end, the loyal voice of the redneck spoke up and passed the resolution by six votes. Quinn wasn’t back home then but had heard that signs outside the various churches protested the change by saying the road to hell was littered with beer cans and drunkenness. Every town needed a bar. One of the first buildings in Jericho had been a saloon, as pointed out during these hearings. The Southern Star was packed most nights, except for Sundays, of course, when Tibbehah went back to being dry for the Baptists’ sake. Saturdays were the most crowded, when dispatch would have to call deputies to break up a fight or find the poor drunk bastard who’d walked out on his tab. Almost always it was a regular, a friend of the bartender, who swore he’d get good with it next week.

The building had been a hardware store when Quinn was a kid, and some of the old nail bins still hung on the far wall. It was a narrow shot of space, with the bar running down the long left side. There were a lot of neon beer signs and mirrors, a few deer heads, and even a stuffed wildcat displayed by the bathrooms.

Donnie Varner wasn’t hard to find, perched at the corner of the bar, drinking a draft beer and talking to a curvy girl in tight-fitting blue jeans, black halter top, and boots. Lillie walked with Quinn as they approached them, and the curvy girl turned to study Lillie head to toe.

“Lillie Virgil, what the hell you doin’ here? I paid that goddamn ticket.”

Lillie nodded without emotion. “Go make yourself scarce, Dwana. We’re here to see Donnie.”

The only thing worse than impugning the honor of the redneck male was to impugn the honor of the redneck female. Dwana put her hands on her hips, stuck out her large breasts, and lifted her chin. “Just ’cause you wear that badge doesn’t mean you have to be such a dyke bitch.”