The Broken Places (19 page)

Jean’s face colored a bit and she stubbed out her cigarette in what was left of her chimichanga. She reached for Jason’s hand and politely excused them as they both walked outside to talk.

Quinn went ahead and ordered a couple steak tacos and a Coke, wanting that beer that would never be served in Jericho on a Sunday. From where he sat, he could see Jean getting down on one knee, a bit awkward with her added weight, speaking to Jason in those careful, plaintive tones about making the right decisions. As soon as he turned twelve, Quinn would have to give him a talk about how he’d been right. That some bastards really did need shooting down.

He ate some chips and checked his phone. He’d eat quick and then head back out to find Caddy. Even if she didn’t respond to him, Jean would know where to find her. Quinn stood and hung his damp coat on a hook, setting his ball cap on top.

When he sat back down, Anna Lee and Luke Stevens walked through the front door and said hello to Javier, who took them to a table not five feet from Quinn. She was holding their daughter, all of them dressed for the First Baptist Church, which was a bit more formal than Calvary Methodist or The River. Quinn stood and spoke to them. Anna Lee met his eye but turned away, Luke gripped his hand and patted him on the back. He told Quinn how good it was to see him and wondered what was new in Tibbehah.

“You missed a triple homicide this morning,” Quinn said. “Could’ve used you.”

“Can’t say I miss coroner work,” Luke said, still smiling, hand still on Quinn’s back. “How’s Ophelia working out for y’all?”

“Just fine,” Quinn said.

Luke loosened his tie and grinned some more. “Not bad lookin’, either.”

Anna Lee glanced up from where she’d settled the baby into a high chair, eyes flashing on Quinn’s and then back on Luke’s. Everything kind of paused there for a moment, and Luke’s hand left Quinn’s shoulder and he walked back to his table. He said he hoped he and Quinn might get to do some turkey hunting next weekend.

“Or we can just sit around and drink some whiskey,” Luke said.

Quinn nodded. Anna Lee studied the menu.

Jean and Jason were back through the front door, Jason looking a little sullen until Quinn pretended to reach for the rest of Jason’s food. Jason giggled and pretended he might stab Quinn’s hand with a fork, pulling away his quesadilla and biting into it just to show his uncle. Jean said her hellos to the Stevenses, walked to their table, and made over the baby.

“How was church?” Quinn asked Jason.

Jason shrugged. He was quiet and a little fidgety.

“You have fun?”

“They sing a lot.”

“Did you sing?”

“No, sir,” he said. “Lots of people prayed and cried.”

“Yep, that’s what they do.”

“Why do they do that, Uncle Quinn?”

“It makes some people feel a lot better.”

“Would it make me feel better to pray and cry?” Jason asked.

“Not especially.”

“Or to sing?”

“You feel like singing?” Quinn said.

“No, sir.”

“Did your mother have a good time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she sing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she cry?”

“No, sir.”

“You know where your momma is right now?”

Jason squinted in thought and then shook his head. Jean came back to the table, pushed away her food and leaned into the table, saying how any day was a good day with her boys. “That baby is just darlin’.”

“Has Mr. Jamey or your momma had any company lately?” Quinn said. “At the house?”

Jason shook his head.

“What are y’all talking about?” Jean said.

“Just wondering if Jason has seen any mean men,” Quinn said.

“I’m not supposed to talk about mean men,” Jason said.

“You can tell me.”

“Grandmomma says I can’t.”

“Grandmomma just doesn’t want you to call them rotten bastards.”

“Quinn,” Jean said.

“So have you seen any mean men around Mr. Jamey’s church or your momma’s house?”

“No, sir,” Jason said. Quinn smiled at him and stole some chips off his plate.

Jean, settled in beside Quinn, leaned in and whispered in his ear, “What the hell is going on? Is Caddy OK?”

“Fine,” Quinn said, keeping a smile. “Everything is just fine. But would you mind calling my sister and tell her I want to see her? We can talk later.”

Jean shook her head in confusion and reached into a large red purse for her half-glasses and cell phone. Quinn looked up from the table and watched Anna Lee and her family. Quinn thought about all those evenings when Anna Lee’s folks would be out late and he’d come over to watch television only to end up in her canopy bed, trying like hell to get her out of her Levi’s. Both of them wandering and experimenting, and her trying like hell to keep his hands from where they shouldn’t go until neither of them could stand it and she finally shed her jeans. Quinn pulled her into her lacy bed, knocking off pillows and stuffed animals to be with her again and again and again.

Luke had his arm around Anna Lee, staring at their daughter, talking with the baby. He pulled Anna Lee tight and kissed her on the cheek, and something in Quinn’s chest felt a little ragged and open.

Luke looked up from the table and met Quinn’s eye with a wink, asking him again about getting together next weekend for a hunt. “We’ll tear it up, buddy.”

“Can’t wait,” Quinn said.

“OK,” Jean said, placing her phone back into her purse. “Caddy says she’ll meet you at home.”

•   •   •

Esau and Bones dumped
the Tundra and picked up a nearly new Dodge Charger, basic black, at the Cook Bros. dealership at the city limits. The lot was closed for the weekend and the Charger wouldn’t be noticed till Monday, and by then they’d be long gone. The Charger had an all-black interior and a fine stereo system. Bones listened to a black church service as they rode around town, trying to find Jamey Dixon. They stopped off at a Sonic and ate a couple burgers and tots, and then decided just to head out to Dixon’s church and sit there for a while. Bones tucked the car off to the side, where Dixon couldn’t see them when he drove up that long stretch of gravel road. They sat in the car for a long while, resting, rain pelting the car, turning the radio to a station out of Tupelo doing a double shot of Alan Jackson.

Bones said he liked Jackson a lot better than most country. “But ain’t nobody Charley Pride,” he said. “My momma’s favorite.”

“You got that right,” Esau said.

After a couple hours, they got tired and decided to stretch their legs, running through the rain to the back door of the church. It didn’t take nothing to bust the back door, nothing but a clasp and a Master Lock, Esau and Bones wondering why Dixon even went to the trouble. They walked on into the barn or sanctuary or whatever Dixon was calling it. Being back around Dixon made Esau think on all those services at the place called the Spiritual Life Center, being too wrong to call anything in prison a damn church. Dixon used to put on shows where he’d play guitar and witness, closing out every service with “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” to all the murderers, thieves, and rapists wanting to hear that message. Esau figured he’d been part of that group, following Jamey Dixon and seeing him as the real deal walking among the prisoners. Many long hours they would pray together and have debates on the Bible and theology, and all that shit rang pretty true until Dixon got himself released and never looked back. That left a man with a real burn in his heart. Esau promised Dixon a partnership, a share of the spoils of another life in order to make them better. He listened, never committing, and Esau wondered now if he hadn’t just gone stupid and returned the money. But hell, a convict was a convict, and all this equipment and guitars and lights and just the damn barn and the land cost money. This was where some of it was going, the rest of it probably stashed with his girlfriend.

They walked the dirt floor, chairs neatly stacked and hung from hooks on the wall, until they heard a truck’s motor grow close. He and Bones just stood there as they heard the clatter of chains and the big bay door slid back on the headlights of an old GMC truck shining straight on them. Esau squinted into the light, knowing it was Dixon behind that wheel. He crossed his thick arms over his chest and just waited.

Dixon killed the engine and then the lights.

Esau moved his hand to the .357, touching the butt of the gun.

Dixon got out from behind the wheel, left the truck door open, and walked through the rain and oozing mud on into the barn. His hands were empty, and he kept them loose by his sides for Esau and Bones to see. Esau nodded at him, all of them knowing this could end only with the three of them. If not, they’d all head on back to Parchman, where a man’s worth was measured in cigarettes, tattoos, and candy bars.

“Where’s Dickie?” Dixon said.

“He shot the motherfucker,” Bones said. “Man was getting on our last nerve.”

“I don’t have the money,” Dixon said. “Y’all need to just head on.”

Esau walked out to Dixon’s truck, checked inside for anyone hiding, and slammed the door shut. He ran back into the barn.

“Why’d you go see my girlfriend?” Dixon said. “She ain’t a part of this.”

“Yeah?” Bones nodded, rubbing his nappy chin. “I’d say she’s neck-deep in shit now.”

“I didn’t raise that truck.”

“You think someone else just happened to find it and took it for themselves?” Esau said. “Maybe they were fishing and just kind of hooked a Wells Fargo truck and thought it was a big bass?”

Jamey shook his head. “You’re missing my meaning.”

“How about you explain it?” Bones said.

The rain fell in long sweeping sheets outside. The wind blew in hard from outside, knocking a tablecloth off a picnic table and sending the homemade cross over the altar to swing back and forth off chains. Dixon looked over his shoulder at the cross. He raised his hand and said, “I told someone,” he said. “I guess they took it. You can blame me or kill me or whatever you want. But I didn’t see one penny from what y’all stole. I didn’t want to touch it. Two men died because of that robbery.”

“You say you just told somebody?” Bones said. “Like, ‘Hey, motherfucker, you want to know where to find a big ole armored car loaded down with loot?’ What the hell you do that for?”

“To cornhole us,” Esau said. “Right, Dixon? Jesus Christ. You think we believe that? These Peavey amps and guitars and light rigging and all that shit cost money.”

“It was donated,” Jamey said.

“
Bull
shit,” Bones said.

“Maybe we should believe him,” Esau said. “He’s riding high on the path to redemption; to hell with his old buddies.”

“I helped you inside,” Dixon said. “You wouldn’t have made it through. Let’s call it even.”

“Nobody’s ever even,” Bones said.

Dixon lowered his head and studied the ground.

“Who’s got our money?” Esau said. He figured he’d been calm on the whole matter up to a point.

Dixon shook his head some more. Esau lifted his eyes at Bones, Bones nodding back.

Ain’t no way to remedy the situation without a good old-fashioned ass-whippin’.

•   •   •

Quinn met Caddy
outside
Jean’s house, the same house where they’d both been raised. Jean’s car wasn’t there, only Caddy’s Honda parked outside, windshield wipers going, engine idling as she waited for Quinn. She hit the locks and he slid inside, the interior fogging up. Her eyes were swollen as if she’d been crying for a while, and she looked mad and confused, not saying a word for a long while as they sat.

“I need you to listen,” she said.

“Where is he?”

“Let me talk.”

“You know about these men broke out of Parchman? His friends?”

“I need you to listen, Quinn,” Caddy said. “Can you just do that for me for one second?”

“Nope.”

“Then get out,” she said. “I didn’t have to meet you here. This is my business.”

“Caddy, this stopped being personal after we found three dead men this morning,” he said.

“We don’t know anything about that,” Caddy said.

Quinn reached over and pulled the keys from the ignition. “We’re going to go inside, sit down at the table, and talk this thing out. I had two U.S. Marshals in my office this morning, looking for Jamey’s pals.”

“I don’t care what those men did or why they’re here.”

“Marshals said inside they were buds with Jamey,” he said. “They believe they’ll go to him for help.”

She held the wheel very tight, staring straight ahead, and said, “Why is everyone here trying to pull him down?” she said. “This is the most rotten, backstabbing town. Everyone dressed up today to sing hymns and pretend to know Jesus.”

“Jamey ever talk to you about having money hidden?”

Caddy shook her head.

“Have they come to see him?”

Caddy shook her head but said, “Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday,” Caddy said. “He told them to leave and never come back.”

“That ought to work.”

Caddy shook her head some more and rubbed her face. All the windows of her car had fogged, closing them into the small space, the air sluggish and warm. Around the edge of the house, back behind the driveway, stood their old tree fort. Quinn had spent a few days in the summer repairing the rotten boards for Jason. He found a couple of Caddy’s Barbies buried in the muck along with his toy soldiers. Jean was too sentimental to tear it down when it had been time.