The Ranger - Ace Atkins [94]
“Hello, big brother,” Caddy said.
Quinn looked up from the deck chair and nodded to her. She had cracked open a Budweiser, and had traded out the Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit for a sweater and jeans, a leather jacket with fringe like Annie Oakley once wore.
“Heard you been shootin’ up town,” Caddy said, laughing a little, sliding over the railing and taking a swig of beer. “I did warn you.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“To get Jason.”
“I’d prefer you left him.”
“You don’t even know him,” she said. “Call me protective, but I’d rather not see him shot.”
“He won’t get shot.”
“You can guarantee that?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Jesus,” she said. “I’m starting to see how Mom felt about Uncle Hamp. Just because you’re blood relation doesn’t mean you have to like the person.”
“How’s the job?” he asked.
“A job.”
“You get insurance?”
“Fuck you, Quinn,” Caddy said. “We have some girls who worked over in Columbus, and they said the Rangers practically lived at those bars. Don’t cast stones.”
“How much to head back to Memphis?”
“I’m not a whore,” she said.
“How much?”
“You don’t have enough for me to leave my boy,” she said, finishing the beer and throwing it against a pecan tree, breaking the glass, and turning inside the kitchen.
Quinn smoked some more and finally put out the cigar.
A car started and left.
Quinn walked around the house, spotting his mother sitting in front of the television with a wineglass, her face drained of any expression.
He clicked off the lights and everything was silent, only the gentle hum of the refrigerator.
He made coffee and sat on the porch for most of the night, smoking down two more sticks and walking out to Ithaca Road and shooting the shit with Leonard till the sun came up. As he headed up the drive from the patrol car, he absently picked up a toy truck and placed it under his arm, thinking how toys like that can really take a beating in the elements.
32
Quinn heard stirring in the kitchen and wandered in, kissing his mother’s cheek as she fried bacon, and poured himself a cup of coffee, his fourth. He leaned against the counter, the house feeling even more empty in the daylight, and he knew she felt it more than he could. Quinn searched for something to say. He drank the coffee while she cracked a couple of eggs and served him at the table. “You put new wallpaper in here?” he asked.
“You like it?”
“It’s pink poodles.”
“It’s the same wallpaper Elvis used in Graceland for Gladys.”
“You headed up to Memphis for his birthday?” Quinn asked, never understanding her devotion to the King but knowing it made her happy, brought her some peace.
“Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I? You packed?”
He ate and nodded. “I don’t like it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “The only thing good about being the sheriff’s sister is that I get no shortage of support. Your uncle gave Wesley a job when Wesley couldn’t get a job picking up trash.”
Quinn smiled. “I’m sorry about Jason.”
“He’ll be back.”
“Can’t be good for him.”
“She’s trying,” she said. “Don’t be so tough.”
Quinn took his coffee mug and looked out the front window, spotting Leonard bracing himself on the door of the patrol car talking to Wesley Ruth, who’d pulled in ahead of him. Wesley looked like a giant next to Leonard, thick chest and fat forearms, a big grin on his face. Aside from his bulging stomach, Wesley still held himself like a pro athlete.
Quinn let the curtain go and told his mother he’d be back a little later.
“Where you headed?”
“I wanted to lock up the farmhouse and close the gate,” he said. “Check on Hondo again.”
She nodded, both of them knowing that dog was dead, but it was at least something final he could do for his uncle. Maybe he’d see some buzzards circling around the property and he could bury the dog.
“If I don’t find him,” he said, “don’t go out there alone.”
“I promise.”
“And I’m going to get you an attorney to fight Stagg,” Quinn said. “We’ll keep that up. Right?”
Johnny Stagg opened up the cattle gate to Judge Blanton’s place