“Is this about that Yukon lost its transmission?” Bloodgood asked. “Because that vehicle was sold as-is and was in fine and good condition when it left my lot.”

“No, sir,” Stagg said. “I’m not calling about a Yukon. I’m calling about your little girl.”

There was a good bit of silence then, electric and cold, on the airwaves between Tibbehah County and Fayetteville, Arkansas. No one spoke until Stagg cleared his throat.

“You know where she is?”

“Got some ideas,” Stagg said. “Those wild kids, TJ Byrd and Ladarius McCade, come from my neck of the woods down here in Tibbehah County, Mississippi. I know them and their people real well. I want to apologize for the pain and distress they’ve caused the Bloodgood family.”

“What did you say your name was?” he asked. “Again.”

“Johnny,” he said. “Johnny T. Stagg.”

“You ain’t kin to that ole boy in the Dixie Mafia, are you?” Bloodgood said, as if the thought really tickled him. “Ha Ha. Heard of a fella named Stagg that ran a titty bar for truckers and got himself caught paying off half the politicians in Mississippi.”

Stagg didn’t answer, letting the long bit of silence hang there and speak for itself.

“Oh,” Bloodgood said. “I see.”

“I’ve been the target of much slander and lies over the years,” Stagg said. “Got caught up in a political witch hunt by a local boy who thought he was Buford Pusser reincarnated. But that time, that old history, don’t have a thing to do with what I’m offering you at the moment. I seen you on the news offering a reward for information about little Miss Chastity. Lord, she is cute as a button.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “She’s a real pistol. Can you help me?”

Stagg reached for the candy dish on his desk, selecting a butterscotch he’d just been gifted. He leaned back in his office chair, taking his time to unwrap it and pop it into his mouth. “Have you heard a word from your daughter, Mr. Bloodgood?”

“Only what I seen on the internet,” Bloodgood said. “Over there on that Instagram TikToking.”

“Mm-hmm,” Stagg said. “Well, I don’t know much about them things. I’m an AT&T man myself. But speaking theoretically, what would you say if I might offer the safe return of Miss Chastity while making sure those kids who took her get what’s coming to them?”

“I’d say I’d be mighty grateful, Mr. Stagg.”

Stagg sucked on the butterscotch, trying to make the flavor last a bit longer. Liking the feeling of being back in the saddle, turning his chair to and fro, making this work and come to pass.

“You and me are businessmen, Mr. Bloodgood,” Stagg said. “You do understand that true heartful gratitude comes with a price tag.”

*   *   *

Chester Pratt was tired of being harassed.