The Ranger - Ace Atkins [47]
“Who’s he?” Quinn asked.
“Mr. Lamar, come down from Memphis. He’s an attorney.” Mr. Lamar kept his chair and nodded to Quinn, smiling as if all this was polite as hell. The suit he wore wasn’t the kind you saw men wearing at the Sunday service, heavy wool and pin-striped, a perfect cut. He estimated the man’s watch cost about five grand.
“Just why do you want that old farm so much?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t want you to take this personal,” Stagg said. “I got to look after my accounts. I’m so very sorry about your uncle, but business don’t stop.”
“Is that why you sent those men over to our farm the other night?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, son.”
“Of course.”
“Let’s just have lunch,” Blanton said. “We can talk business over in my office later.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Hold on, now,” Stagg said.
“I see those shitbags on my property again and I’m in my legal right to shoot every one.”
Stagg took a deep breath, smiling and shaking his head with a tired understanding of the world. “I know you’re not a big fan of this town,” Stagg said. “I figured that’s why you never came back. This stuff only ties you down.”
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know’d you hadn’t been home in six years.”
“Been a little busy.”
“To see your momma?”
“I’ve seen my mother plenty since I’ve been away.”
“But you hadn’t come home,” Stagg said. “You ain’t a lot different from your daddy out in California, doin’ anything you can to crawl free of this town. You got it written all over your face that you’re too good for this place. Quinn Colson ain’t nobody’s redneck.”
Quinn stood there over the table laden down with hot food as Javier brought out a round of frosty Mexican beers. “This is a waste of my time,” Quinn said. “Thank you, Judge.”
“Hold on,” Stagg said, scrambling to his feet and reaching for the upper part of Quinn’s arm to stop him from leaving. “I’m doing this as a favor to the judge and your momma. Mr. Lamar come all the way down here to file a lien, and I told him you were a reasonable man and that we could work this thing out over lunch. Sit down. We don’t want this goin’ in no court.”
“I’m not hungry,” Quinn said. “And you can remove your hand, Johnny.”
“Come on,” Stagg said, letting go and smiling a big jack-o’-lantern grin with his veneered teeth. “We don’t have to talk business. Right? Just a friendly lunch. You check out that offer and you’ll see it’s on the level.”
“Johnny, you’re so crooked you probably pay this fella here to help you screw on your pants every morning.”
Lamar shifted in his chair, straightened his red tie, and raised his eyebrows at Judge Blanton, giving a sly little smile about what he’d just witnessed at this civil meeting.
“See you, Judge,” Quinn said, and walked out of the restaurant.
He was in the lot and opening the door to the old Ford when Blanton walked up on him and said: “It’s a fair deal.”
“Not even half the land value?”
“Quinn, why do you want that burden?” Blanton said. “I’m working for you and I’ll do what you say. A little personal advice? Walk away with some money in your pocket.”
“That land’s been in my family since 1895.”
“The offer may not be generous, but it’s fair. If that fella Lamar in there pushes it, you won’t have nothing. He’s the kind that makes five hundred an hour. You might even owe some.”
“I’d rather burn it down.”
Blanton looked out on the downtown Square and reached into his coat pocket for an old gold timepiece. He fiddled with it in his left hand, winding it up, before turning back to Quinn and giving a generous smile. “Okay. I’ll fight them.”
“Good.”
“But you need to understand the odds.”
“I do.”
“You could lose everything.”
“At least make that son of a bitch work for it.”
“Hamp dumped this on you.”
“I’ll finish it.”
“Damn, you are Hamp Beckett’s nephew to a T.”
“I appreciate you saying that, Judge.”
Quinn smiled. The old man smiled back and patted Quinn’s shoulder, before walking back inside the El Dorado.