Quinn took another long breath, having to slow down every bit of training he’d ever had. He spent a decade of his life taking on hostiles with as much speed and violence as necessary. Now he was having to sit across the table from this Grade A turd and try like hell to be civil. No doubt he and Hood had beaten Boom. No doubt they had meant to kill him. But the dumb son of a bitch also held a lot of answers that went well beyond Tibbehah County, understanding connections in play well before Quinn ever got out of the service. Quinn leaned his elbows flat across the table but kept staring at Taggart. Neither he nor Reggie Caruthers said a thing.

Reggie’s radio squawked for a moment and he reached down to turn down the volume. The only sound now coming from the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead.

“Well now,” Taggart said. “I might have seen a few things down in Biloxi.”

Quinn kept quiet.

“Y’all know who Buster White is?”

Quinn nodded.

“Goddamn peckerwood godfather of the Gulf Coast,” Taggart said. “Don’t you believe them stories people say about him feeding folks to the gators. He’s a good Christian man. Got grandbabies and them grandbabies got their own. Did you know he does an Easter egg roll down at the beach attended by a few hundred folks? He even hired me once to be the damn Easter bunny and dance around with the kiddos in the sunshine. Never sweated so much in my damn life.”

Quinn held up his hand. “Skip the bullshit,” he said. “Either you tell us about White and Vardaman or I’m gone. I should’ve been home two hours ago.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Taggart said, leaning back into his office chair, licking the salt off his fingers. “I heard all about your wife from some of the other fellas here. I heard she was one fine little number. Small tits but birthing hips. Got her own little kid, too. How you liking be a daddy all of a sudden?”

Quinn didn’t answer, taking a sip of cold coffee. Maggie had told him she’d be holding supper just in case he could get home. She had some kind of vegetarian tofu stir-fry she’d found online. Maggie hadn’t been a big fan of the meals Quinn had been eating at the farm. Eggs and bacon. Venison with onions and peppers. Some fried catfish with whiskey on the side.

“It’ll cost you,” Taggart said.

“Figured it would, Wes,” Quinn said.

Wes Taggart smiled. It wasn’t pretty, as most of his teeth were yellowed and crooked. “Ain’t you gonna ask what I want?”

Reggie walked up from the door and walked around the table, looking out the windows at the dispatch station. “Another goddamn cheeseburger?”

“’Fraid not, Sambo,” Taggart said.