by Ace Atkins
“Little lady,” Reverend Traylor said, face beaming with a high wattage of enthusiasm and contempt, “I think you’re a mite confused about what exactly went on here.”
Traylor wore a dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and a bright gold tie. He had a big smile on his sagging old face, white hair coiffed and sprayed down, gold-frame glasses glinting in the office light. He smiled and nodded, waiting for Lillie to respond.
Lillie didn’t say a damn word.
“Who of us hasn’t stumbled a bit in our walk with God?” Reverend Traylor said. “Coach Mills admitted to me he’s been tempted by the devil and the pleasures of the flesh. The Bible tells us the devil comes to steal, kill, and destroy. But it’s Jesus who gives us the life everlasting.”
“Amen,” Lillie said, resting her elbows on her desk. “You got a point to all this? Or is it just time to pass the collection plate?”
“You are a true pistol, Lillie Virgil,” Reverend Traylor said. “Not much different than your daddy. I went to high school with him and he was a straight-out wild man. Did I tell you about the time he got arrested for drag racing on Main Street? I’m just saying, we all slip a little.”
“You want to tell me something I don’t know about Bud Mills?” Lillie said. “Because I got about a dozen phone calls I need to return from more victims stepping forward. Coach left a big river of shit in his wake coming long before Milly Jones was set on fire.”
“What’s Milly Jones have to do with Coach?”
“Stay tuned and you’ll find out, Pastor.”
Reverend Traylor smoothed down his gold tie and smiled as if comforting a small child who had a minimal understanding of the way the world worked. He nodded, took a deep breath, and said, “This may seem old-fashioned and corny to you, Miss Virgil, but, through the power of prayer, Coach sought forgiveness this morning. I think what all he’s been through, the beatings and the violence at the hands of that Reece boy he tried to help, will only strengthen his walk with the Lord. He always had a prayerful heart, and you must believe that he removed himself from any temptation he’d had in the past.”
“You’re asking me to have faith?” Lillie said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m not a preacher,” Lillie said. “I’m the law. I work with evidence and facts.”
“Surely you don’t believe what these children and their parents have said?” Reverend Traylor said. “They’re trying to tear down a good man who was trying to show some Christian fatherly love.”
“By fondling scared young children?” Lillie said. “Where in the Bible does it talk about showering with kids? Touching them in twisted ways?”
“A lot of what Coach did was misinterpreted.”
“Even if a sliver of it’s true, he’ll be in jail for a long while,” Lillie said. “I’m glad to listen to what you have to say, but I don’t appreciate you coming into my office and telling me to go easy on Coach because he took ten minutes to pray with you this morning.”
“We don’t need to drudge up all this ugliness when Coach has gotten straight with God.”
“I tell you what,” Lillie said. “You get Jesus to come down here and write ole Bud a hall pass for whipping it out when the mood struck him and I’ll do just that. But let me tell you something, Reverend Traylor, I’m taking this growing list of victims serious as hell. I’m not in the forgiveness business.”
“You do understand what kind of families we’re talking about?” Reverend Traylor said, giving a knowing smile. “These aren’t the dang Rockefellers of Jericho. These boys you mention come from broken homes, from alcoholics and drug addicts. I think a fair amount of them would want to stand in line just to see if there was some kind of lawsuit money in it for them.”
“You said Coach had gotten straight with God?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then if he’d done nothing wrong, what did he have to get straight?”
“Coach admits he made some bad choices, getting too personal with those boys,” he said. “Boys will be boys. They all like to wrestle, tussle, and play. Nothing more than that. And maybe he showered with them. That’s what you do after football practice. He was teaching them you work hard, sweat, keep yourself clean.”
Lillie leaned back in her chair. “The methods he employed for cleanliness are ones I hadn’t heard outside of a barnyard.”
Reverend Traylor shook his head. His glowing smile of the Good News for Modern Man soured a good bit, leaving him looking like he’s just sucked on a lemon. “Most people around here support Coach,” he said. “They don’t believe what these trashy people are saying.”
“Spoken like a true man of God,” Lillie said. “I read enough of the Bible to know that my Jesus would think you were a true phony asshole.”
“You sure are a pistol,” Reverend Traylor said, standing. “I guess an alternative lifestyle can lead to many unorthodox views.”
“Oh,” Lillie said. “Milly Jones’s sister told me that Milly had come to you a few days before she got lit up for not getting with the program. Do you want to tell me what y’all talked about?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I sure don’t. Little Milly was an angel in this world and all you’re doing is casting a dark shadow over all her bright light. I don’t think folks around here want to hear that garbage. And they’ll be thinking long and hard on it this year.”
“Good to see you, Reverend,” Lillie said. “I’ll make sure you get one of my election signs for your front yard.”
• • •
Two have recanted their stories,” Lillie said.
“Which ones?” Quinn asked.
“Judd Aron and Tommy Cain.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Damn straight,” Lillie said. “The Good Reverend has been making the rounds. Aron’s and Cain’s families are longtime First Baptist. Traylor spooked them.”
“How can we be so sure?”
“Because the son of a bitch came calling on me this morning, wanting me to find love and forgiveness in my heart.”
Quinn about spit out his coffee. Instead, he set down the thick mug and shook his head. Lillie had just rolled up to the farm, coming down off her shift and turning the night back over to Quinn. Between both of them, they’d interviewed two dozen witnesses who’d noted some highly inappropriate behavior by beloved Coach Mills. But Aron and Cain had been their best bet. Both boys, now in their twenties, had fit the profile—coming from broken homes, working for Coach as ball boys, and being a part of Coach’s summer mentoring program. Coach took them hunting and fishing, spending time in cabins at the Tishomingo State Park. Both boys had been in his uncle’s old files, their mothers coming to him for advice and help they never received.
“What do the boys say now?”
“They say their memories may have been clouded,” she said. “And that it was a long time ago. They absolutely don’t want to testify.”
“When’s Coach get arraigned?” Quinn said.
“Tomorrow morning,” Lillie said. “DA won’t be pleased with what we’ve got now.”
“But we still have one possible witness, Brandon Jones’s cell phone, and Ordeen Davis?”
“Wouldn’t take much of a lawyer to get two of those tossed out.”
“How about Coach Mills pleading out?”
“You want us to make a deal with that bastard?” Lillie said. “Besides, the fucker still says he didn’t do anything wrong. He said he’s a good ole Christian role model for those boys, wanting to teach ’em all how to be big strong men.”
“Maybe I can reason with him.”
Lillie slipped her hands into her pant pockets and rolled her shoulders. The sky above had turned a bright orange and black, long swirling clouds strewn over the pasture and over Jason Colson’s trailer. Quinn had heard him earlier, still tinkering with the Trans Am. Occasionally
yelling, “God damn it. Son of a bitch,” when the engine wouldn’t turn over.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
Quinn nodded.
“I need you to talk to Ophelia,” Lillie said. “You know her brother played for Coach? Cash was part of that mentoring bullshit ten years ago.”
“He doesn’t fit the profile,” Quinn said. “You don’t get more respectable than the Bundrens. They have money, everyone in town knows them. I don’t see him needing Coach’s approval or affection.”
“Except for when his sister Adelaide died,” Lillie said. “I heard Coach really took it to heart to make sure that boy got out from under a tent of grieving to be out among the living.”
“The devil comes in all forms.”
“And we’re looking at a short, potbellied one who I seriously believe doesn’t think he did a damn thing wrong,” Lillie said. “Remember how he’d drop in little stories about tickle fights and going skinny-dipping, like the good old days. He’s trying to seed a grain of truth in any story that might come up.”
“I’ll talk to Ophelia.”
Lillie pressed her backside on the edge of the railing, folding her arms over her chest. Since Quinn had been away last year, Lillie had gotten in some serious shape, running five miles a day, taking on a CrossFit program down in the old bakery, climbing ropes, doing pull-ups, push-ups, and weights. She reminded him a lot of some of the female officers he knew in the Army, not only running with the boys but making sure she ran a hell of a lot better. She looked muscled and tanned, freckles across her nose and across her chest where the top of her uniform was unbuttoned.
Quinn wanted to tell her she looked good but was afraid she might punch him in the nose.
“Anything going on with you two?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“But you and Anna Lee?” Lillie said. “Saw her house is up for sale.”
“She’s up in Memphis,” Quinn said. “Says she’s doing everything for Shelby getting a better education. She’s sorting through things with Luke. It’s over.”
“With him?”
“With me.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn.”
Quinn shrugged as Hondo came trotting down the hills from the curving dirt road. He carried a partially decomposed deer skull in his mouth, damn proud of the find. He dropped it on the porch at Quinn’s and Lillie’s feet. He was panting from the run and the heat.
“I don’t want you to ask about Ophelia’s brother if there’s something between y’all.”
“I don’t mind talking to her about Coach,” Quinn said. “She said something to me once about her mother never trusting him. Always believed there was something more to the story.”
“More folks have to step up,” Lillie said. “He’s been here more than twenty years. All of Hamp’s old reports are fair game. No statute of limitations on rape.”
Quinn was already dressed for work, in a crisp sheriff’s shirt with patches, starched blue jeans, and shined boots. He wore his Beretta on his hip, as standard, and he’d just cut his hair regulation earlier that day. Hondo stood close, shaking the dust from his mottled gray-and-black coat.
“I wish you’d stick around,” Lillie said. “Till we get this all figured out.”
The sun had started to turn gold across the pasture and spilled up onto the porch, casting Lillie in strange half-light, the sun turning her eyes a deeper shade of green, almost making them glow. She smiled at Quinn, eyes wandering out to the field and back.
The front door to the farmhouse was open, buffeting a gust of wind past them, through the house and shooting out the back. The back screen door rattled briefly.
“Before you leave again,” Lillie said. “We need to talk.”
Quinn stood straighter. He reached for his mug of coffee and took a sip.
“Some things might be a mess,” she said. “But some things are a lot clearer.”
“Lillie,” Quinn said. “Hold on.”
“You need to hear this,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time. But there was always Anna Lee. And then that crazy-ass woman with the ATF, and then Ophelia Bundren, and then back to Anna Lee. If I don’t say this now, we might not get another chance. I don’t know where you’re headed. Damn, Quinn, you’ve been home almost five years now.”
Quinn stepped up to Lillie and reached out and held both of her hands. She closed her eyes, Quinn leaning forward and kissing her long and hard on top of the head. Her head smelling of sweat and sunshine. They stayed there for a long while, with Hondo scratching at his jean leg. Not breaking apart until Lillie’s radio started to make a racket. She pressed back, still holding his hands and watching his face.
“I need to be by myself for a while,” Quinn said. “I haven’t been alone enough in the last two years. That’s why I made a hell of a bad mistake.”
“Sex with a married woman?” Lillie said, smiling, lifting her hands from his. “I’d be glad to talk Reverend Traylor into forgiving your sorry ass.”
“Appreciate that.”
Lillie turned and called in to dispatch, walking from the farmhouse steps halfway across the yard and then turning back to Quinn. “That’s strange,” she said. “Fannie Hathcock called in to Mary Alice and said she wants to see me as soon as possible.”
“You want me to come along?”
“Figure this is woman talk,” Lillie said, grinning. “No testosterone allowed.”
• • •
Outside Vienna’s Place, a half-dozen bikers lounged by the front door, sitting on their Harleys, drinking and smoking, making low catcalls at Lillie as she walked past. She ignored them, fucking morons not worth her energy, stepping out of the fading sunlight and into the darkness of the titty bar. No one waited by the front booth, and, through the second door into the club, the wide-open space was vacant and silent. The brass poles stood empty. No one behind the bar. Lillie could hear the clomp of her own boots on the polished concrete floor as she headed back to the spiral staircase that led up to Fannie’s office.
When Lillie was halfway across the floor, Fannie called out to her. Lillie looked up to see the woman leaning over the edge of the railing, staring down into the club. Fannie had on a bright white embroidered dress of some type, lots of material about the arms giving her the appearance of having wings. Her usually styled red hair had been pulled up into a neat bun.
“Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”
“You called it,” Lillie said.
“Heard you’re having trouble keeping that son of a bitch locked up, after everything he’s done.”
“Don’t see how it’s any concern of yours.”
Fannie gave a short little laugh, looking down, hands on the railing. Her ruby pendant rocking forward from her chest on its chain. “You know, I was just sitting here in my own club, minding my own business, and you came busting into my world for no good reason.”
“One of your girls had been set on fire,” Lillie said. “Folks saw the Born Losers with her.”
“We got off to a bad start, I guess,” Fannie said. “Despite what you may think of me, I don’t plan on going anywhere for a long while. Stagg’s gone and this is all mine. It can be hell or we can figure out a way to play nice.”
“Next time you want to be philosophical, how about you just call me on the phone?” Lillie asked. “Dispatch told me that you had an emergency and wanted to talk direct.”
“What I got to say isn’t for public consumption.”
Lillie wanted to get home, put her feet up, and rest up before the arraignment tomorrow. Somehow, she and Quinn would have to find some more boys who couldn’t be mind-fucked by Reverend Zeke. “Fine by me,” Lillie said, her voice echoing through the dark club. “But can you get to the point? My neck’s starting to hurt, having to stare up at you.”
“People have always hated me b
ecause I’m direct.”
“I got no problem with that.”
“They don’t like a tough bitch in charge,” Fannie said. “They think I have no place running a business like this. What I hate are the type of pious mealymouthed shit-for-brains we keep in this state. I know what I am. I don’t need anyone to tell me. You may hate this, Lillie Virgil, but you and me are cut from the same cloth.”
“I doubt it,” Lillie said. “Your cloth is too expensive, for my taste.”
“Y’all are screwed because no one in this backwoods county will stand up and call out Bud Mills for the degenerate piece of shit he is.”
“That’s about the tall and short of it.”
“People are walking away from you faster than Milly Jones walking that back road.”
Lilllie craned her neck forward and then back again to loosen the muscles, hands on hips, and waiting for Fannie Hathcock to get to the goddamn point. Instead, the bitch took out the little cigarillo case and fired one up, blowing smoke into the fans and office light behind her.
“I have some friends down in New Orleans who’ve been watching that son of a bitch for a long time,” Fannie said. “They might be able to help you nail down some times, places, maybe some surveillance video of him on vacation with the kiddos.”
“New Orleans?”
“We deal in flesh. But this kind of shit makes you want to puke.”
“He brought the boys over state lines?”
Fannie blew out a stream of smoke, scattering in the overhead fans. “Shame,” she said. “Feds just might have to take this flaming pile of shit off your doorstep and make up a good old-fashioned federal case.”
“You mind if I ask why you’re doing this?”
Fannie shrugged. “It’s a long, sad story,” she said. “And I don’t think either one of us is the crying type. How about we just call it a truce?”
“OK,” Lillie said. “Works for me. You’ll be in touch?”
Fannie nodded and Lillie gave the madam a two-finger salute. She walked out of the smoke and darkness into the daylight.