The Ranger - Ace Atkins [82]
Quinn hadn’t gone two steps out of the courthouse when a sheriff’s cruiser pulled in front of him and Wesley Ruth climbed out and whistled.
“How ’bout a ride?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” Quinn said. “I have my truck.”
“Not a request.”
Quinn stopped and nodded. He walked around to the passenger seat and climbed in, and said, “Where to?”
“Let’s ride and talk.”
“You mind stopping for coffee?”
“No, Quinn,” Wesley said. “I don’t mind a bit.”
“So this is when you tell me to lay off,” Quinn said.
“Pretty much.”
“What have I done?”
“There was some serious shooting going on last night on your uncle’s land,” Wesley said. “Wildlife and Fisheries got a complaint that someone was hunting deer with automatic weapons. They came out to see you and you weren’t there, so they put in a call to me. You want to tell me what went on last night?”
Quinn shrugged. “Is my hunting license expired?”
“We also got five different reports of shooting goin’ on all around this county,” Wesley said. “Someone saw a one-armed black male and a white male accomplice. Guess who I just pulled in?”
“I have no idea.”
“He won’t talk,” Wesley said. “Pretends he’s never heard the name Quinn Colson. Seems like all the victims here are shitbag drug dealers, three of ’em with out-of-state driver’s licenses, all part of Gowrie’s crew. None of them will report a thing. Listen, man, I’m sorry about your barn and cattle. We’ll get that son of a bitch for what he did. You got to believe there is no one that wants that turd flushed more than me. But you could’ve killed someone. I spoke to one fella this morning who said life was great while his missing thumb was in the freezer.”
“You want to search my house?”
“How long you got till you report back for duty?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Would you take offense if I asked you to leave early?” Wesley said.
“I might.”
Wesley shook his head, taking off his ball cap and blowing out a breath, before finding a drive where he could stop and turn back around to town. “You sure know how to push a friendship.”
“You said you were going to stop for coffee,” Quinn said.
“I suppose I’m wasting my breath to ask what you and Sam Bishop were talking about?”
“I figure you’ll ask him when you drop me off.”
“I guess you’re dead set on making me a bad guy,” Wesley said with a slight smile. “You ever think that I’m just trying to look out for a friend and do my job at the same time? You put me in a hell of a situation.”
Most of the lunch crowd at Varner’s store had cleared by the time Quinn showed up. Old Mr. Varner was working the register, selling cigarettes, Coca-Cola, and gas, while Judge Blanton finished off his plate of barbecue and beans and read the Tibbehah Monitor. He looked up and told Quinn to take a seat, and Quinn removed his cap and stood across the red-and-white oilcloth from him. “Figured you’d be packing up by now. Sit down.”
“I was at Sam Bishop’s office,” Quinn said. “You want to tell me more about my uncle’s other property?”
“I don’t know what Johnny’s gonna file on the lien,” Blanton said, scraping up a mouthful of beans. “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”
“How ’bout you? You gonna sell your piece?”
“I’ve got a lot of land, Quinn.”
“But only one parcel next to Highway 45,” Quinn said. “Without those pieces, Stagg would be landlocked.”
“Doesn’t mean anything now,” Blanton said. “Stagg’s project is dead. Those leases would’ve only happened if they started construction.”
“Would’ve guaranteed y’all a seat at the table. Full partners with Stagg.”
“He needed our parcels. We would have been fools not to want in.”
“I can’t believe you’d throw in with that piece of shit.”
Blanton pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair. He took a deep breath as if to calm himself and nodded before he spoke. “You think because we invested in this project that makes me and your uncle corrupt? I don’t know anyone in this county who wouldn’t have wanted in. We saw an opportunity