The Broken Places

by Ace Atkins

  Quinn had the usual conversation with her, talking about it being too wet to till the garden yet and what Mary Alice planned to plant this year: some kind of German heirloom tomatoes. He finally made his way back to his office, where he hung up his coat and ball cap. The same Beretta 9mm he’d worn in numerous tours of Iraq and Afghanistan with the 3rd Batt of the 75th Regiment perched on his leather belt.

  After a few new reports, he made his way back to the reception area and refilled his coffee, walking back to his office to find his chief deputy Lillie Virgil sitting in his lone visitor’s chair, tilted back, boots on his desk, and taking a puff of his cigar.

  “How the hell do you smoke these things every day?” Lillie said, letting out a long stream of smoke and passing it back to Quinn. “Tastes like a dog turd to me.”

  “You ever smoke a dog turd, Lillie?” Quinn said.

  “How’d your meeting with Ophelia Bundren go this morning?”

  Quinn sat down behind his desk and propped up his boots as well on the desk that had been his late Uncle Hamp’s when Hamp had been sheriff for nearly thirty years. The desk was beaten to hell and badly in need of repair, but Quinn liked the common history of it.

  “Who told you?” Quinn said.

  “I saw your truck and I saw her car.”

  “Meeting went the same as it always does.”

  “I feel for her,” Lillie said. “I really do, but she’s driving herself batshit insane with this. She needs to see a shrink or it’s going to drive her to a room in Whitfield.”

  “I don’t know if I’d be much different,” Quinn said.

  “How long had you been gone when Adelaide was killed?”

  “I was just at Fort Benning for Ranger school,” Quinn said. “My mom sent me the newspaper clips. I liked Adelaide.”

  “I would have never imagined them as twins,” Lillie said. “Adelaide had fair skin and blond hair; Ophelia still looks like that girl from The Addams Family to me.”

  “Wednesday,” Quinn said. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a few times.”

  “That’s her,” Lillie said. “When I first saw you two together, I was thinking that maybe you were getting a piece. But I never could see Wednesday Addams out at the Colson farm, picking tomatoes and eating deer meat you shot. Relieved to know it was all professional.”

  “I happen to find her very attractive.”

  Lillie leaned forward and picked up Quinn’s cigar from the ashtray, took another puff, and set it back. “Yep,” she said. “You would.”

  “I read back through the original files,” Quinn said. “And it looks like there wasn’t enough of Adelaide to make more than manslaughter. How’d they prosecute for murder?”

  “The Bundrens said Dixon had been beating the shit out of her for more than a year,” Lillie said. “Adelaide and Dixon had shared an old house over in Dogtown. The family said he ran her over in a rage and then sat on the bed of his truck while what was left of her got run over by passing cars. Family said they had witnesses who said Dixon sat there drinking Busch from the case and smiling while their daughter got hit again and again.”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “Most evidence was circumstantial,” Lillie said. “Your uncle found where Dixon had blocked in Adelaide’s car with his truck. Her car had been rammed into their carport, knocking the crap out of a support beam. There wasn’t much left of her, but they found her in her pajamas without any shoes. Your uncle worked with the prosecutors in Oxford to say she was running for her life, presenting two witnesses to show prior abuse. After a few weeks, Hamp found this fella who drove a logging truck who saw Dixon standing on the road, unfazed by the mess that had been his girlfriend. The truck driver thought someone had hit a deer.”

  “Ophelia believes there is more to the pardon than our outgoing governor believing in the power of redemption.”

  “You think?” Lillie said, dropping her boots to the floor. “But shit, what the hell could a shitbag like Jamey Dixon have to offer the governor? He’s got no money, no sense, and has reentered society as a two-bit preacher.”

  “You know Caddy is one of his flock?”

  “And she’s fucking him, too,” Lillie said. “Damn, Quinn. You need to plug in a little bit more to what’s going on in the county.”

  “Trust me, I’m well aware of Caddy’s love of Jamey Dixon and Jesus Christ.”

  “Was Ophelia trying to warn you?”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s an authentic weirdo, but smart.”

  “Yep.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You know Caddy,” Quinn said. “There isn’t shit I can do. I think she’s planning on bringing him to dinner tonight at Momma’s house.”

  Lillie laughed.

  “I’d pay to see that, Quinn,” Lillie said. “Can I please come? I want to hear you say, ‘Pass the peas, dickhead.’”

  “I’ll be civil.”

  “Yeah, that was the motto of all the Rangers I’ve read about,” she said. “Jump out of airplanes, pull your gun, and be civil.”

  “I’ll be polite.” Quinn tapped the ash of his cigar.

  “Can I come?” Lillie asked. “What’s Jean making tonight?”

  “Fried chicken. And no.”

  “What a shame,” Lillie said. “I do love me some of Miss Jean’s fried chicken.”

  Esau and Bones made it all the way to Olive Branch and a Pilot truck stop off Highway 78. They could blend in with the truckers and travelers, who did not give the two scruffy, stinky men a sideways glance. But just to make sure, Bones had parked the slick Chevelle on the far side of the truck stop, by the diesel pumps. Besides the loaded .357, the muscle car, and four sausage biscuits, Esau had taken the little redneck’s wallet, two hundred dollars and some change, and a Visa card. The truck stop was one of those places they call a travel plaza, with a restaurant, a convenience store, a Western-wear shop, and a dozen showers by a trucker rest area. They bought some fresh T-shirts, stiff flannel shirts, a couple pairs of Wranglers and work boots. They paid cash, saving the card for where nobody would be watching.

  They bought soap and shaving cream and razors, too. Esau decided to leave the red beard growth, knowing his prison mug showed him with a clean face. Bones shaved off everything but a thin, smart-ass mustache. And thirty minutes later they met back at the trucker room, where a bunch of fat guys drank coffee and farted, watching a flickering television playing the Maury Povich show.

  “Leave the car,” Esau said.

  “I love that car.”

  “But they got to know.”

  Bones looked up at the wall clock, which showed it was two hours since they’d hightailed it from the trailer. He shrugged and thought on it. “Couple more hours.”

  “Couple more hours get us kilt.”

  “This ain’t the place.”

  Esau looked through the glass window into the truck stop store and bustling restaurant. If they were going to steal another car, they sure as hell needed a spot with fewer witnesses. Of course, he could do it all cool and easy, pointing a .357 in someone’s ribs, have him ride down the road with them, and then keep him in the trunk until they were done with the car.

  “Two more hours,” Bones said. “I want to see what that bitch can do.”

  “Until we find something else.”

  Bones nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “How long till Jericho?”

  “About a hundred miles, I figure.”

  Bones nodded. “Damn, been a long time. Think we can still find it?”

  “Only thing I think about lying on my back at night is Becky’s nekkid body and that little bass pond. I think I’ll find both.”

  “You call her?”

  “When we slow things,” Esau said. “When we ready to get our shit together.”

  “Nice shirt,” Bones said.

  Esau looked down at his chest, not even sure what was on the T-shirt besides it being yellow. It was a cartoon of a hunter chasing a woman in a bikini and somet
hing about WHITE TAIL FEVER.

  “Should have given that to me.”

  “That would get you noticed.”

  “And I got stuck with a fucking shirt that says WELCOME TO THE MAGNOLIA STATE,” Bones said. “Now, how’s that any fun?”

  “You get to drive that car.”

  “I’ll fill her up and then let’s roll to Jericho,” Bones said. “You thinking on what we gonna do when we get that money?”

  Esau nodded. “I think we divvy it up and then we split up. I think us traveling separate is the way to go. Me and Becky get you settled and straight before we do.”

  “She must be some woman,” Bones said. “Stay with you while you in Parchman for seven years. ’Least you got some conjugation visits.”

  “Sure,” Esau said, smirking. “We did a lot of that conjugating.”

  “Hell, you know what I meant.”

  Esau nodded, the trucker sitting next to him snoring so loud it sounded like a freight train. A teenage girl on the television was talking about how she had been impregnated by one of her eight cousins. Esau shook his head at how the world was just as sorry as he’d left it.

  • • •

  They saved a chair for Jamey Dixon even though he didn’t show at Jean Colson’s Wednesday dinner. Quinn was relieved that he could actually sit down and enjoy the meal his mother cooked. Fried chicken, collard greens, and cornbread. Had Dixon been there, he would have taken his meal to go and eaten back at the sheriff’s office. If Caddy wanted to involve a convicted murderer in her life, that was up to her. But Quinn didn’t have to break bread with him.

  Tonight it was just Caddy and Jason, his mom, and Boom. Boom, Quinn’s oldest friend, had known him all his life, running rabbits and deer, fishing every creek, pond, and lake in Tibbehah County. Boom was a large black man and missing his right arm from an injury in Iraq when his convoy hit an IED outside Fallujah. But some time back when Quinn needed help rousting some methhead white supremacists from town, he learned Boom could still shoot just fine.

  “Still can’t get used to that thing,” Boom said, removing his prosthetic arm and setting it on the floor. “Works decent for tools. I need it. But hell, I don’t need it to eat a piece of chicken.”

  “Can I see it?” Jason said.

  “Not now,” Caddy said.

  “Kid can see it,” Boom said, picking it up off the floor and carrying it around to Jason. To a child almost five years old, a high-tech prosthetic hand was pretty cool.

  “You be careful,” Jean said. “Hear me?”

  “He can’t break it, Mrs. Colson,” Boom said, taking a seat back at the end of the table. “Thing is tough as hell. I can hold a wrench or a screwdriver on an engine block. For once, the VA actually came through. A near miracle they didn’t screw this up.”

  Caddy seemed too busy to sit down, shuffling from the kitchen to the table to refill glasses and plates. This was the new Caddy, the attentive Caddy, who wanted to show off her responsibility. Before she sat down, she cleared the empty plate and silverware from where Dixon would have sat.

  Quinn looked to Boom. Boom raised his eyebrows. Caddy sat with a great whoosh of breath. “You know Jamey said he’s almost got the water line finished,” Caddy said. “He’s really sorry he couldn’t make it.”

  Quinn stayed silent, reached for another chicken breast, and started eating. Jason kept on playing with Boom’s arm and hand, separating out the fingers and then shaking the mechanical hand in his with a giggle.

  “You know about this band Jamey has coming in from Nashville?” Caddy said. “We put out a bunch of posters.”

  At the end of the table, Boom continued to eat. Jean poured some more wine, this being Jean’s third glass from the refrigerated box of chardonnay.

  “You know, Momma, the band’s guitar player once sat in with Elvis,” Caddy said.

  “What’s his name?” Jean said.

  “I don’t recall,” Caddy said. “Jamey will know. I think he only played on Elvis’s final album. That one he was recording at Graceland because he hated to leave the house.”

  “Sad times,” Jean said. “So sad. All those backstabbers mooching off him. He bought them Cadillacs and they broke his heart.”

  Jean had grown a little heavier since Quinn had left for the Army, but she still had the red hair and the smoky voice and was popular among widowers and divorced men in Jericho. Quinn ran criminal checks on several when they started to call. The newest owned the Ford dealership in town and had hair plugs and halitosis.

  Quinn kept eating and let the conversation move over him and on across the table. Boom would eye him every so often, knowing his buddy was itching to say something about Dixon but was somehow keeping his cool. Quinn nodded back at Boom, the sleeve of Boom’s flannel shirt pinned up to the elbow, as he switched from fork to tea glass with great speed.

  “This band, they call themselves Manna, became interested in Jamey’s story,” Caddy said. “You know, about him being wrongly accused?”

  Boom stopped chewing. Quinn took a deep breath and wiped his mouth. “Is that a fact?” he said. “I thought he was just pardoned.”

  Jean kicked Quinn under the table. Quinn only shrugged. Jean couldn’t kick that hard.

  “They didn’t even want gas money for their drive,” Caddy said. “It was important for all of them to play the first service at The River.”

  “Hmm,” Quinn said.

  “So you’ll be there?”

  “Nope,” Quinn said.

  “Why?” Caddy said.

  “I have my own church,” Quinn said. “You remember Calvary Methodist where we grew up? Our pastor, Miss Rebecca?”

  “I never left our church,” she said. “I’m still a member. I’m also a member of Jamey’s church, too, because I believe in what he’s trying to do. He’s one of the few folks who actually cares about the future of this screwed-up place and actually seeks out the misfits and the forgotten.”

  “I can’t recall anyone being excluded at Calvary,” Quinn said.

  Again, Jean kicked him under the table, this time a little harder, tipping the rim of her wineglass at him. Jason had put down Boom’s arm and was now eating a very large piece of cornbread. Caddy smiled and reached her arm around her son. Quinn had to admit Caddy looked happier and healthier than he had seen her in some time. Her pale skin had the healthy flush of working outdoors, and she was dressed in a simple flannel cowboy shirt and blue jeans. No jewelry. Very little makeup. She pretty much looked like his kid sister.

  And hell, Jason was happy to have her home. No matter what Jean and Quinn did, there was no substitute for his mother.

  “I want all y’all to get to know the real Jamey, not just the rumors and gossip,” Caddy said.

  “Being sent to Parchman prison isn’t rumor and gossip,” Quinn said. “He was convicted by a jury and sentenced by a judge.”

  “Would anyone like some pepper sauce?” Jean asked.

  Boom raised his fork and nodded. Boom kept his head down as he ate, knowing where this was going, and probably enjoying the waiting before the fireworks. Jean disappeared into the kitchen. Jason asked to be excused to go watch cartoons; these days he was into something called Beyblade, a Japanese show.

  “You weren’t here when it happened,” Caddy said as soon as Jason was out of earshot. “You never knew how our uncle railroaded him because of his friendship with Judge Blanton. I feel for their whole family. But Judge Blanton could never believe that his granddaughter was an absolute mess and addicted to crack.”

  Quinn put down his chicken bones and pushed back the china plate. The plate came from Jean’s good china with the blue flowers that had belonged to their grandmother. “I read Dixon’s whole file, and to be honest, I’m worried about you and Jason being in his company.”

  “Uncle Hamp wrote that mess to give the family an excuse,” she said. “He thought Jamey was a troublemaker and didn’t like him. He wanted him gone.”

  Jean emerged from the kitchen holding
a chocolate pie with the whipped cream piled about three inches high. She set the pie closer to Boom and began to serve him a generous slice.

  “This is why we friends, Quinn,” Boom said. “Ain’t nobody makes pie like this. You whip that cream, too?”

  Jean smiled and set a fresh fork beside Boom’s plate.

  She served Caddy, then Quinn, and dished out a final piece for Jason. She brought it to him in the living room, where there were sounds of rockets and exploding spaceships. Quinn dug into the pie and was thankful for the change in conversation. After he helped with the dishes, he’d have to roll back into duty and stay on until dawn. He’d have his mother fill up his thermos with coffee before he left.

  “Can I ask you something, Quinn?” Caddy said.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you seeing Ophelia Bundren?” Caddy said.

  Quinn kept chewing but raised his eyebrows. He took another bite of pie, not answering and not wanting to.

  “There’s nothing wrong with it, Quinn,” Caddy said. “She’s beautiful and smart. Beautiful eyes. I’ve always liked her a lot. Maybe even better than Anna Lee.”

  Boom glanced up at Quinn and then quickly away. Quinn kept eating.

  “Have you been by to see Anna Lee since she had the baby?”

  “I see her at church,” Quinn said. “Sometimes downtown. Why?”

  “She wasn’t right for you, Quinn,” Caddy said. “Be glad she married Luke before you came home. I never wanted to tell you this, but I didn’t like you with her. Now, Ophelia is different. I can see how you two would fit.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that she doesn’t care at all for Jamey Dixon?”

  Caddy shook her head, the ponytail swatting back and forth. “People have said the same or worse about me,” she said. “I had to deal with a lot when I decided to move back from Memphis. The only thing that was different is that what they were saying was pretty much true. I was all those things. Jamey just has to live with the blame. Even if he drove Adelaide to what happened, he’s paid for seven years. Can you imagine living seven years in some kind of hell?”