The Ranger - Ace Atkins [90]
“You eat when you can.”
“I’d be sick to my stomach,” she said, whispering.
“I’ve seen worse,” Quinn said. “You done with that?”
Quinn sliced the biscuits, adding his ham, and drank some coffee, signaling to the waitress for a fill-up. He hadn’t slept in a while, but the lack of sleep really didn’t bother him. He went nearly a week without regular sleep when they took Haditha Dam back in ’03. Those mortars kept pounding for nearly four days, driving his whole company nuts, while they called in air strikes and waited for reinforcements.
“How ’bout y’all get out of town for a little bit,” Quinn said. “Just a couple days.”
“You better worry about yourself,” his mom said.
“Those deputies still watching the house?”
“It’s just George and Leonard,” she said. “Last night Leonard came in and watched the television with us. He’s a nice fella. He’s getting married next year. Really nice girl from Columbus, owns her own hair salon.”
“So he watched television with you?”
“They show General Hospital repeats late at night.”
The bell above the diner door jingled, and Wesley Ruth walked in, looking about ten years older, unshaved, but dressed in his official sheriff’s uniform and an official ball cap reading TCSO. He sat his big frame down at the table without being asked and before Mary even got close said, “Coffee.”
“How’d it go?”
“Hell of a thing when a crime scene is moved about forty miles.”
“But he died at the gas station.”
“I think I’ll take Jason outside,” Jean said, lifting Jason from the high chair and putting him over her shoulder, looking away from the men, strolling around and showing him all those great photos of Quinn as a boy and his grandfather as a semifamous stuntman.
“Did your dad really work on Billy Jack?” Wesley asked.
“He was one of the bad guys.”
“I love that movie,” Wesley Ruth said. “You know, ole Tom Laughlin learned hapkido from Han Bong-Soo himself. You know, the Father of Hapkido?”
Quinn nodded.
“Don’t act like you don’t know these folks,” Wesley said. “Y’all train in that stuff, don’t you?”
“Mainly jujitsu.”
“That’s all a lot of joint locks and throws and all that. You mind showing me sometime?”
“Wesley, I need some more folks at my mother’s house.”
“George was there this morning.”
“And Leonard sat his fat ass on the couch watching soap operas with them last night. That doesn’t give me much comfort.”
Wesley nodded. “We’re a little shorthanded.”
“Heard you got people coming in.”
“MBI is sendin’ down half a dozen men today,” Wesley said, craning his neck, searching for Mary and his damn coffee. “We’re gonna arrest Gowrie this afternoon.”
“Even without Lena and that boy as witnesses?”
“Lillie heard enough to pull him in.”
“I want to go.”
“No way.” Wesley shook his head. “These are state men, and it’s all got to go by the rules or some liberal lawyer will tear us a new asshole. That boy Gowrie has lost his damn shit, and if he’s not careful, I’m gonna punch his ticket.”
“How many men?” Quinn asked.
“Six,” Wesley said. “Plus George and Leonard. Maybe I can get Lillie to watch your mother and that boy.”
“My nephew,” Quinn said. “And I got it.”
Mary brought Wesley’s coffee, and he blew across the lip of the cup and took a sip, wiping his mouth. “That girl and the kid won’t get far. No offense, but I don’t think that ole truck of yours will make it. His name is Peter Francis, by the way. What’d you call him? Ditto?”
“Gowrie won’t go easy.”
“They never do.”
“How many gun battles you been in, Wesley?”
“Law enforcement isn’t like being in the Army, Quinn,” Wesley said. “Y’all get to mow down towelheads with M4s. We got to have probable cause. You gonna eat that ham biscuit?”
“You eat it.”
Quinn got up and peeled off the money for the ticket. Wesley stuffed some biscuit in his mouth and took a sip of coffee before he spoke. “Where you going?”
“I’m sitting with my family till you bring him in.”
“How hard can it be? You and Boom could’ve taken them all out yesterday.”
“How do you know that?”
“Thing about Jericho is everyone knows what’s