Stagg laughed, crunching the candy between his back molars. “Can’t wait to see it, one of these days,” Stagg said, looking around the open room. “I sure do miss Tibbehah County. My third wife divorced me. My son won’t speak to me now that the money tit’s gone dry. But I still got a few friends, some hardworking folks, still loyal. Send me Christmas cards and such.”

At a nearby table, Quinn recognized the former CEO of what used to be one of the largest corporations in America. Down toward the security door sat a former wide receiver for the L.A. Rams with an attractive woman in a flowered silk dress and two young children. Quinn knew the player but couldn’t recall what he’d done or why he was inside with a guy like Stagg.

“Yes, sir,” Johnny Stagg said. “We got us a real all-star team in here. Half these sonsabitches flushed their life down the toilet for drugs. Funny, that’s something that’s never interested me. I have never had the inclination to so much as puff on one of them marijuana cigarettes.”

“Never stopped you from moving that shit,” Quinn said. “Weed, pills, dope. Was there anything you didn’t move up Highway 45 through the Rebel?”

Stagg nodded. “Women,” he said. “I didn’t have no stomach for selling young ladies. If they come to me on their own volition, that was one thing. But that business running through my place now sure will turn your stomach. I never forced a girl to work the pole or hop up into a semi. That was their own doing.”

Quinn told Stagg to hold that thought and walked over to the canteen for a Styrofoam cup of coffee. When he returned, Stagg had started in on the Krystal burgers, the old man’s eyes shining with amusement as he chewed.

“I never liked working with them people on the Coast,” Stagg said. “Whatever you thought of me, I knew my goddamn limits. Damn, this is some good stuff, Quinn. I always like the way the folks at Krystal steam the bun. Them little cooked onions. Almost makes you forget that you’re getting yourself a sorry sliver of meat.”

Quinn took a sip of the coffee, which tasted about what he’d expect from the Maxwell Prison commissary. Metallic and bitter. Still, it was coffee. It was a long drive back up to Birmingham, then over through Tupelo and on to Tibbehah County.

“How’s your daddy doin’?” Stagg asked.

Quinn didn’t answer.

“And your momma and them?” Stagg said, licking his fingers. “Damn, son. I heard you went and got yourself married. That sure is something. Good for you, Sheriff. About time for you to start a family. A wholesome and noble endeavor. Some real family values going on right there.”

“Holliday thinks he can knock five years off your sentence,” Quinn said. “If you want to assist.”