Jason closed his eyes. He touched Hank Stillwell’s shoulder, who was shuddering and crying. More fireworks exploded as Chains throttled his big engine.
They met before dawn in the parking lot of the sheriff’s office with a plan for arresting Chains LeDoux. With Jason Colson’s eyewitness account, they had enough to pick him up and charge him with the murder of the nameless wanderer. The tough part, as Quinn explained to his deputies, was the getting.
“And he admitted to it?” Kenny said as they waited. “Said he saw Chains put the noose around him, tie the rope to his bike, and ride off?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s some fine police work,” Kenny said.
“All it took was for my momma to shame him.”
“Whatever works,” Kenny said. “Hell, we got some results. You gonna eat that last sausage biscuit, Sheriff?”
Quinn shook his head, offering him what was left in the sack. He had six deputies riding in three vehicles to raid the Born Losers clubhouse on Choctaw Lake. As soon as he met with the state trooper captain, they could move out, hitting them hard a good hour before the sun came up. They’d get the troopers to stage a roadblock on Jericho Road just in case any broke free or if they needed some help at the clubhouse.
As Quinn told the deputies, “Don’t plan for what your enemy might do, plan for what they can do.”
“They can fuck us up pretty good,” Lillie said.
“Then we plan for that.”
Quinn and Lillie had checked out the wooded area around the clubhouse, the distance to the woods and boat landing and the old trailer where LeDoux had been sleeping since being released. They had a lot of No Trespassing signs on their five-acre parcel on the lake. But the way into the compound was a public road, and, walking the ground near the clubhouse, they spotted only six bikers. Most of his crew worked other jobs, had families and shit to do on weekdays. Being a full-time biker wasn’t for most, not unless LeDoux could accomplish what he wanted in Tibbehah and snatch it all away from Stagg.
“You almost feel sorry for Stagg?” Lillie said. “Lying up in that hospital bed, unable to move, looking nearly a hundred years old?”
“Nope,” Quinn said.
“Me neither,” Lillie said. “Just wanted to know if you’d gone soft.”
“I think if we go in hard and quick, LeDoux won’t have his pants on yet,” Quinn said. “Did you see all those beer cans around that trash barrel? I think they had a throwdown last night and we’d need a goddamn marching band to wake his ass up.”
“Or he’d know we’re coming and wait in the woods.”
“LeDoux’s too arrogant,” Quinn said. “He doesn’t plan. He reacts.”
“We knock or we enter.”
“We got an arrest warrant,” Quinn said. “He doesn’t come out, we go in and get him.”
“I’m not real fond of busting in a trailer,” Lillie said. “Up close isn’t my specialty.”
“Just like we practice in the shoot house,” Quinn said. “No different. I’m in first, then you, Art, and Kenny follow. We arrest LeDoux. And any shitbird that gets in our way.”
“Almost sounds simple.”
“Yep,” Quinn said. “Any riders follow us into town and the troopers pick them up.”
Lillie nodded. The radio squawked and Quinn reached inside his truck to catch it. The trooper captain was on his way.
• • •
“You want LeDoux to make it to jail?” the Trooper asked Stagg.
They were alone in the hospital room. The only light shining from the bathroom, spread out on the floor, where they spoke in whispers.
“I’d like him to face what he’s done,” Stagg said, licking his dry lips. “That was always my goal.”
“I hate what they did to you, Johnny,” the Trooper said. “Jesus Christ, they could’ve killed you.”
“Got pretty close,” Stagg said. “Thank the Lord for Mr. Ringold.”
“We got a problem with those same folks in Vardaman shaking down the sweet-potato workers,” the Trooper said. “MS-13 with all those crazy jailhouse tattoos and enough guns to take over the state. This ain’t the world me and you were born into.”
“No, sir,” Stagg said.
The hospital was very quiet at this hour, the Trooper sneaking in a few moments before, taking a seat by Stagg’s bedside and telling him what he’d heard about LeDoux’s arrest. “Colson took his goddamn time,” the Trooper said.
“His father is a real piece of work,” Stagg said. “I’m surprised he manned up and told what he knew.”
“But you don’t want us to interfere,” the Trooper said, “right?”
“No, sir,” Stagg said, mouth feeling dry as hell, that cracked, raspy breathing making it tough to talk. “Just let him get what’s coming.”
“And if there’s trouble at their clubhouse?” the Trooper asked.
In the far corner by the hallway door, Ringold was just a shadow leaning against the wall. Staying, but giving the Trooper and Stagg a little space and privacy to talk about those next moves. Stagg wanted some water, needed some water, but felt weak for asking the men. He wanted a woman nurse to bring it to him, with the straw.
“You mean if LeDoux wants to go out in a blaze of glory?” Stagg asked.
“Could happen,” the Trooper said. “Colson wants us to back up their play.”
Ringold shifted a bit on the wall, Stagg not able to see his face, only the outline of his body and head, the muscular, compact form of the man.
Stagg opened his mouth, licking his lips. It hurt to swallow and prep his words. “I wouldn’t get involved,” he said. “I don’t need Colson no more. Let him clean up this shit now.”
Ringold hadn’t moved. The door showed a sliver of light across the floor and up onto the face of the Trooper’s square jaw and gray crew cut. He nodded and stood, dressed in full uniform with shield, gun on hip. Protecting and serving the highways of Mississippi.
He walked away, past Ringold, and out into the hall without a word.
Stagg needed water more than ever but couldn’t move, calling out to Ringold to get him a cup and straw. But when he’d turned back, the man was gone.
• • •
Quinn was driving west to Choctaw Lake in the Big Green Machine, Lillie Virgil riding shotgun with a Remington pump, telling him how much it pained her to be inadvertently helping Johnny Stagg.
“We’re doing our job,” Quinn said. “What these folks did—”
“They’re not people.”
“When the law breaks down, you see civilization is a pretty thin veneer,” Quinn said. “Law is theoretical, an illusion. Or at least it was to the Afghanis.”
“But we’re a civilized nation, Quinn,” Lillie said. “Don’t you know it?”
“Roger that,” Quinn said, rubbing his head where Mr. Jim had clipped him close. “We don’t knock and hit the door hard.”
“I say we wait for the fuck nuts to come out and take a leak,” Lillie said. “You know that turd doesn’t have a tank set up.”
“Snatch him out of bed, cinch his wrists behind his back, and toss him in Art’s vehicle,” Quinn said. “I want this quick and mean and his ass in the jail quick.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can I ask you something, Lil?”
“You bet.”
“I want to finish this thing and resign,” Quinn said. “Bring in LeDoux and then leave this all for Johnny Stagg to worry about.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Lillie said. “You want to pull a Gary Cooper?”
“Both of us can find work elsewhere.”
“But this is home.”
“That was Jean’s trouble,” Quinn said. “I think she was scared to leave, not knowing what was out there. There’s no electrified fence around Tibbehah County. We are free to go as we please.”