The Lost Ones

by Ace Atkins

  She nodded.

  “Finish those pancakes, it’s a long walk.”

  “Quinn?” Caddy asked.

  “It’s all going to be fine.”

  Quinn reached his arm around Caddy. He was very cold now without his jacket and he took some warmth from her as they watched the fire for a long time. She left her plate unfinished. He added more wood to the fire until there was a slow, even heat in the barn, woodsmoke catching the wind and scattering out into the rain. Every time he would move, she would call to him, and he’d return quickly by her side.

  “What if he comes back?” she asked.

  Quinn said that wasn’t going to happen.

  Caddy fell asleep some hours later, and he held her until morning. The rain clouds scattered, leaving a crisp blue day. She cried—hadn’t stopped crying, really—but she stood tough as he pointed west, that compass in her hand. He would walk south and catch the Natchez Trace, follow it as long as he could.

  He didn’t have plans much beyond that.

  Quinn tried to give her his .22, but she wouldn’t take it.

  “I packed you some cookies and pancakes we didn’t eat. OK?”

  Her little blond head was bowed as she walked away, step for step, and Quinn hoisted his pack on his shoulder. Down the long, winding fire road they’d followed with Porter, he saw a darkened figure in a suede rancher coat and slanted Stetson. The man whistled out for them both.

  Caddy turned. “It’s Uncle Hamp. It’s Uncle Hamp.”

  Quinn wanted to run away, but his legs felt lazy and wooden as his uncle came up on them out of breath. He looked to Caddy, set down on his knee, and studied the scratches and bruises on her little face. “What in the hell?”

  Caddy turned her head away from him.

  “Did he find you?” Uncle Hamp asked.

  Neither one of the children spoke.

  “Quinn?”

  “The son of a bitch is dead,” Quinn said. “He come after Caddy. I shot the bastard, and I’m glad I did it.”

  Uncle Hamp removed his hat and studied the cloudless sky. He picked up Caddy, still wearing Quinn’s oversized mackinaw, and walked with her over his shoulder, heading around in circle after circle. Hamp’s big hand on her back, soothing and comforting, wordless to Quinn but saying many words to his sister. When they looped back again, he set Caddy’s feet back on the ground.

  “He in there?” Uncle Hamp asked.

  Quinn nodded.

  “Can you find that old Indian mound?” Uncle Hamp said. “Down on the Trace?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You walk that way,” Hamp said. “Don’t talk to nobody.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll come for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quinn headed out on a narrow path, trod by deer.

  “And Quinn?”

  Quinn turned.

  “None of this ever happened,” Uncle Hamp said. “You got that? We all got to get straight on that.”

  “WHAT DID THE SHERIFF DO?” Boom asked.

  Quinn stopped his old truck outside the County Barn. He killed the engine, it continuing to knock a bit.

  “He buried Porter somewhere out in the forest,” Quinn said. “He never told me where. I tried to talk to him about it a few times, and he acted like nothing happened. He told Caddy the same thing. We were afraid if we did talk about it, something bad might happen. Might put me in jail or something.”

  “And you walked out of those big woods a hero,” Boom said.

  “I did get lost,” Quinn said. “Caddy had my compass. My uncle didn’t find me for another five days.”

  “Why didn’t your uncle just bring it all out?” Boom said. “After what that man did, nobody would blame you.”

  “He thought it shamed Caddy,” Quinn said. “He was a proud old man. He didn’t want anything to stain her. He and Aunt Halley never had children. He loved her very much.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yep.”

  “I won’t tell nobody,” Boom said.

  “We thought we were doing right by my uncle to leave it alone,” Quinn said. “It’s corroded her. How in the hell did we think it couldn’t have?”

  “Jean know?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wish we could go find that son of a bitch out in the woods and shoot him again.”

  “I don’t know what to do, man,” Quinn said. “I’ve always blamed myself for getting her into my shit. She wouldn’t have followed me out there if I hadn’t shot those deer and started that mess. I was always in trouble, doing stupid shit to show off.”

  “This man got off on hurting kids,” Boom said. “Hadn’t been you and Caddy, been someone else. It’s a sickness. You know? Man like that. Ain’t but one way to deal with it and you did that.”

  “I was ten.”

  “And did the right thing.”

  “I’ve been hard on her.”

  “’Cause you carry your own water and think she need to do the same.”

  “We’re not the same,” Quinn said. “That man broke her.”

  Boom nodded. They sat in the truck for a long while, leaves blowing past headlights shining onto the County Barn. The barn’s metal doors locked up tight with a chain. “I’m sorry, man,” Boom said. “I’m real sorry. What are you going to do now?”

  “It’s been a rough twenty-four hours,” Quinn said. “I don’t know. Shit.”

  “Come on,” Boom said. “Let’s take out this new vehicle for a spin. Fine by you? We don’t have to talk or nothing. Just ride around like we did when we was in high school.”

  Quinn nodded, and Boom opened up the barn with one hand and rolled back the doors.

  37

  DONNIE REACHED OUT TO BOBBY CAMPO IN MEMPHIS A LITTLE PAST midnight. He didn’t have a number but knew Campo owned all those shake joints in south Memphis near the airport and kept on calling ones until he found someone at Southern Belles who said they’d relay a message. Campo called him back maybe five minutes later and asked if he wanted to meet up for breakfast at a CK’s Coffee Shop right across the street from East High School. At five-thirty in the a.m., Campo was there as promised, sitting in a corner booth facing the window, adding some ketchup to a big mess of scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up as Donnie took a seat, only scooped the mess up into his mouth and chewed for a long time before he said, “You Mississippi people are going to give me a fucking heart attack.”

  “Does that mean I can’t get a cup of coffee?”

  Campo shrugged. He wore a bright red Ole Miss sweatshirt—advertising the school as The Harvard of the South—with a big gold Rolex on his wrist. He didn’t seem to take any notice of Donnie as Donnie made a little small talk with the waitress, trying to show all was cool and easy this morning, and ordered some biscuits and gravy with black coffee.

  “You see the Commercial Appeal?” Campo said, pushing across the A section. “Christ. Just what happened down in Union County? Are those your Mexicans?”

  “Ain’t my problem,” Donnie said just as the waitress returned. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “Where’s Stagg?”

  “He’s out.”

  “Because of Union County?”

  “He was out before that mess,” Donnie said. “He made his money. He’s more interested in making speeches for pancake suppers these days. I sometimes doubt his sincerity.”

  Campo nodded and ate some eggs. He drank some ice water, cubes rattling around in the glass, and studied Donnie’s face to see if he was making a joke.

  “I can’t help you,” Campo said. “Not now. Not after all this shit. Did I tell you my wife is speaking to the Feds now? I’m pretty sure she’s screwing them, too, pillow talk about what an asshole I am. You know what an asshole I am? I paid for sixty-five thousand in plastic surgery to get her tits and ass lifted. Me? I can get the best grade-A snatch outside an Ole Miss sorority house. But you think I fooled around on her? Not once. And I’m the one who’s living in a hotel by the airport with
his dick in his hand. This is the best meal I’ve had in three days.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The waitress slid Donnie’s biscuits and gravy in front of him. He started to dig in as Campo craned his head to watch a big black sedan pulling off Poplar. When an old woman and an old man climbed out of the car, he turned back to Donnie. “I feel like I can’t take a shit without being watched. I got high blood pressure and asthma. It’s gonna kill me.”

  Donnie scanned the story on the front page of the paper, reading how six men had been shot and eleven children had been recovered. The story said that Janet and Ramón were still wanted and the dead men had criminal records from Texas, possibly associated with the Zetas Cartel. There was a big photo of Janet’s and Ramón’s ugly mugs and a faraway photo of a woman deputy carrying a child. Donnie couldn’t tell from the angle but was pretty sure it was Lillie Virgil.

  “They get all the guns?” Campo asked after he’d scraped the plate clean.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Didn’t you say you had some of your own you were going to sell?” Campo asked. “Colts, just like the others?”

  “They got those, too.”

  “So you’re tapped out,” Campo said, tapping his index finger on the table. “And want to see if I’ll help out again.”

  “I can guarantee the same price.”

  “That was a fine price.”

  “You let me know where to find the rig, and I’ll drive it over the state line.”

  “Yourself?”

  “Yes, sir,” Donnie said. “I can drive any damn thing with wheels.”

  “You know it’s crazy to do business with me right now,” Campo said. “I’m a fucking leper. Even a creep like Johnny Stagg doesn’t want to be seen with me. That’s why he’s out. When someone like Stagg walks around you, that’s when you know you got problems.”

  “Who knows how Stagg thinks.”

  “Just how much do you know about ole Johnny?”

  “My daddy says he’s trouble.”

  “Your daddy is a smart man,” Campo said. He drank some more ice water. A neon sign down the street on Poplar clicked on, rotating clicks of light around a tire logo. “Stagg has owned that shithole county for nearly thirty years.”

  “He tell you about the new sheriff?”

  “Had trouble with the old one,” Campo said. “That didn’t last long.”

  “Old man killed himself.”

  Campo raised his eyebrows and threw back the empty glass, finding some ice cubes and crunching them with his back teeth. He stared at Donnie for a moment. “Is that what you think?”

  Donnie didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t call me again at the shake joints,” Campo said. “If I make this work, someone will call you. But you’re in luck. I could use the fucking money.”

  “I knew we were gonna be buds, Mr. Campo.”

  “You like Ole Miss football?”

  “Always been a State man myself,” Donnie said.

  “I invited Johnny Stagg to join me at my tent before the LSU game last year,” Campo said. “My guests thought he owned a funeral home or was a roadside preacher. He wouldn’t have been a bigger hit if he were a capuchin monkey. One woman handed him her empty plate with chicken bones and asked him to take care of it. Here the bastard drives all the way over from Tibbehah County, wearing his best sweater and loafers, and people still think he’s the hired help.”

  “Johnny Stagg.”

  “I don’t want you talking to him, either,” Campo said. “This is between us. If it worked for Stagg, he’d be just like my fucking wife and sell me out to the Feds. You see, they were in on this raid, too. Christ Almighty, I must be fucking nuts.”

  Donnie put out his hand to shake.

  Campo shook his head and reached for his wallet. “Never give the bastards anything like that to take a photo of. They’ll blow it up bigger than shit and present it at trial like it was painted by Da Vinci.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Campo set down his wet glass, dropped a twenty, and walked to the door. Donnie took his time with the biscuits and gravy. The neon light spun around and around that old tire sign as cars flew by on Poplar. Donnie drank his black coffee and thought of Luz. Damn if he couldn’t wait to tell her what he’d found out. Only a man in love could be such a dumbass.

  “THAT’S ONE GOOD-LOOKING TRUCK,” Dinah Brand said. “When did you get it?”

  “Last night.”

  “The old one was kind of growing on me,” she said. “Dents and all. It had a lot of charm.”

  “And two hundred fifty thousand miles with a bad transmission.”

  They stood in the middle of the sheriff’s office parking lot. Quinn opened the passenger door of the rebuilt Ford for Hondo, and he jumped inside. The dog moved over behind the wheel and looked out the window, panting.

  “He acts like he owns it,” Dinah said.

  “Hondo’s not a very good driver.”

  “Got some news,” Dinah said.

  “I thought maybe you just wanted lunch.”

  “Where have you been?” Dinah asked. “I’ve been waiting for an hour, talking to Lillie.”

  “She being any nicer?” Quinn asked.

  “She is,” Dinah said. “Kind of strange. I don’t know what to think.”

  “I believe you now have her respect.”

  “And she mine,” Dinah said, smiling. “You want to go inside? It’s cold as hell.”

  “What’s up?” Quinn asked. “Might get more privacy out here.”

  “Got IDs on all the folks from yesterday,” Dinah said. “You should’ve been faxed those this morning.”

  “Got ’em.”

  “And some more stuff I didn’t want to send.” Dinah looked down at the pavement and raised her eyes back to Quinn. “Most of those guns got traced back to a big shop outside Oklahoma City. We’re working on that.”

  “And the others?”

  “Property of the U.S. Army.”

  “Come again?”

  “That’s all we know right now,” Dinah said. “Showed up stolen from a base in Afghanistan.”

  “Which base?”

  “I’m just learning all this,” she said. “We’ll know more today.”

  “I was afraid of something like this.”

  “How’s that?” Dinah asked.

  “This is how the personal gets messed up with the professional.” Quinn leaned against his truck. He could hear Hondo jumping to the other side and panting against the glass. Quinn shook his head and looked to the ground.

  “Go ahead,” Dinah said. “OK?”

  “I’ve been working on some things here,” Quinn said. “I didn’t want to say anything because I still don’t know anything for sure. I just have some suspicions.”

  Dinah Brand was pretty good at setting her jaw. She stuck her hands inside a black raincoat and waited for Quinn to explain. She wore big tall galoshes with jeans tucked inside.

  “There’s a fella I know here in Jericho,” Quinn said. “He runs a gun shop.”

  “He have access to military weapons?”

  “Just got home from the Guard.”

  “OK,” she said. “But we’re talking about forty-six M4s.”

  “It could be done.”

  Hondo’s breath had fogged up the glass in the car. Kenny walked out to say hello, big smile on his face, but saw the toe-to-toe talk and took a quick turn to his patrol car. He waved with two fingers as he drove off.

  “OK,” she said. “That’s something. But I don’t see the big deal. You got gun dealers all over the place in Mississippi. What’s so bad about this guy?”

  “He’s not bad,” Quinn said. “In fact, he’s a friend.”

  “And.”

  “I just didn’t want to screw him if this was nothing,” Quinn said. “But after yesterday and all that happened, I had to tell you. Things have changed.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Donnie Varner,” Quinn said. “He was in the
National Guard. Just got back from Afghanistan. He was in the 223rd, which is basically a lot of construction work and truck driving. But there are a lot of guns floating around those bases. A company up in Hernando got caught stealing some a few years ago. It happens.”

  “OK.”

  Quinn took a breath. “Can we go have some lunch?”

  “You act like you want to tell me more.”

  “I’m sorry,” Quinn said. “I was trying to find out more on my own. I should have been more honest.”

  Dinah waited. She was still setting her jaw and switching the weight from one foot to another. She didn’t look very pleased and let the silences really play out.

  “I recognized a woman’s picture you showed me the other day,” Quinn said. “Her name was Laura something or another. I’ve seen her. She’s been here.”

  “With your pal?”

  “That’s not why I kept it from you,” Quinn said. “I wanted to find out more.”

  “That’s a big omission, Sheriff.”

  “I didn’t know you that well.”

  “And now you got into my pants, you feel better about cooperating?”

  “This is where the personal muddies things,” Quinn said. “Hell, that doesn’t have a damn bit to do with it.”

  “You had ample time to whisper into my ear while we were in bed,” Dinah said. “Who’s stupid now?”

  Dinah looked around the empty lot. She leaned in closer to Quinn, jaw clenched and speaking in a lowered tone. “You’re goddamn right you should have told me. Don’t you realize who these people are? We all could have been killed yesterday, and you knew that you had a local here working with them, supplying the guns.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Want to bet?” Dinah asked. “Damn it, Quinn. If she’s the one I’m thinking about, she’s in the company of one mean bastard, MS-13 gangbanger out of Texas named Alejandro Umana.”

  “And who’s he?”

  “The son of a bitch I’ve spent the last two years trying to catch,” Dinah said. “He operated a cell out of Galveston a few years ago and left a group of rivals headless in a ditch behind a Popeyes Chicken. Jesus Christ, you don’t know how bad these people are. Do you?”