The Glock was lost, Quinn was bleeding out, and the bed was obscured with darkness and rain as he heard more shooting over the hill and a lot of yelling. So much goddamn pain that his mind couldn’t process it. He was going into shock. Somewhere, a big motor revved, and there was crashing and the sound of glass breaking, and then the entire damn creek bed lit up with headlights as a truck went flying over Quinn into the little ravine, landing hard and mean in the water, doors flying open and Boom appearing with a big-ass gun in his hand. He raised it and began to fire. There was more yelling and then rain. And then, damn it. There was nothing but darkness as Boom called out to him.

Quinn. Quinn. Goddamn you.

TWENTY-NINE

When Tashi Coleman heard that Quinn Colson had been shot, she flew straight to Memphis, rented a car, and drove the hundred miles down to Tibbehah County General. Quinn was alive and in the ICU, no visitors, no new information. Most of his family and friends were camped out in a sitting area outside the security doors. The light was dim, a television in the corner playing a new episode of Dr. Phil, the good doctor taking on a woman and her bratty daughter from Beverly Hills. The girl nearly in tears because her mother wouldn’t buy her a Mercedes G wagon, costing the woman a quarter million, for her sweet sixteen. The girl said she wouldn’t settle for anything less since the G’s interior matched her Chanel purse.

Caddy was seated with her back to the television, her son Jason sleeping with his head in her lap and covered in a blue blanket. She looked up as Tashi walked in and took a seat across from her. Quinn’s mother smiled from across the room, where she stood with Boom Kimbrough, both of them speaking in quiet, personal tones. Boom looked up at Tashi and nodded to her, still continuing the conversation.

“I’m so sorry.”

Caddy nodded, placing her hand on Tashi’s knee, and smiled. “I had to turn off the news,” Caddy said. “I can’t stand to see that man’s face on television. Smiling and grinning, talking about values and change. He’s gonna win. Votes are pouring in for him.”

“Nothing matters anymore,” Tashi said. “Everything we did and exposed. The pictures of those parties Vardaman hosted out at his hunt lodge. No one cared. Everyone just said they were fakes trying to tarnish a great man’s reputation.”

“I saw the pictures,” Caddy said, rubbing her sleeping son’s head. “Those were as real as it gets. I bet a lot of divorce lawyers in Jackson had their phones lighting up.”

“What about those men who shot Quinn?”