The Innocents by Ace Atkins

old stainless Zippo he’d had for years. Busted and dented, the lighter had made it through four tours of Vietnam before being handed over to Quinn for thirteen in Iraq and Afghanistan. He lit Boom’s cigar and then his own, filling the space with the rich tobacco smell. All the movements and sounds in the garage amplified with a deep echo.
    “Heard about that thing at your farm,” Boom said, puffing on the cigar, the end starting to glow bright orange. “D. J. Norwood is one crazy son of a bitch. Almost as bad as his entire worthless family.”
    “I think Lillie might’ve knocked some sense into him.”
    “She’d have to hit him pretty damn hard.”
    “No idea what y’all are talking about,” Lillie said, reaching for Quinn’s cigar and taking a puff. “I practiced restraint with that shitbag. If I hadn’t, they’d have found his head in Eupora.”
    “Shit,” Boom said. “Let’s get the hell out of here and go get a beer.”
    Quinn nodded, looking to Lillie, a little surprised Boom was drinking again. The last time Quinn and Lillie caught him drinking, he’d nearly leveled an entire juke joint down in Sugar Ditch.
    “Don’t worry,” Boom said. “One beer. All a sheriff can be seen drinking. And all I can handle.”
    “Fine by me,” Quinn said. “Southern Star?”
    “Like we got somewhere else to go?” Lillie said.
    “Always the Booby Trap,” Quinn said, smiling.
    “Ain’t no more,” Boom said. “Hadn’t you heard? Woman bought it has gone high-class. It’s called Vienna’s or some shit.”
    “Fannie Hathcock spells class with a capital
K
,” Lillie said. “That’s one evil bitch, if you ask me.”
    “Come on,” Boom said. “We’ll get you up to speed on all this shit. I’ll shut down and meet y’all in town.”
    Lillie stood, still in green uniform, red scarf wrapping her neck. Some chatter heated up her police radio before she walked out the open mouth of the barn and into the lot. Quinn followed into the fading gold light, Lillie now talking on her cell phone, and then turning to him. “Sorry,” she said. “But I have to go.”
    Quinn looked to her and waited.
    “Some moron is robbing the Gas & Go up in Blackjack,” Lillie said. “We got Reggie Caruthers and Kenny headed up there now. I better head on.”
    “I’ll catch Boom later,” Quinn said. “Been a long while since we rode together.”
    “Sure,” Lillie said. “What could gowrong?”

6
    Q uinn had never met Sammi Khouraki but knew and liked his father, a tough old Syrian who used to work at Luther Varner’s Quick Mart. His dad was a surly little guy who chain-smoked and kept the local sports book before taking over a string of convenience stores. The old man had a thick accent, but Sammi talked like someone who’d grown up in Mississippi, country twang by way of the folks in Sugar Ditch. He wore a flat-brimmed baseball cap and a blue Memphis Grizzlies T-shirt. His face was a mess, bloodied lip and swollen-shut right eye. To hear Sammi tell it, he’d just been careless and walked into a wall.
    “Pretty fucking mean wall,” Lillie said.
    They all stood outside the Gas & Go, sun finally going down in Tibbehah County. Dust from the county road had kicked up, leaving a soft yellow haze in the fading gold light. Quinn leaned against Lillie’sCherokee as she interviewed Sammi, Reggie and Kenny already back on patrol. No money taken. A victim who wouldn’t press charges or even admit anything happened.
    “How about the security tapes?” Lillie asked.
    “Busted,” Sammi said.
    “That a fact . . .” Lillie said.
    “It is.” Sammi nodded. “We need to get that camera fixed.”
    “You wouldn’t have happened to have a run-in with any of the North Side Boys?” Lillie said.
    Sammi, fat lip and swollen eye, shook his head. “Never heard of ’em.”
    Quinn hadn’t said a word since they’d found Sammi outside, sitting next to the gas pumps with a bloody towel on his face. It was good to see