The Redeemers

by Ace Atkins

  Quinn waved and pushed through the growth and into the clearing around the stand. He apologized for walking up on him like that.

  “I was just about to call it a day,” Rusty said. “Saw a couple little does. Not worth shooting. Young and skinny. Maybe next year. My freezer’s nearly full. I just had to get out of that office.”

  “Just wait a few months,” Quinn said. “You’ll want to live out here.”

  Rusty smiled and asked if Quinn wanted to come on up to the stand. “I got some hot coffee and biscuits,” he said. “Wouldn’t mind giving it another thirty minutes. Maybe that big ’un will show. What do you say?”

  Quinn nodded and followed Rusty up the ladder, hammered together with scrap wood.

  Up top, Rusty unscrewed the cup of the thermos and handed Quinn some hot coffee. As Quinn drank, he looked over the expanse of the green field Rusty had planted, complimenting the man on his preparation. “What are those, turnips?”

  “And some rapeseed, too,” Rusty said. “Deer just love that stuff. How’s that coffee?”

  “It’s good,” Quinn said, lying. “Listen, Rusty. I never would interrupt a man hunting, kind of a sacred time, but you and me need to talk.”

  • • •

  Louisiana was some weird country. Didn’t look a bit like Gordo, with that black water everywhere, having to build highways up on stilts to skim over the bayous and all those alligators. Peewee drove over a railroad track and followed the hand-painted signs along a dirt road for GAS, FOOD & BAIT, skirting more water and prehistoric trees covered in green moss. It looked like a goddamn episode of Scooby-Doo, Chase half expecting some Confederate regiment to raise up out of the swamp, with skeleton bodies, ragged grays, and green glowing eyes, surrounding the Buick.

  “You sure this is right?” Chase said.

  “What the signs say.”

  “You said to never follow no signs.”

  “I said don’t follow signs like some revival preacher, thinking the Lord was showing you the way,” Peewee said. “Like when ole George Strait says, ‘I saw God today.’ A flower growing in the sidewalk and all the horseshit. I tried to teach you how to find your own fucking way, cut your own path through the damn jungle.”

  They passed a few shacks, all of them up high on stilts with boats underneath instead of cars, and turned a sharp corner on toward the gas station, a blue clapboard building with neon beer signs blazing in the window. He didn’t see any gas pumps, but a sign read SEE THE ATTENDANT.

  “Down there,” Peewee said. “Down by the boat ramp.”

  An old-fashioned pump, the thick metal kind with spinning numbers that didn’t take credit cards, was set up on a dock. Chase got out of the car, stretched and spit and looked up to the station on stilts. “It’s closed.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Ain’t no lights on up there,” Chase said. “Shit. We’re gonna run out of gas in the fucking swamp.”

  “We can make it.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I’m gonna bust that fucking padlock off that pump,” Peewee said. “Use your head.”

  “We done a bunch of shit,” Chase said. “I guess it don’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry about the goddamn van,” Peewee said. “Jesus H. It’s just a van. You can buy another one, paint Nick Saban on the hood and Kenny Stabler on the rear end.”

  “OK,” Chase said. “I can see it. Maybe get some airbrushed snake art around Stabler? A damn copperhead wrapped around his neck while he’s throwing the football?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  Peewee waddled around to the back of the Buick to fetch his tool kit, fiddling around for a bit until he found a big old pair of Ridgid bolt cutters. They’d used them things plenty when breaking into storage units around Birmingham. Sometimes Chase wondered why people even invested in a padlock when you could slice through the thing like it wasn’t nothing. Sure enough, Peewee stepped up to the gas pump and snipped the lock off, tossing it far out into the water and scaring off a pelican. “Come on, drive on up some more so I can reach the nozzle.”

  Chase got in, reaching down for the flat-head screwdriver they’d used to bust into the steering column and get the engine started. The lights in the car flickered on and off, and it took a couple good yanks before the old car came to life and he pulled it forward on the busted oyster shells.

  “Fine night for titties,” Peewee said. “You know, I think I’m gonna get two women tonight. Take some of them jelly shooters off them niblets.”

  “How about you let me hold the money?”

  Peewee stood cool, leaning against the Buick, while he pumped the gas. “We’ll see.”

  “Last time, you spent five thousand dollars,” Chase said. “I don’t even know how much those whores cost.”

  “They weren’t whores,” Peewee said. “They were escorts. Lord. Ain’t it pretty out here. Look at that night sky. That fuzzy shit in the trees. Man, I could just eat it up.”

  It was pretty, orange bleeding into the black, lots of stars popping out over all those old trees. The air smelled like salt and dead fish. Peewee filled the tank. No one came down the road or out of those stilt houses. It was quiet, about a million miles away from something.

  “Tide’s gonna have some growing pains this year,” Chase said.

  “True.”

  “We lost T. J. Yeldon,” Chase said. “We got to get us a new running back. I seen this boy from Kentucky we got our eyes on. He’s got moves like something out of the fucking Matrix.”

  “That a fact.”

  “You’re still thinking about titties, aren’t you?”

  Peewee turned to him, still pumping gas, wind coming hard and salty off the swamp, or bayou, or wherever they were at, and broke into a big grin. “I want me a white one and a black one,” Peewee said.

  “And my money?”

  “Haw, haw,” Peewee said. “I’ll get straight with you, boy. Don’t you worry. Just don’t forget, you just tailing me on this. I don’t know when you started believing we were partners.”

  Peewee turned his head, staring out at some weird bird with tall legs settling onto the end of the pier. He reached up under his glasses to scratch his eye, taking off the frames and holding them up to the dull light swinging back and forth from the tin roof. “You remember that one girl? That skinny white girl with buckteeth? Nipples like silver dollars? Well, she told me she’d do whatever I wanted for five hundred. I think that’s a money-saver right there. Maybe we should go on up to that VIP Suite and just get down to business. Hell, you get a free bottle of champagne with the servicing. Might even give you a sip.”

  Peewee smiled big, not even noticing his nephew was right up on him, gun outstretched in his arm, an inch or two from his ear. Didn’t turn his head or stare away from the water, hearing Chase’s work boots on the old boards and sensing the gun close to his head. “You’re gonna kill me,” Peewee said. “Ain’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Chase said. “Afraid so.”

  “Why? Why would you do a thing like that? After all I—”

  And Chase shot him. The .32 cracking big like an old bottle rocket, smoke curling up from the muzzle. “’Cause you ain’t got your head in the game,” Chase said. “I need me a total commitment.”

  • • •

  I’m doing the best I can,” Rusty said. “I know Debbi Cobb has been reaching out to you, thinking I don’t know my ass from my elbow. But I just arrested Mickey Walls and got warrants out for the other three.”

  “There’s more to it.”

  “Come again?”

  “Those boys found something in that safe that’s going to change this whole county,” Quinn said. “I’m not trying to get involved. But something big is going to happen tomorrow and I wanted you to be ready.”

  Rusty smiled good-naturedly, but a little annoyed. “Can
you decode that message for me a little, Sergeant?”

  Quinn ran by the scenario.

  “Federal agents?” Rusty said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who are they going to raid?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Or why are they coming?” Rusty said. “Or where?”

  “I can’t tell you that, either,” Quinn said. “You just need to be on standby and trust me. They’re going to need your help and support. I’ve been working with them for a long while. They know what they’re doing.”

  “I may hadn’t ever fought the Taliban, but I didn’t fall off a turnip truck, either,” Rusty said. “You’re talking about Stagg. The Feds are finally going to take down Johnny. Holy moly.”

  “I need your word that you’ll keep this quiet,” Quinn said. “I may have started this, but you’re going to have to finish it. OK?”

  “You know how many folks the Feds are bringing?”

  Quinn shook his head and drank some of that weak-ass coffee. He moved on over to the sill overlooking the green field, thinking how he might as well just go ahead and tell him all. Ringold didn’t completely trust him, but Quinn did. And so did Lillie.

  “I wouldn’t go in holding flowers,” Rusty said. “I sure don’t like that man Stagg’s got. The one with the beard and weird eyes? I think he’d go full auto on us without a thought.”

  “Y’all will do fine,” Quinn said. “Just make sure to lock down everything. Make sure nothing on the property is messed with. Computers, files, that kind of thing. Protection, mainly.”

  “Holy moly.”

  “You said it.”

  The rain had turned to sleet in the fading winter light, hammering the tin roof above them and out in the shadowed field. Quinn was about to turn and tell Rusty the rest of it when he spotted one of the biggest bucks he’d ever seen in his life wander out to the middle of the turnips, rack held high, appraising the changing weather. At last light, deer started to move, even more reckless in bad weather, wanting to get in a good meal before everything turned to shit.

  Quinn turned back to Rusty and smiled. Rusty just shook his head, out here all this time, and Quinn walks up and a big old buck shows. He walked to the corner of the stand, reached for his Winchester .308, and handed it on over to Quinn. There was no time for an argument, so Quinn raised the scope to his eye and aimed the barrel at the buck.

  Quinn had the big, broad chest in the crosshairs. He could feel Rusty moving next to him, hear the heavy man’s breathing, as Quinn steadied himself to take the shot.

  As he started to squeeze the trigger, a single shot rang out from beyond the trees and the buck sprinted for the deep woods. Quinn dropped to the floor as a second shot punched him in the right arm and knocked him flat on his back. He called to Rusty to get down but didn’t get an answer.

  Quinn reached for the fallen gun, mind already jumping to a familiar place, and he saw Rusty lying on his side, chest blood-soaked and mouth working like a caught fish sucking air.

  No more gunshots. Everything else still and cold. Only wind. Sleet pinged off the roof. No sounds coming from the deep woods. No breaking branches or calls from men.

  Quinn crawled to Rusty. He’d quit sucking for air.

  32.

  Not six hours since Lillie found Rusty Wise’s body, bled-out and cold in his deer stand, Caddy Colson marched through the deputies, highway patrolmen, and news folks and wanted to know what the hell had happened to her brother. Lillie had set up a command center in the sheriff’s office at dawn, taking calls from sheriffs from adjoining counties who wanted to lend their support. She was on the phone, talking to the Lee County sheriff about use of their helicopter, with Caddy staring her down with crossed arms and a red face.

  Her T-shirt under a loose men’s flannel read ONE STEP AT A TIME.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you back,” Lillie said. “You might have noticed the shit has hit the fan around here.”

  “Yeah, the new sheriff has been shot,” she said. “Where’s my brother? Don’t tell me y’all think he did it?”

  Lillie leaned against the desk and took a good deep breath and said, “No, Caddy. I don’t think Quinn shot Rusty. But I’d be lying to say you’re the first who wondered it aloud. This office has been crawling with state people, asking a lot of questions and looking at a lot of maps.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Quinn?” Caddy said. “I tried calling the farm, Anna Lee’s, Momma. If he didn’t tell you, then something real bad has happened.”

  “Last time I heard from him, he was headed to talk to Rusty.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t say,” Lillie said. “It was official business left over from when he was sheriff. We found Quinn’s truck parked out on Rusty’s land. The keys were in it. We’ve had folks searching the woods since three a.m.”

  “They killed him.”

  “No,” Lillie said.

  “They killed him,” she said. “Whoever killed Rusty killed my brother. He’s out there dead. Jesus God.”

  “Caddy,” Lillie said, looking dead-eyed and serious at the messed-up girl. “I know you’re going through hell. But if you ever say such bullshit again, I’ll punch you right in the goddamn mouth. We’re doing all we can. Quinn is out there. We’ll find him. Understand?”

  Caddy nodded, closed her eyes, and then, as if emptied of all her energy, sat right back in the wooden chair. She held her head in both hands and looked as if she’d started to cry. Jesus Christ. The last goddamn thing Lillie needed was Caddy Colson wanting some hand-holding. Quinn would be fine. He had to be fine. But, right now, she was acting sheriff with a shooter, or some shooters, out roaming a big stretch of land. She had to have a little time to think, make some connections.

  “I want to help,” Caddy said.

  “How the hell’d you get over here from Tupelo?” Lillie said. “Don’t tell me that you walked.”

  “I checked myself out,” she said. “I’m about tired of eating Jell-O and talking to my Higher Power. Thank God, I got a ride. My brother is missing.”

  “Just who in the hell helped you check out of that place?”

  Boom Kimbrough walked into the office, making the space seem a little smaller, more congested, with his big slumped frame. He had on an old greenish mackinaw jacket and a blue knit cap and leaned his good arm against the doorframe, staring down at Lillie. “She needed to know.”

  Lillie nodded. “And you gave her a ride?”

  “She needed a ride,” Boom said. “Quinn’s got trouble.”

  “I know Quinn’s got trouble,” Lillie said. “I got trouble, too. I just got back from talking to Rusty’s wife and kids for the last two hours. He hadn’t been sheriff but two weeks and someone shot him dead out of his deer stand. There’s blood all over that floor and walls. My God, it’s a mess.”

  “Rusty’s blood?” Boom asked.

  “I don’t know whose blood.”

  “You know patterns,” Boom said. “How many got shot up there?”

  Lillie gave Boom a hard stare and swallowed. She still felt empty and hollow, everything that happened almost unreal and apart from her. There had been so much crying and wailing at Rusty’s, the whole house seeming to hum with their sorrow and loss. Lillie had stepped out the door as their family pastor arrived, unable to take any more. Blaming herself for not watching Rusty’s back.

  “Quinn’s truck was parked out on his land,” Lillie said.

  “Ain’t what I asked, Lillie,” Boom said. “What’d you see in that stand?”

  “God damn you, Boom,” Lillie said. “We got highway patrol and MBI out, crawling those woods. If you think you can do a better job, then feel free to go on out and tramp the woods with them. I’d be out there now, if someone didn’t have to run things.”

  “You think it’s Quinn’s blood,
” Caddy said. “Don’t you?”

  Lillie shook her head, looking from Caddy to Boom. Quinn’s sister to his best friend. She walked over to the office door and closed it with a light click. She stood next to Boom, who’d moved into the center of the room, and looked down at Caddy. “I will not cry,” Lillie said. “Not till all this is over. But, yes, it looked like two men were in that deer stand. Both of them hit. If it was Quinn, he’s been wounded pretty bad. We don’t know where he went.”

  “What the hell are we doing here?” Caddy said.

  “This is what’s called the command center,” Lillie said. “I’m in command. I’ve set up roadblocks, having the woods searched grid by grid, keeping in touch with the folks out there. Did I mention, I’m working on getting a goddamn helicopter?”

  “Rusty bought the old Shaw place?” Boom said. “Right? A couple miles outside Fate.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Boom,” Lillie said. “I need your help right here.”

  • • •

  I’m not stupid,” Tonya said. “You used me.”

  “Can this wait until I get out of jail?” Mickey said. “I got a first appearance in two hours. My lawyer says he’ll argue down a decent bail.”

  “No, it can’t wait,” Tonya said. “I kind of wanted to see you like this, without the designer jeans, the fancy-ass shirt, and driving around in your red Hummer. You look more like your real self in that orange jumpsuit and behind that fence.”

  “It’s cold out here,” Mickey said. “I thought you’d come to apologize for those phone messages. You called me some real nasty shit.”

  The jail guard had allowed Mickey to get out of his cell, stretch, and have a smoke out in the fenced-off yard. Mommas, girlfriends, brothers, and buddies had come by that morning to exchange fried pies and cigarettes through the chain-link. There wasn’t much in that yard besides some old plastic school chairs and a couple rotten picnic tables. A goddamn exhibit of Tibbehah County’s finest. Jericho’s own private zoo.