a sore ass from the flat of his daddy’s hand. He didn’t talk for a long while, reaching for some Tabasco. “Heard you were over at the truck stop the other day,” Luther said.
“Damn, you can’t take a shit in this town without someone smellin’ it.”
“You got business with Stagg?” Luther asked.
“Just getting my piston greased.”
Luther nodded, but, god damn, that old coot knew. What’d he want, for Donnie to keep working a shift at the convenience store?
Luther said: “You can work for me some more. Pick up an extra shift.”
“I’m making money.”
Luther nodded again, scraping up some more on his plate, washing it down with some sweet tea. Donnie got up to buy a dollar beer and sat back down, his daddy’s eyes with that rheumy, faraway look that he always thought of as being on Da Nang time.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Donnie.”
“I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Sometimes I can’t sleep,” Luther said, “me being the one pushed you into the Guard.”
“Can’t drive a truck forever,” Donnie said. “Ain’t shit to do around here since the plant closed.”
Luther nodded, thinking the best thing about the VFW might’ve been the cold beer. They damn sure know how to ice a son of a bitch.
“You seen Quinn Colson since you been back?”
Donnie nodded.
“I know he’s been trying to round up a couple more deputies.”
Donnie snorted so hard, some Budweiser flushed out his nose. “Shit.”
“How’s that?” Luther said, stubbing out his millionth cigarette, starting up a new one.
“I got everything in hand,” Donnie said.
“What’s wrong with being on the right side?”
“You believe Quinn Colson won’t find a way to get himself paid?”
“He grew up.”
“Well, good for him, Dad.”
“SO WHO IS YOUR FATHER?” Lillie asked Mara in the Tibbehah County Sheriff’s Office conference room less than an hour later.
“Fred Black.”
“The welder?” Lillie asked.
Mara nodded.
“I know Fred,” Lillie said. “He built a nice wrought-iron fence for my mother. Is he still in Jericho?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Quinn hung back against the glass door. He’d been sheriff for six months, and this was the first serious interrogation he’d ever watched. Lillie took the lead since she had more law enforcement experience than anyone in the department, with her five years as a cop in Memphis.
“Can I get you something to eat?” Lillie asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Listen, Mara,” Lillie said. “I’ll put it this way: I don’t think you’re a part of all this. How ’bout a Coke?”
“I’m not talking.”
“I just want to get you a Coke, Mara. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I only came back to get some clothes,” she said. “What’s wrong with that? I didn’t do nothin’.”
“We got warrants out for your mother,” Lillie said. “You’re eighteen and can be prosecuted as an adult. But I don’t think that’s right. I don’t think you got much choice in all this.”
“I just needed clean underwear.”
“How about a shoe box full of money?” Quinn asked from the wall.
“I’ll take that Coke,” Mara said.
Quinn walked to the back of the department to a Coca-Cola machine that had probably been there since the 1960s and got a bottle, cracking off the cap. He headed back into Lillie’s office and handed it to the pudgy little girl. She was still wearing her pink hat on her fat little head.
“What happened to the child?” Lillie was asking.
“She fell out of a grocery cart.”
“You see it?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Did your momma hit that child?”
“No.”
“Did she hit you?”
“That baby’s in rough shape,” Quinn said.
“Where is she?”
“St. Jude,” Quinn said. “Her skull was cracked. Ribs snapped like matchsticks.”
“She gonna make it?” Mara said. Her voice sounded small. Head dropped into her chubby hands.
Nobody said anything. The silence in the station was electric. The
“Damn, you can’t take a shit in this town without someone smellin’ it.”
“You got business with Stagg?” Luther asked.
“Just getting my piston greased.”
Luther nodded, but, god damn, that old coot knew. What’d he want, for Donnie to keep working a shift at the convenience store?
Luther said: “You can work for me some more. Pick up an extra shift.”
“I’m making money.”
Luther nodded again, scraping up some more on his plate, washing it down with some sweet tea. Donnie got up to buy a dollar beer and sat back down, his daddy’s eyes with that rheumy, faraway look that he always thought of as being on Da Nang time.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Donnie.”
“I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Sometimes I can’t sleep,” Luther said, “me being the one pushed you into the Guard.”
“Can’t drive a truck forever,” Donnie said. “Ain’t shit to do around here since the plant closed.”
Luther nodded, thinking the best thing about the VFW might’ve been the cold beer. They damn sure know how to ice a son of a bitch.
“You seen Quinn Colson since you been back?”
Donnie nodded.
“I know he’s been trying to round up a couple more deputies.”
Donnie snorted so hard, some Budweiser flushed out his nose. “Shit.”
“How’s that?” Luther said, stubbing out his millionth cigarette, starting up a new one.
“I got everything in hand,” Donnie said.
“What’s wrong with being on the right side?”
“You believe Quinn Colson won’t find a way to get himself paid?”
“He grew up.”
“Well, good for him, Dad.”
“SO WHO IS YOUR FATHER?” Lillie asked Mara in the Tibbehah County Sheriff’s Office conference room less than an hour later.
“Fred Black.”
“The welder?” Lillie asked.
Mara nodded.
“I know Fred,” Lillie said. “He built a nice wrought-iron fence for my mother. Is he still in Jericho?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Quinn hung back against the glass door. He’d been sheriff for six months, and this was the first serious interrogation he’d ever watched. Lillie took the lead since she had more law enforcement experience than anyone in the department, with her five years as a cop in Memphis.
“Can I get you something to eat?” Lillie asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Listen, Mara,” Lillie said. “I’ll put it this way: I don’t think you’re a part of all this. How ’bout a Coke?”
“I’m not talking.”
“I just want to get you a Coke, Mara. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I only came back to get some clothes,” she said. “What’s wrong with that? I didn’t do nothin’.”
“We got warrants out for your mother,” Lillie said. “You’re eighteen and can be prosecuted as an adult. But I don’t think that’s right. I don’t think you got much choice in all this.”
“I just needed clean underwear.”
“How about a shoe box full of money?” Quinn asked from the wall.
“I’ll take that Coke,” Mara said.
Quinn walked to the back of the department to a Coca-Cola machine that had probably been there since the 1960s and got a bottle, cracking off the cap. He headed back into Lillie’s office and handed it to the pudgy little girl. She was still wearing her pink hat on her fat little head.
“What happened to the child?” Lillie was asking.
“She fell out of a grocery cart.”
“You see it?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Did your momma hit that child?”
“No.”
“Did she hit you?”
“That baby’s in rough shape,” Quinn said.
“Where is she?”
“St. Jude,” Quinn said. “Her skull was cracked. Ribs snapped like matchsticks.”
“She gonna make it?” Mara said. Her voice sounded small. Head dropped into her chubby hands.
Nobody said anything. The silence in the station was electric. The
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