“What the hell you mean you guess so, woman? You said y’all would leave my ass in peace and let me tend to my damn business if I sent you in the right direction about Wes Taggart. And I promise you one goddang thing, what happened to Wes was a long time coming. That motherfucker has been wiping his ass all over north Mississippi since him and J. B. Hood took over at Sutpen’s. If I live to be a million years old, I’ll never understand what made Mr. White take a chance on those shit-for-brains. I figured on things going much worse than they did. Them Fed boys shut down their shop, but Buster White is still eating that prime rib and shrimp dinner down on the Gulf Coast, sunbathing with half-nekkid women and hanging out with superstars like Donny and fucking Marie. So what the hell does that tell you?”

“Donny and Marie?” Lillie said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What did Wes tell you, Sheriff?” Creekmore said. “I know that boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He’d do anything to save his own ass.”

“Ironic,” Lillie said. “Ain’t it?”

Creekmore stared at Lillie, reaching for another cigarette from a pack on the workbench. He set fire to the American Spirit with a Zippo adorned with the Playboy bunny head. The air filled with more smoke as Creekmore snapped shut the lighter. “White used to be an honest crook,” he said. “He didn’t give a damn about nothin’ but making money. Long as you shared your business with him, everything was cool. Long as you didn’t cross him, everything was cool. Me and him used to be friends. I made him a lot of money and he cut me in on a lot of action. But since I got back from Parchman, the man ain’t the same no more. He’s not thinking about business. Gulfport and Biloxi ain’t enough for his fat ass. He’s looking to run the whole damn state.”

“He pretty much does,” Quinn said.

“As a crook,” Creekmore said. “Now he wants everything. I used to go down to his casino and get treated better than fucking Sammy Hagar. That man rolled out the red carpet for me. I got a suite, a big ole mess of chips, and vouchers for their seafood buffet. But last time I seen him, he didn’t have no time for Curt Creekmore. No sir. He was too busy entertaining some big ole swinging dicks from Jackson. Men who wore navy blue sport coats and fancy-ass ties and looked down on a fella like me like I was someone to put another coat of wax on the Hummer. White done expanded his vision. That’s why Wes got kilt. He knew where a lot of money was going.”