“We’re only serving the paper today,” Reggie said. “Just the notice for a change in county law, saying that nude or topless dancing of any sort is illegal. Doesn’t matter if they wear G-strings or pasties. But one way or another, Vienna’s Place is done.”

“Those poor truckers,” Lillie said, making a yanking motion with her hand. “Now they’re gonna have to shift their gears for themselves. So damn sad. Almost makes me want to cry.”

*   *   *

“Yes, sir,” Johnny Stagg said. “I said to myself just the other day, I bet I’ll be seeing ole Quinn Colson soon. I figured you’d be driving over to Alabama to say hello with a whole mess of questions.”

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“Yes, sir,” Stagg said. “I do.”

“And you know that if you help out, I’ll talk to the Feds for you.”

“Sure was nice of you to bring me a sack of Krystal burgers and some peppermints,” Stagg said, his face in a perpetual frozen grin, like a TV preacher filled with good news for man. “You must’ve stopped off at a truck stop on the way into Montgomery.”

“Right off the Lonesome Highway,” Quinn said. “Nothing’s too good for you, Stagg.”

Stagg looked amused by the situation, seated by the prison commissary at a little orange table like you’d see outside a fast-food franchise. He had on a denim prison jumpsuit, gray hair parted down the side like a respectable businessman. But he still had the craggy face of a filling station attendant, sunburned and wind-chapped, with teeth as big as tombstones. The man looking pretty much unchanged since being sentenced for drug running, racketeering, bribery, and making false statements to the IRS. That was by no means all of Stagg’s business, but it had been enough to send him away for twenty years. He’d learned a quick hard lesson about doing business with local crooks like Larry Cobb who kept track of their bribes and hidden cash in a safe busted open by his own son-in-law and a two-bit moron and Alabama football superfan named Peewee Sparks.

“I’m sure you’re aware, I still keep up with events in Tibbehah from time to time,” Stagg said, reaching for the peppermints but leaving the sack of Krystals. Inmates sat at a dozen other tables scattered across the large room that resembled a high school cafeteria.

“Did you hear about the Tibbehah Cross?”

Johnny Stagg grinned even more. “That sure made me smile,” he said. “That old bastard Skinner is a real piece of work. Won’t be happy until he’s buried in his Sears and Roebuck suit and lying in the box about to meet his maker.”

“They’re building it right out front of the old Booby Trap,” Quinn said. “Skinner thinks it’ll outshine all that red neon.”