The Ranger - Ace Atkins [65]
“You’ve done that?”
“Sure.”
“With bullets flying?”
“Something like that.”
“I had to carry my ex-husband from the barstool to the car many a night.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“You never asked.”
“Someone I know?”
“Lord, I hope not.”
They sat across from each other in the back booth of the Fillin’ Station diner. Quinn drank black coffee and smoked a cigar, a nice perk of being in a town where smoking wasn’t outlawed. He’d eaten breakfast, still feeling like you should eat when you get a chance, still wearing his hunting camos from a few hours before. Of course everyone else sitting in the Fillin’ Station at nine a.m. on a Monday morning was dressed for hunting. An entire family, mother, daddy, and a little boy, dressed in identical camo getups, sat at a table by the front door. You got your hunting in before work or school.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” she asked.
“Gowrie’s not worth it.”
“When we got the call, about what had happened, I figured we’d be cleaning up bodies.”
“The situation definitely presented itself.”
“I went down with two other deputies this morning. We arrested Gowrie for pulling that gun on Luke.”
“He still in jail?”
“He’ll be out by noon,” she said. “His lawyer got all charges dropped.”
“Come again?”
“Luke Stevens seems to have seen things different than you.”
Mary, the waitress, came over and filled their cups, asking them if they had had a fine weekend. And both Lillie and Quinn looked up at her and smiled, saying it was pleasant, all things considered. She touched Quinn’s shoulder with her weathered hand and squeezed, saying, “We appreciate you.”
“Don’t you need to sleep?” Lillie asked when Mary walked away.
“I’m not tired.”
“You stayed up all night.”
Quinn shrugged. “What exactly did Luke say?”
“He didn’t remember a gun being pulled on him.”
“I saw him,” Quinn said. “Gowrie hammered the barrel of a Glock between Luke’s eyes to make him pay attention.”
“Lawyer got a signed statement from Luke.”
“How does a man like Gowrie get a damn lawyer?”
“Anyone with money can get a lawyer. And this guy is high-dollar. Came down from Memphis.”
“Johnny Stagg has a high-dollar attorney from Memphis,” Quinn said. “What’s his name?”
“I think his name is Lamar,” Lillie said. “His suit probably cost more than I make in a month.”
“Yep.”
“He and Stagg have the same lawyer?”
Quinn nodded. He drank some coffee, smoked the cigar, and watched the camo family get up from the table, the father peeling off a few bucks for Mary, and heading back out to the deer stand.
“I’d like to talk to the girl,” Quinn said. “She’ll have a different story.”
“Her name is Lena,” she said. “Found out the father of that baby is a boy we have staying at the county bed-and-breakfast. His name’s Charley Booth.”
“You ask him about Gowrie?”
“He wouldn’t say shit if his mouth was full of it.”
“What did he do?”
“Possession of meth. Intent to sell.”
“You think Lena will go back to their camp?”
Lillie nodded slow, leaning back and resting her arm across the edge of the seat. “I guess that depends on where Booth winds up.”
“What’s he like?”
“A real prize. Cracker Jack material.”
Across the town Square, through the gazebo and around the veterans’ memorial, Quinn spotted a group of five men loitering around an old pickup truck with its fat dual exhausts thundering. It was the truck with the back window painted with the face of an evil clown, green hair and bloodshot eyes, death metal screaming on the stereo.
Lillie walked next to Quinn, headed back to her Cherokee, as he watched Gowrie slide around the truck and grab hold of the neck of a skinny boy with jug ears like a brother. He wore a pair of calf-length blue jeans, a chain hanging from his waist, and a baseball cap cocked on his head.
“Charley Booth,” Lillie said.
Gowrie hugged the kid and patted his back.
Lillie got into her Cherokee and pulled the seat belt across her and cranked the engine, Quinn tossing his cigar and climbing in before she backed out. She reached over and flipped on the