The Ranger - Ace Atkins [101]
“You see now?” Stagg said. “You can read the truth right there. Your uncle killed to cover up for Gowrie. He let all this shit grow wild. He couldn’t live with it and did the honorable thing.”
“Why don’t you bring that note to Jill Bullard’s family in Bruce?” Quinn asked. “You explain it, Johnny.”
“You can make it right.”
“How do you figure?”
“Kill the man who tarnished your uncle,” Stagg said, looking him hard in the eye. “Gowrie just killed Brother Davis and looted his church. He’s high as a kite and wants to burn Jericho down.”
“You tarnished my uncle. You just want me to save your ass and get that money back. How much are you on the hook for, Johnny?”
“Gowrie got more than a hunnard thousand dollars in donations. Crucified Brother Davis on some cedar logs.”
“Who are these people in Memphis?”
“I need that money,” Stagg said. “I’ll give you a cut. You can keep all your land. I’ll buy that slice of 45 for whatever you think is fair.”
“Let me think on it.”
“Gowrie’s tearin’ shit up. We got five deputies left. What can they do?”
“Wait for the help that’s coming.”
“What do you want, Quinn? I got to get that money or they’ll kill me.”
“I thought about it.”
“And?”
Quinn offered his hand with a smile. “Good luck, Johnny Stagg.”
Ditto never signed up for this bullshit. But when a fella like Gowrie puts a gun to your head, you tend to listen up.
“Grab that bag,” Gowrie said, stopping the Camaro with a skid on the town Square.
“The one with the Little Mermaid on it?”
“You see another?”
“The big suitcase is filled with the preacher’s money.”
Ditto reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed the child’s duffel bag. The bag wouldn’t hold a full-grown man’s shoe. “I can’t get nothin’ in this.”
“Go get a trash bag.”
“Where?”
“Come on,” Gowrie said, the big motor idling. He walked straight on into the Citizens Bank Building, bigger than shit. He strolled right up to the windows to the only teller working and grabbed her by the back of the neck. “Give it up.”
He wheeled the gun around to a couple men and a big woman sitting at desks with computers and said, “Y’all come on over and join us. Anyone does something that doesn’t sit well and I’ll blow this woman’s goddamn head off. Hands behind your heads. Hell, you got it. You got it.”
The office people walked over slow and easy, Gowrie pointing to the floor, where they got down on their knees and laced their hands over their heads. The office looked like it hadn’t changed a thing in about thirty years, with old-timey wood paneling and green vinyl furniture. A picture of a smiling black woman promised FREE CHECKING!
Ditto just stood there—waiting any second for someone to bust in the door and start shooting—and glanced up to a corner and saw a security camera. He looked the other way and saw another. He looked right ahead of himself and saw another taking his damn picture.
Son of a bitch.
Maybe he could give some kind of sign, something that the police could see to know that he wasn’t an active participant in the matter. But as long as Gowrie walked right by that GMC Jimmy they stole and left Lena and her baby alone, he was fine with whatever came of this.
“Don’t give me a dye pack, neither,” Gowrie said, shoving a gun into the teller’s face. “Something explodes on me and I’ll come back to this town again and take a shit in y’all’s commode.”
The girl, young and doughy, wearing a good bit of makeup and gold jewelry, nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”
Yes, sir, to Gowrie.
“Give me that bag, dipshit.”
Ditto handed him the Little Mermaid bag, and the teller looked right past Gowrie to Ditto and gave him a confused look. Gowrie saw the exchange and said, “Fill her up.”
“How much?” she asked.
“Everything,” he said.
“It won’t fit.”
“Then get yourself another bag.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Stagg on the board here?” Gowrie asked while she worked.