The Redeemers (26 page)

“If the sheriff pulls you in, shut your mouth.”

“If I don’t say a word, or lawyer up, they’re gonna know I was a part of this.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Mickey said. “They got jack shit. Nobody saw nothing.”

“I’m not getting stuck with shooting a lawman.”

“What are you going to do?” Mickey said, laughing. “Lay out the whole damn show?”

“I’m no thief,” Kyle said. “I’m not a criminal. I never did this kind of thing in my life.”

“Like I said, it ain’t a crime. It’s about making Larry Cobb taste some of his own shit. This is about getting right.”

“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “I don’t want to be into all this mess. I been upstairs for a while. I’ve been thinking it over. Praying on things. Maybe we should both go in and talk to Lillie Virgil. Explain what happened. You don’t owe those Alabama boys a thing. They aren’t nobody. They’re nothing. Give the money back. Explain we were just trying to get back at Cobb.”

Mickey knew his mouth was open. But he was unable to form the words to speak.

•   •   •

W
e could’ve been killed,” Debbi Cobb said. “Run over in the middle of the night, if we hadn’t gone over to Tunica to play blackjack.”

“Praise the Lord for Larry,” Gail Amsden said, an empty glass of scotch and soda in hand. “Baby doll, would you go freshen up my drink? Been a long night for Momma.”

Anna Lee snatched the glass and passed Quinn with a scowl, heading back to the kitchen. Quinn sat on the sofa, facing the two sisters, listening to Debbi Cobb tell about the wrecked home she’d found that morning. She had said more than once that she believed someone wanted Larry dead.

“Mickey?” Quinn said.

“Hell, no,” Debbi said. “That’s Larry talking. He blames Mickey every time his truck won’t start or if his hemorrhoids act up. Those boys just flat out hate each other.”

“Then who?” Quinn said.

“I thought you weren’t the sheriff anymore,” Gail said, reaching for the freshened drink.

“No, ma’am,” Quinn said. “But Anna Lee asked me over.”

“I bet she did.”

Anna Lee shot a glance at her mother but exited the room without a word, heading down the long hall to her daughter’s room. She didn’t exactly slam the door as much as shut it with some emphasis. The old Victorian was big and cavernous, built by a railroad man during Reconstruction. Quinn could hear her talking to her daughter, Shelby, in the back room.

Gail Amsden crossed her legs, looking hard at Quinn and grinning. She looked a great deal like Anna Lee, with blonde hair and sleepy eyes. But the years had added some weight, and a nasty divorce had fine-tuned the attitude.

“I appreciate you coming,” Debbi Cobb said. “You helped us when those goddamn meth heads were stealing copper. And when that dumb bastard Tim Weeks threatened to whip Larry’s ass after he got fired. I don’t know Rusty Wise from Adam’s house cat. We used to have a policy on our home with his daddy. But that was a long time ago.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Maybe,” Debbi said. “But I know you. I know your momma and daddy. And this is serious business. Serious as hell. Someone wants my husband dead and they don’t care if I’m with him. They probably want me dead, too. It reminds me of this movie I saw once with Judith Light. Or maybe it was Meredith Baxter-Birney. The woman on
Family Ties
? But she was an ordinary, good Christian housewife who found out her husband lived a double life. I can’t remember everything that happened, but she cut in half some damn Yankee mobster with a twelve-gauge. I love Larry. God help me, I’d do the same thing.”

“Larry’s living a double life?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure what to call it. Are you sure you’re not the law anymore?”

“No, ma’am,” Quinn said, catching a satisfied glance from Gail, who took another swig of scotch. The ice rocking around in the highball glass.

“He’s unemployed,” Gail said.

“I wouldn’t be telling you this if someone hadn’t tried to kill us,” Debbi said. “You got to promise me, Quinn, that what I say stays right here between you, Gail, and the Good Lord.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Quinn said, leaning forward in the seat, “I do.”

“Folks don’t know Larry’s got interests more than just cutting and milling timber. I don’t think that’s a secret. He’s big-time. You know he was named one of Mississippi’s top hundred businessmen back in 2001?” Debbi said.

“How could I forget?” Gail said. “Y’all have it framed in your kitchen.”

“Hush,” Debbi said. “What I’m trying to say is that Larry has some powerful friends.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Quinn said.

“I’m just not sure what they all do,” Debbi said. “I’m pretty sure it’s not all legal. You understand?”

“No, ma’am,” Quinn said.

“Maybe I need to shut my mouth,” Debbi said. “I should just shut my g.d. mouth. I don’t want to get him in trouble. I love my husband and don’t want my big boy killed. And I’d rather not die in the process.”

“Understood,” Quinn said. “But if you want me to help, you need to tell me all you know.”

“Leave it to the police,” Gail said.

“I only met these folks a few times at parties down in Jackson and down in Biloxi,” she said, ignoring Gail. “Larry and them would say they were going fishing. And then he’d come back with a bag full of money. I’d ask him about the bass he was gonna catch and he wouldn’t answer. He’d head right back to the safe and start packing in the money.”

“I heard the thieves got nearly a million.”

“That’s right.”

“Larry said it was for the grandchildren’s college fund,” Gail said.

“Larry’s lying,” Debbi said. “We got two grandsons and both of them are too stupid for high school. One of them already flunked out and is working at the mill, driving a forklift. The other just sits in his bedroom all day, playing video game football and looking at titties.”

“Good Lord,” Gail said. “How can you talk about your grandchildren that way?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Debbi said. “All this lying and hiding has gotten us into the shit we got now. Men busting through the walls of our house, stealing a gun safe loaded down with all that filthy money. That money is dirty. I don’t want nothing of it. I hope to hell they never find it, if it’s going to hurt my family.”

“If it were me, I’d want that money back,” Gail said, taking a sip of scotch to punctuate her point. “Would y’all like anything? I’m so rude, didn’t even offer y’all coffee or a Coke. I can get you a beer, Quinn. I know how much you like beer.”

Quinn didn’t answer her. The woman getting up from her seat with a self-satisfied grin and walking back to the kitchen for more scotch to swill.

“Do you have names?” Quinn said.

“No.”

“Do you have any idea on how Larry made that money?”

“I’ve asked a few times and he always laughs it off. Most of the time, he says he won it on blackjack. But that’s a lie, too. Larry can’t gamble worth a shit. He always loses. I don’t think he can even count to twenty-one.”

“Mrs. Cobb,” Quinn said. “You got to give me something. This is not a Lifetime movie.”

“Not until I’m dead,” she said. “Someone slits my throat and it’ll be
Midnight in Mississippi
or
Sheltered Secrets
or something like that.”

Quinn smiled. “Who would play your part?”

“Maybe Delta Burke,” Debbi said. “Before she gained all that weight. Just promise me that it will be a real Southern woman. I really can’t stand some actress making us all sound like g.d. Scarlett O’Hara.”

“Nobody’s gonna kill you, Mrs. Cobb.”

“And I don’t want Larry going to jail.”

“Not my job.”

“Maybe I can get you some names,” she said. “Talk to Larry some more before someone goes and shoots his dumb ass.”

“Anyone I might know?”

“I don’t want trouble.”

“Johnny Stagg?” Quinn said.

Just as her sister came back with a fresh drink in one hand and a very long cigarette in the other, Debbi Cobb nodded.

“Just what did I miss?” Gail said.

23.

M
ickey figured he could just get his cut of the money and leave town. He’d heard Costa Rica was nice, with the tropical drinks, monkeys, and such. A gringo could get lost down there in the jungle. Or he could stick it out, see what the law would do, while he talked more sense to Kyle. Kyle was having a case of the nerves, but he’d never give up Mickey. Kyle was the kind of man who’d run the line of Jäger shots, get buck-ass naked with some waitress in his truck, and then wake up the next morning praying to Jesus. That boy had quit drinking and quit raising hell so many times that when Kyle would start to witness to him, Mickey would just start laughing.

If he got back those papers or whatever shit the Alabama boys stole from Cobb, Kyle would mellow out and start thinking straight. Mickey needed Johnny Stagg off his ass to become a reasonable human being again.

Mickey was driving now, steering the truck with one hand and holding an open can of Bud Light with the other. It was gray and dark on the back roads of Tibbehah, winding high up in the hills beyond Fate and Providence and into the National Forest. He’d now called Tonya for the thirtieth time with no answer and was on to message number fifteen for Peewee Sparks.

If Sparks didn’t call him back by nightfall, Mickey figured he’d have to hightail it over to Gordo and do some reasoning in person. If him and his retard nephew tried to get tough, Mickey was prepared to go full-out redneck on their asses.

Mickey reached into the cardboard box for another beer, the gravel road crunching under his truck’s tires. His radio was tuned to American Family Radio, the host talking about how the current president had plans to start looting folks’ personal retirement. Sometimes Mickey figured his granddaddy had it right, take what you saved and hide it in coffee cans out in your yard.

The old logging road dovetailed into Highway 9, tires finding some solid purchase on the asphalt and zooming on down to Jericho. If he got what he needed, he could meet up with Kyle and then keep on heading south on 45 down to Mobile and then Gulf Shores. Tonya was still at the hotel, he’d bet every cent on it. If he could just see her in person, buy her a couple shots, then all would be forgiven.

He’d just lay low until this whole mess blew over. Maybe even find a way to hide some of that money down on the coast. He reached for his cell and thumbed down the number for Tonya. The phone rang and rang. He dialed up Peewee Sparks, knowing the number now by heart.

“Huh?” the man said.

“Shit, I’ve been trying to call you,” Mickey said, running off the road and then righting the truck. “God damn, where you been?”

“Asleep,” he said. “Who the hell is this?”

“You know who this is.”

“No, I don’t,” Peewee said. “I ain’t no fucking mind reader.”

“Y’all took some shit that didn’t belong to y’all.”

Click.

Son of a bitch.

Mickey hit redial and after ten rings Peewee picked up but didn’t say nothing. “Shit, it’s Mickey, man. It ain’t the law. I’m just trying to get some shit y’all weren’t supposed to take.”

Peewee didn’t say anything, but Mickey could hear the fat man breathing into the phone.

“I don’t want the jewelry or the fucking watch,” Mickey said. “Just the papers. Y’all picked up some papers that are going to cause some other folks problems.”

Silence.

“Son of a bitch, are you listening, you peckerwood motherfucker?”

A few seconds of silence. And then, “What kind of problems?”

“Bad problems,” Mickey said. “For me and Kyle, too. Nobody was supposed to see that shit.”

“Hmm.”

“I can run over to Gordo or y’all can meet me in Birmingham or Tuscaloosa,” he said. “Don’t matter to me. But we got to have it back. Understand?”

“Sure,” Peewee said, launching into a little coughing fit. “But let me ask you something. These folks who don’t like trouble. Do they got a lot of money?”

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Me, neither,” Peewee said, hanging up the phone.

Mickey ran off the road again, right by a big rolling pasture filled with a ton of cattle, throwing up grass and rock as he skidded to a stop. He hammered the ever-living shit out of his steering wheel and said, “Motherfucker. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

None of these bastards had a bit of honor between them. They were going to hang his ass before he’d get a chance to spend a nickel of Larry’s money.

•   •   •

Y
ou don’t believe someone’s out to get Cobb,” Boom Kimbrough said.

“Nope,” Quinn said.

“What did his wife say?”

“Debbi said he was tied in with some bad dudes from Jackson and the coast,” Quinn said, ashing his cigar in the tray of Boom’s old pickup. “She believes the Dixie Mafia came to kill Larry for what he knows.”

“And what does Larry know?”

“Running a lumber mill and stealing from the county till.”

“And who’d be pissed about that?”

“She believes Stagg’s tied in with it,” Quinn said. “But they chow down at the same trough.”

Boom had parked down the road from Mickey Walls’s ranch house. He’d found an old abandoned house with kudzu grown up and over the roof and a half-dozen vehicles parked nearby, the kudzu creeping over them, too. In winter, the kudzu withered and died and you could almost make out the house under all that mess. Someone had jacked up one of the old cars, left it on blocks, and stolen the wheels.

“You’re doing this for Anna Lee,” Boom said. “Make sure no one hurts the Cobbs.”

Quinn didn’t say anything. He puffed on the cigar and reached for a cup of coffee that’d he’d gotten when they met up at Dixie Gas. Boom had on his tan county coveralls,
BOOM K.
embroidered on the pocket. His right sleeve pinned to his shoulder.

“Then why?”

“Something I need was in that safe,” Quinn said. “I think Mickey Walls has it. And I want it back.”

“OK.”

“You’re not going to ask what it is?”

“Don’t care,” Boom said. “But I’ll help you fuck with Mickey.”