Chapters (43)
- BY ACE ATKINS
- Dedication
- CONTENTS
- Epigraph
- Episode 1: Brandon
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- Episode 2: The Big Woods
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- Episode 3: The Search Party
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Episode 4: The Teacher
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- Episode 5: The Sheriff
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- Episode 6: Quinn Colson
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- Episode 7: Maggie
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Episode 8: The Witness
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Quinn knew where he was headed but needed Creekmore to say it. Creekmore ashed his cigarette into a metal bucket filled with sand. He looked up at Quinn and nodded. “What all do you know about this ole boy Vardaman? The one who’s gonna make the state of Mississippi great again. Turning back the clock to the good ole days of plantations and dark folks working the field.”
“Plenty,” Quinn said.
“I don’t think no one saw that come-from-behind victory back there in the primary,” Creekmore said. “Running this state ain’t about nothing but money. And that was a war chest the fancy Jackson folks were never gonna open for a redneck like Jimmy Vardaman. Buster White wined and dined and got their rocks off with top Southern cooze. But no one could right things for Vardaman. That boy is stone-cold crazy and them folks all know it. All this nonsense with the fucking Watchmen Society. Only Buster White would bankroll a son of a bitch like that. The old guard in Jackson never wanted crazy come to town. You never know when crazy’ll turn on you. But Buster was just licking his chops to take a dump in the governor’s mansion and ole Wes Taggart was his go-between.”
“You know who did it?” Lillie asked. “Who were those boys?”
Creekmore held up his hand in the smoke and shook his head. “Oh, hell. I said too damn much.”
“Actually,” Lillie said. “You haven’t said enough. It’s not too late to drive you up to the Memphis drunk tank. I think they’d just love that long silky hair. They’d turn you into a regular Billy Ray Cyrus, working on your achy breaky ass.”
“Damn, Lillie Virgil,” Creekmore said. “Y’all got to do some damn things on your own.”
“The men who came to the jail looked Native American,” Quinn said. “Closest we have to that is the Choctaw Nation. I went down to the Rez and showed their picture around. No one seemed to recognize them.”
“Oh, yeah?” Creekmore sucked on the cigarette, burning it down to a nub. “Maybe I know who those fellas are.”
Quinn shook his head. “You gonna tell us?”
“Nope,” Creekmore said. “I value my life too damn much. And if I were you, I’d keep the fuck away from those boys. If they can break into a goddamn jail to git you, where exactly is a man safe?”