The Broken Places

by Ace Atkins

  “How’d you get here from the Rebel?”

  “A good Samaritan picked me up. I rode in the back of his truck till we got outside Jericho.”

  “Did he know you?” Caddy said.

  Jamey shook his head and tried to stand. Caddy caught him, holding him up under his arms. Jamey took in a lot of air and grunted with pain. She set him down again. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

  He shook his head. “Just give me some time,” he said. “Get cleaned up. We need to think. I get connected to this mess and everything we got is gone. Did you see those faces this morning? They need this church. I need it. You, too. Let me just rest and let the law handle it.”

  “If it was anybody else besides Johnny Stagg that was kidnapped,” Caddy said, letting the last bit of it hang.

  “What?” Jamey said, unbuttoning his shirt and tearing the cloth in wide strips.

  “You think my brother is going to be bustin’ down doors for Johnny Stagg?” she said. “Especially if he knew he was the cause of all this?”

  “I love you, but you don’t believe that,” Jamey said, having some difficulty tying the strips around his hurt leg. Caddy tied it off and helped him again to stand. This time he was onto his feet and moving slow, asking for some water.

  “No shortage of that,” she said. “Step outside and open up your mouth.”

  “You know who caused all this?” Jamey said. “Right?”

  “Those two convicts?”

  “We got three men dead because of me,” he said. “What I did was wrong. I may not be too bright, but I don’t lie to myself, Caddy. I love the Lord. But I loved myself plenty to get out of that jail.”

  “How were you supposed to know this would happen?”

  She brought him a cup of water she’d drawn from the well. As he drank, he winced in pain.

  “Maybe not a hospital,” she said. “But I do know a doctor, and he’s home from Memphis.”

  “Luke Stevens will tell Quinn.”

  “Don’t you believe that,” Caddy said. “Luke has always been a better friend to me than he’s ever been to Quinn. Their relationship isn’t as complicated as some people think. Come on.”

  “Where’s Jason?”

  “Safe.”

  “Let me just lie down.”

  “Get in the goddamn car, Jamey Dixon,” she said. “I can make you hurt even worse.”

  Jamey nodded, hobbling along. Rain pinging into a puddle by the pulpit. “Yes, ma’am.”

  • • •

  Quinn was helping the county road crew when he got the call about the shooting at the Rebel Truck Stop. He’d been filling sandbags and sending them on down the line, water coming up out of the ditch and flooding across the bottomland littered with ragged trailers. A crew of twenty men and women were working to save the old Zion church from being flooded again. They had just finished rebuilding the whole church eight years ago, no one wanting to relocate from where it had been founded by a group of freed slaves. Quinn traded off with Kenny, who’d been getting some rest.

  Two other deputies, Cullison and Watts, were still directing traffic in and around the highway crossroads. Quinn called back to Mary Alice and told her to get in touch with Lillie.

  Quinn then turned on the light bar on top of his truck’s cab and sped up Highway 9 and then over and up Highway 45, exiting for the Rebel. The rain and wind buffeted his truck as he drove. Neon and big parking lamps lit up the crime scene, where two—meaning, all—Jericho Police Department cars were parked. Leonard had his uniform pants hitched up high as he spit some dip into a cup and wildly pointed for Quinn to park a ways back from the scene.

  “Didn’t know the Rebel was part of your jurisdiction.”

  “I got here first,” Leonard said. “You welcome to it if you want it. But I got a little bit more experience with this kind of thing, Quinn. How long you been sheriff?”

  “Can’t figure out why I ever let you go, Leonard,” Quinn said.

  “You can smart off if you want, but we got two lawmen lying facedown in the puddles there,” he said. “Them two convicts went and kidnapped Mr. Stagg, too. I called the highway patrol and the sheriff over in Union County. We’re gonna need some help with this. Marshals sending their own men.”

  “Let’s get those bodies covered up.”

  “Patrol said to wait on them.”

  “Cover them up, Leonard,” Quinn said. “We know who shot them.”

  “I ain’t gonna be responsible for contaminating a crime scene,” Leonard said, spitting into a cup. Water beaded off and ran down the bill of his baseball cap. “That’s basic to what I learned at the academy.”

  “You work many homicides?” Quinn said.

  Leonard spit.

  “If you won’t cover them,” Quinn said, “I will.”

  Quinn had a 10x10 blue tarp in the tool box in the back of his Ford and got one of two men who worked for Leonard to help him anchor it down over the bodies. He called Lillie himself, no answer, and then dialed up Ophelia Bundren, saying he needed her, explaining the situation.

  “Where’s Calamity Jane?” Leonard asked.

  Quinn stared into Leonard’s full moon face, reddened cheeks, and small black eyes. He turned back to the tarp wavering and buckling on the tarmac like a flag. A group of onlookers had made their way over from the truck stop. And some working girls in high boots and six-inch heels stood under umbrellas, whispering and pointing.

  Quinn walked up to the first girl he saw. A mousy girl who couldn’t have been much taller than five feet. She had brown hair and a thin, delicate face, and wore a black camisole under a pink raincoat. She was taking pictures of the whole scene with her cell phone.

  “You see all this?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Where did it start?”

  She motioned back to the Booby Trap. Her raincoat hung wide open, revealing Chinese symbols decorating the tops of both thighs. Quinn fished into his pocket and pulled out two prints of Davis and Magee. He showed them to her.

  She nodded.

  “Who else?”

  “Mr. Stagg and some other man,” she said.

  “What did the other man look like?”

  “He was tall like you and had long hair,” she said. “He had blood on him and a black eye. Had a big-ass tat on his forearm.”

  “Was it of Jesus?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” she said. “It may have been Willie Nelson, for all I know.”

  “Could you pick him out if I found a picture?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Candace Ledbetter,” she said.

  “Is that the name you use here?”

  “They call me Shorty when I dance.”

  Quinn tilted his chin down at the girl, who barely reached his chest. “Why?”

  The girl smiled.

  “You from here?” Quinn asked.

  “My people are from Paris, Mississippi, over in Lafayette County.”

  Quinn told her that she needed to stick around till one of his deputies got here to take down her information.

  “I don’t want to get mixed up with this,” she said. “Those men were crazy as hell. Besides, that policeman saw everything that happened. What more can I do?”

  She nodded toward Leonard. He didn’t see her pointing; he was too busy telling a bunch of people from the Rebel to step back and head the other way. He had one hand on his gun, waddling side to side as he spit.

  Quinn nodded.

  “Was Mr. Stagg with them or being forced?” Quinn said.

  “Forced,” Candace said, shaking her head. “He was none too happy about it.”

  “I expect not,” he said. “Did you see these men get shot?”

  “No, sir,” she said. “They had come in the club and made us stop dancing. They had us all sit on the stage until Mr. Stagg and those men came through. I’d just finished up my set and was collecting the dollars. They wouldn’t let me finish.”

 
“Stagg, that policeman over there,” Quinn said, again pointing to Leonard, “and those three fellas, two that you saw?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “No, sir.”

  Quinn tried Lillie again, and it rang four times before she answered. “I sure hate to bother you, Lil, but we got two dead Marshals at the Rebel.”

  “Mary Alice called,” she said. “Headed that way.”

  “What took you?”

  “I had to get dressed.”

  “Why weren’t you dressed?”

  “Had to get someone to watch the kids.”

  “Kids?”

  “We need to talk, Quinn,” she said. “They’re with your mother now. But Caddy left Jason with me three hours ago and hasn’t called. She was headed after Jamey Dixon. I’m gonna take a flying leap and say this has something to do with the preacher.”

  “Yep.”

  “You called the Marshals’ office and highway patrol?”

  “The new Jericho police chief did that for me,” Quinn said, turning his back from the crowd and walking back to his truck, boots sloshing in the rain.

  “Bless his heart,” Lillie said.

  “He was with Stagg when those convicts got here,” Quinn said. “I’ll pull the tape, but I’m pretty sure it was Dixon with them.”

  “Leonard tell you this?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why’d they hit Stagg?” Lillie said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you spoken to Caddy?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m sorry, Quinn,” Lillie said. “I’m really sorry. I was just trying to help. She promised me she’d be right back. She was scared to death but told me she knew what she was doing. I thought she was going to talk Dixon into coming to you. I am such a fucking idiot to trust her.”

  “Just come on,” Quinn said. “I need you to watch Leonard while I pull that video real quick.”

  “What about Stagg?”

  “I guess we’ll wait to see if he’s on fire before we decide if we want to piss on him.”

  “Mary Alice says there’s an alert on that car and on the kidnapping.”

  “Mary Alice has always had initiative.”

  “Do you have to bring your guns to the kitchen table?” Jean asked.

  “Right now,” Quinn said, “I’d prefer it.”

  They sat across from each other in the Colson family kitchen. Jean was brewing coffee, Jason and Rose asleep in Jason’s bedroom, which had stayed his bedroom even though he lived with Caddy now. It was nearly midnight. Quinn had stayed at the Rebel for three hours with the Feds and then drove around for two more hours with Boom to search for Caddy.

  He propped the 12-gauge Remington in the corner by the stove but kept his Beretta 9mm on his hip. His wet coat and ball cap hung by the front door. Sometime in the last few hours the rain had just flat-out stopped. The wind was still wild, blowing broken clouds in from the west, but showing the odd patch of moonlight.

  Wind chimes jingled from her back porch.

  “You hungry?” Jean asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Can’t live on just coffee.”

  “It works.”

  “I just wish she would call,” Jean said. “I guess she figures Jason is still with Lillie and that we don’t know.”

  “Nope,” Quinn said. “If Caddy is with Dixon, she’ll have a pretty clear grasp on the situation. One of the girls at the truck stop—”

  “One of Stagg’s pole dancers?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Quinn said. “One of his dancers said a man who looked like Jamey was shot. She may have taken him out of the county for medical attention.”

  “Why on earth would she do that?” Jean said, sitting down and finding her cigarettes.

  “Because Dixon doesn’t want to discuss his association with those two shitbirds.”

  “Quinn,” Jean said, cigarette between lips and fanning out a match.

  “You really think there is a more true word to describe those convicts?”

  “Suppose not.”

  Quinn stood up, noted the time at 0010, and poured himself a cup of coffee. The front door opened, and his hand shifted for a moment to his hip. Boom walked into the kitchen holding his dad’s old J. C. Higgins shotgun and sat down at the table. He laid the gun crossways over the red-and-white tablecloth Quinn’s mom had owned forever.

  “You boys,” Jean said, spewing smoke and shaking her head.

  “Boom is going to stay with you while I go look for Caddy,” Quinn said.

  “Why?” Jean said. “Those convicts don’t have any reason for coming over here. They don’t have any quarrel with you or Caddy, do they?”

  Quinn took a sip of coffee and looked to Boom. “It’s not those convicts I’m worried about.”

  “Jamey wouldn’t want to harm me or Jason,” Jean said.

  “I’m not taking any bets on what that man will do,” Quinn said. “I don’t know much about him. But what I do know, I don’t like. Boom, there’s plenty coffee.”

  “Well,” Jean said. “Are you at least hungry?”

  Boom smiled. “Yes, ma’am. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “I have some pecan pie and some peach cobbler.”

  “Peach cobbler would be nice,” Boom said. Quinn reached for his keys, and Jean got up for the cobbler, smoke trailing her.

  “You want some ice cream on top?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Boom said.

  “Then please remove your shotgun from the table, darlin’,” Jean said. “How many times do I have to tell you boys?”

  Boom grinned, and Quinn went back to his truck. The moonlight, filtered through fast-moving clouds, cast everything in a weird landscape. Quinn placed the 12-gauge in the passenger seat, cranked the engine, and traveled back the way he’d come.

  • • •

  Esau and Bones took Johnny Stagg into the big room and had him take a seat at a stuffed leather chair by the cold stone fireplace. Esau walked to the bar and fashioned a drink, already cleaning the eye as best he could with a hot rag. The skin around his eye and his eye itself didn’t look human anymore, more like molded wax without much feeling, only a dull throb. Esau threw back some of the senator’s fine Scotch and asked Johnny Stagg if he’d care to join him.

  “I don’t drink, sir.”

  “A man who runs the biggest hot pillow joint in north Mississippi has gone and gotten uppity on me,” Esau said, smelling and tasting that rich smoke and peat in the crystal glass.

  Bones took a seat on a leather couch under all those stuffed ducks, golden show rifle pointed right at Stagg. “You pour me whatever you drinking, Esau.”

  Esau reached for another crystal glass and filled it half full. He handed it to Bones and stepped back, thinking on how things had gone down. His ears a bit dulled by all that music and gunshots and girls screaming. Stagg hadn’t bled much from the punch in the face. But the side of his face had swollen a bit and a small trail of blood fell from one of his nostrils. Stagg kept on wiping it away with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket.

  There was a big grandfather clock toward the kitchen, and the clicking and whirring of it filled the room. Stagg looked to Esau and Bones and wiped his nose again. His eyes lifted when he watched Becky wander into the room, wearing tight jeans and a tighter camo T-shirt. She made little noises when she saw Esau’s face.

  She didn’t even seem to take notice of Stagg sitting there until the old man crossed his legs and spoke to the back of her. “Evening, Miss Becky.”

  She turned from where she’d been crying about Esau’s eye. Esau put down his Scotch.

  “What in the fuck?” Esau said.

  “Uh-oh,” Bones said.

  “Been a while, Miss Becky,” Stagg said, wagging his foot a bit from where he’d crossed it. “You look as pretty as ever.”

  Becky’s face flushed with blood, and she turned back to Esau with her mouth hanging open.
r />   “Go on,” Esau said, reaching for the glass. “What the hell?”

  “Well,” she said. “I did what you said, Esau. Just like you said.”

  “You never said shit about Johnny Fucking Stagg.”

  Stagg wiped away more blood and studied the red spots on the bleached cotton. He smiled big as you please, and Esau wanted very much to lift his .357 and shoot him off that couch. He hadn’t been there two minutes and was already acting like he owned the fucking place. Talking about how the senator was his friend and telling Esau and Bones how they were going to be handling things. How the fuck did he know how things were gonna be handled, when Esau himself was trying to figure it all out?

  “Esau?” Becky said. “Baby? Jamey reached out to me and had me go talk to Mr. Stagg. You said Jamey was helping y’all. You were the one who said Jamey knew what he was doing to get y’all released.”

  “Did you fuck this ole coot?” Esau said.

  Stagg grinned, blood trailing down onto his lip till he dabbed at it.

  “Hell no,” she said. “I met with Jamey at Parchman. I met with Mr. Stagg in Jericho. How were y’all supposed to explain all this from the inside? You said you couldn’t do your business without the guards knowing how many times you wiped your ass.”

  “Y’all have something back there I could drink?” Stagg said, just kind of piping up from his throne. He didn’t seem at all concerned that Esau thought he’d popped a Viagra and screwed his lady. “Maybe a Coca-Cola or Dr Pepper?”

  “How about I put a hole right in your head?” Esau said.

  “I’d just as soon have a Dr Pepper first,” Stagg said and grinned.

  “Leave us alone, Becky,” Esau said.

  Bones’s dead eyes hadn’t moved, his hunting rifle trained on Stagg. He just watched and breathed, loose and cool, only wondering about what kind of shit would happen next.

  “I said leave us alone,” Esau said. “We’ll talk this shit over later.”

  “I didn’t,” Becky said.

  “Get the fuck upstairs.”

  Becky bit her lip and turned and ran shoeless through the room and up the stairs to the master bedroom, where they’d been screwing since she’d arrived. She slammed the door good and hard. Stagg’s face had frozen into a grinning big-toothed mask.