The Heathens

by Ace Atkins

  “Y’all fucked me,” Chester said.

  Dusty Nix nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “But you got a choice here. When that girl reaches out again, Mr. Stagg wants you to agree to her terms. You hear me?”

  “I don’t have the damn money.”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty old head about nothing,” Dusty Nix said, reaching down for Chester’s phone and snatching it right out of his hand, scrolling through his personal calls. “You get the girl to meet you and we’ll take care of the rest.”

  Chester felt his insides turn to cherry Jell-O, heart sinking down into his drawers. Everything had gone way past what he’d wanted. He never wanted Gina dead. He didn’t even want to see TJ’s little smart ass hurt. And what about poor John Wesley? Shit, how far were these peckerheads prepared to go? They wouldn’t leave the job site until everyone who touched that money was dead.

  Dusty Nix caught Chester staring at his T-shirt.

  “Like it?” Dusty asked.

  Chester didn’t answer. His mouth too dry to talk.

  “Mr. Stagg sells ’em half off for friends and family,” Dusty said. “You make contact with the girl and I’ll see if I can’t hook you up.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Ladarius figured this is how you go out, stealing hundreds of cars and busting into dozens of homes, and nothing much happens until you try to boost an old Buick Regal and six mangy dogs eat your ass. He was on his back, kicking and punching, screaming like a little bitch, the dogs going to town on his legs, when he heard the shotgun blast.

  That gave the dogs a little jump. Ladarius felt like he could barely hold his head up, losing blood and his ass pumped good with adrenaline. He scooted on back, feeling the gravel up into his skin, not wanting to look down at his legs and knowing he couldn’t see much in the shadow. The shotgun blasted again. Blam!

  He fell back, trying to catch his breath, not caring if whoever this was wanted to pump some shells into him. Anything was better than six dogs. Anything was better than getting eaten alive down at Gonzalez & Smith Motors, red and green flags flapping in the cold wind. The dogs looked back and trotted away from him.

  Ladarius closed his eyes. Opening them again, he saw a squat Mexican man dressed in a fancy-ass black cowboy shirt, black jeans, and a black cowboy hat.

  The man had the shotgun aimed tight on Ladarius.

  Ladarius covered his face, waiting for the blast.

  “Ladrón negro,” the man said, turning his head to spit. “Por qué viniste aquí?”

  Ladarius didn’t get the first word but understood the second.

  “I can’t feel my legs.”

  “Estúpido,” the man said, shaking his head. He removed his cowboy hat and looked around the car lot. One of the mangy black dogs trotted up and licked at the man’s strong brown hand. The mutt had Ladarius’s blood across his nose.

  “I’m bleeding out,” Ladarius said. “Help me. You gotta help me, man. Por favor, señor.”

  The man pulled a phone from his back pocket. He began to speak in clear, deep English giving the name of the business and address. Hector Gonzalez. Gonzalez & Smith.

  “The dumb boy is injured,” the man said. “My dogs. Yes. They ate him for dinner.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Lillie Virgil had had about as much fun as she could handle that day, spending most of the morning checking out video surveillance at the Salty Dog Marina on Lake Hamilton and later speaking to an old couple from St. Louis who’d had their new Kia Sorento stolen by the notorious Ladarius McCade. The old folks seemed more fascinated than pissed about what happened, wanting to know all about McCade and TJ Byrd, asking if Lillie thought they’d try to ride it out to the bitter end.

  Lillie told them she had no idea but they sure better be checking on getting a new car. Ladarius McCade could be mighty hard on a vehicle.

  She and Charlie checked into the Embassy Suites, grabbed dinner, and headed back to the Hot Springs Marshal’s Office before calling in to the Old Man back in Memphis and then Florencia at home. Lillie talked to Rose and gave her the PG version of events, Rose not that interested anyway and telling her all about a new trick she’d taught Jerry Lee. The dog would now sit still, not moving a muscle, with a treat balanced on the end of his nose. When Rose said okay, that dog popped a tongue across his nose and swallowed it whole.

  “Just like his namesake,” Lillie said.

  “What’s that, Momma?”

  “Just a little joke,” she said. “Be good. Be good for Florencia.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “Soon.”

  “You promise?”

  “I would, kid,” Lillie said. “But I’d be lying. How about I tell you I’m doing my best?”

  “Are you going to shoot those kids?”

  “I’d never shoot those kids.”

  “What if they try and shoot you?”

  Lillie didn’t answer, the question broken up by the sound of Jerry Lee’s barking and Florencia coming back on the phone. Lillie told her to go ahead and cash that second check. She also told Florencia she didn’t know what she’d do without her. Thanking her for being there for Rose when she couldn’t.

  Lillie set down her phone.

  “Ain’t easy,” Charlie Hodge said.

  “How’d you do it?”

  “I lied to my kids and told the truth to my wife,” he said. “I never held anything back. Even when I went undercover.”

  “I don’t have a wife.”

  “Maybe you oughta get one.”

  “I don’t need a wife or a husband,” Lillie said. “That’s what I pay Florencia for.”

  Charlie Hodge smiled. He sat across from her at a borrowed desk. The remnants of their fried catfish dinner sat between them, both of them working on daily reports for the Old Man. A marshal couldn’t use the damn bathroom without having to log every damn detail.

  “Do you date much?”

  “Charlie.”

  “Don’t mean to be nosy,” he said. “Just hadn’t seen you slow down much these last few years. Longest amount of time I’ve seen you take off is after what happened down in Tibbehah.”

  “When I shot Fannie Hathcock.”

  Charlie didn’t answer, knowing it was a sore spot for Lillie. She knew she’d done everything right. Reacting a second slower could’ve gotten her killed. But knowing that she’d shot a woman armed with only a silver-plated cigarette case was something that continued to haunt her. Why couldn’t Fannie have just been her damn self and come up with a pistol. She’d been wanting to shoot Lillie since they’d first met.

  “She’d nearly beat that Fed to death,” he said. “If you hadn’t killed her then, she would’ve sent someone for you.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe hurt your family, too.”

  “That had crossed my mind.”

  “Maybe some time off,” Charlie said. “After this. Take Rose down to Disney World or something. Go over to Branson and see Donnie and Marie.”

  “You must be shitting me,” Lillie said. “Donnie and Marie?”

  “Hell, Tony Orlando then,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t like Tony Orlando. Everybody loves that song ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree.’ ”

  “I’d rather have a lobotomy.”

  Charlie looked as amused as ever with Lillie, saying maybe they should head back to the Embassy Suites and get some rest. They’d be up again at five a.m. if not sooner, hoping to maybe catch those kids on a tag reader if they crossed state lines. But she had her doubts. She bet Ladarius would’ve changed those plates straight off, although they couldn’t find any that matched back at the motel by the marina.

  “Is this all that excitement and adventure you promised me?” Lillie asked, closing her laptop.

  “If I’d told you
the truth, would you have still wanted to be a marshal?”

  “You bet your ass,” she said.

  As Charlie started to shut down his laptop, Lillie got the call from her supervisor in Memphis. She clicked off and set down the phone and turned to Charlie.

  “They’re in Texarkana,” she said. “The McCade kid just got caught trying to steal another car.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The same night Ladarius McCade got caught in Texarkana, Quinn got a call from Holly Harkins that she was stuck at a Waffle House in Olive Branch and needed a ride home. He met her up there and they talked a great bit, Quinn driving her back to Jericho at daybreak and organizing a tearful reunion with her parents before she was set to go in front of a juvenile judge. He felt for the girl, but she had stolen her parents’ van, broken into a mansion in Hot Springs, and assisted two murder suspects in their run from the law. Quinn promised Maggie he’d do all he could to help the girl, but at the moment she just had to stay in custody until it all shook out.

  Quinn was back in the office, no sleep that night, reading through the last twenty-four hours of reports. While he’d been gone, some genius had decided to try and pull the ATM out of the Rebel Truck Stop, making a real mess of the glass doors before getting hung up on a brick wall. Reggie noted in the report the two suspects must’ve been working with low mental acuity since they drove off horizontally from the doors and not in a straight line. The chains dug into the wall and one of the suspects had to get out to free the truck. Quinn read a quick description of the two, dozens of shitbirds he knew crossing his mind.

  “More coffee, Sheriff?” Cleotha asked.

  Quinn nodded and Cleotha took his cup.

  He leaned back in his swivel chair, watching the sun come up over the jail, and reached for a fresh cigar from his humidor. A Liga Privada provided by one of the Rangers in his company who lived in Miami and now worked for a wholesaler. They were expensive sticks and had been used against him on more than one occasion as proof he’d taken kickbacks.

  Quinn set fire to the cigar and was deep in the paperwork from the night before when his cell buzzed again. He expected it to be from Maggie, both of them trying to organize a dinner at his mother’s house, Jean excited about the prospect of getting Boom and Raven Yancy together. Jean continued to be fixated on the idea that Boom just hadn’t met the right woman yet.

  Quinn answered.

  “Sheriff Colson?”

  “Speaking.”

  No one said anything and after a long pause, Quinn nearly hung up the phone, thinking there was a broken connection. He asked if there was anyone there.

  “It’s me,” the voice said.

  It was a young woman. Quinn didn’t need to ask.

  “Holly Harkins said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Hello, TJ.”

  “I know y’all got Ladarius,” TJ said. “I saw it on the news. I just want to know if he’s all right.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I asked if he’s okay, goddamn it.”

  “He’s going to be fine,” Quinn said. “But he’s hurt pretty bad. Could’ve been killed. How about y’all stop all this crap and come on in? You’re making yourself look bad, running from state to state, trying to act like you kidnapped that Bloodgood girl.”

  “Maybe I did,” TJ said.

  Quinn didn’t answer. Outside his window, he watched the weekly gathering of families coming to visit with prisoners for the morning. Some set out lawn chairs, others just stood on the free side of the fence, keeping their hands away from one another, although he’d caught a few try to slide a Little Debbie or body part or two between the chain link. There were baby mommas and baby daddies, mothers and grandparents. Little children ran loose and wild in the parking lot as their father did time in the drunk tank or waited out time before being transferred to Parchman. There were check forgers and wife beaters. Killers and drug addicts. Men and women paraded out into the open yard if they wanted free time in the cold air and a little check-in with the family.

  “Did you see my post about Chester?” TJ asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But you don’t believe it?”

  “I’m still investigating the death of your mother,” Quinn said. “I’m looking into everything.”

  “Then why’d you charge me and Ladarius?”

  “Why’d y’all run?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “We found some evidence outside your trailer.”

  “Whatever shit you found,” TJ said, “wasn’t ours. How stupid do you think I am? If I’d killed my momma, I’d sure have cleaned up the mess. Chester Pratt has strung you and that fat sheriff from Parsham right along.”

  “I know.”

  “What?”

  “I said I know,” Quinn said. “But need y’all to stop running. Stay where you are and I’ll work something out. I’ll come for you.”

  “Bull W. Shit.”

  “I need you to trust me.”

  “Like my daddy trusted your asshole uncle?”

  “If you haven’t noticed,” Quinn said, “I’m not my uncle.”

  “I get blamed for everything,” she said. “Even when I didn’t do it. Even when it’s not my fault. Sometimes you get looked down on so much, you just start acting like what’s expected of you. You know? What’s the damn point? Might as well be an outlaw. It’s what folks want to see.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I ran wild when I was your age,” he said. “I stole some cars. Got drunk a lot. Hunted on posted land. Hell, one time me and my best friend stole a fire truck.”

  “Shit.”

  “Ask anybody,” Quinn said. “I was mad as hell and didn’t know why.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” TJ said. “And I don’t have time for no Dr. Phil bullshit, Sheriff. I just wanted to know if Ladarius is alive.”

  “He’s gonna be fine,” said Quinn. “But he’s off the field and you’re on your own.”

  “Just to save you the trouble,” she said. “He’s not like that traitor, Holly. Ladarius won’t say nothing. ’Cause he don’t know nothing.”

  “I know about the insurance settlement,” Quinn said. “I know your mom took it from you and gave it to Chester.”

  “Then why don’t you get up off your ass and do something?”

  “Come on in,” Quinn said. “You keep running and I promise you, y’all are gonna get hurt. Ladarius damn near bled out after he got eaten up by some dogs. He was trying to steal y’all a car.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “I know you’re telling the truth,” Quinn said. “But I need time. I need more interviews. More evidence to process. I’m trying to put this whole thing together.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What more can I promise you?”

  “Not a goddamn thing,” she said. “I don’t hear anything but just more lies. More time won’t change a damn thing.”

  The line went dead. Quinn turned back to look into the jail yard. Someone had brought a big blue sheet cake to the Saturday gathering and his deputy Kenny was behind the fence making sure it was shared between all the prisoners. Kenny took a small piece for himself as he led all the men in orange in a fine rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

  Quinn couldn’t help but shake his head. Kenny sang so loud Quinn could hear him from behind the glass.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lillie didn’t say a word, walking into the hospital room and taking a seat at Ladarius McCade’s bedside. The kid’s eyes were open, plastic tubes coming out of his nose, while he watched one of those fixer-upper shows on television. Flip or Flop or maybe Masters of Flip. One of those dumbass shows. That was Ladarius. Always looking for new trends in the world of B&E.

  “You remember me?” Lillie
asked.

  He looked her up and down. But didn’t seem to have an answer.

  “You should,” Lillie said. “Cut you a few breaks along the way, kid. Until you broke into Dr. Stevens’s old house, pulled the copper wiring from the walls, and tore out those antique light fixtures after he moved up to Memphis.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Got to get you home, Ladarius.”

  “Sheriff Colson send you?”

  Lillie shook her head and reached for the U.S. Marshal badge hanging from her neck.

  “Just hookin’ and haulin’ today,” Lillie said. “Congratulations. Doc says you should be good to travel tomorrow. I know your grandmother can’t wait to see you. I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say.”

  “Ha.”

  Lillie leaned forward and pressed the off button on the remote. It was early morning and the room was quiet. A tray of untouched food waited on a nearby table. Rain tapped at the window with gray skies, bare trees across the hospital parking lot. A grand day to be in Texarkana.

  “Where are they?” Lillie asked.

  Ladarius shook his head. One eye was half-closed and his lip was busted. His lower body had been covered in a sheet, but Lillie knew enough about the damage down there. Those dogs took a good deal of prime USDA right out of his legs.

  “I’ll make sure they’re safe,” Lillie said. “Can’t say the same for some peckerwood deputy in Shit City, Texas.”

  “How you know they’re headed through Texas?”

  “I don’t,” Lillie said. “But y’all were headed west. Right? That was the general idea I heard. You and TJ planned to keep on driving until there was no more road. Maybe make a death pact while you drive off that pier in Santa Monica.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The patrol officer watching the door ducked inside right before the nurse entered. She ignored Lillie entirely as she took the kid’s vitals and made sure he was nice and comfy. Did he need to get more rest? Was he thirsty? Why hadn’t he touched his food?