“What kind of man exposes himself to a choir?” T.J. said behind Reggie Caruthers. “Was it the whole choir? Or was it just one or two or three of ’em?”

“You missed a spot,” Reggie said, pointing to the slick checkerboard floor. “Go on. Do your damn job.”

“Yes, sir.”

Reggie unlocked the side door and waited for the deputy to bring in the prisoner. He held the door and asked how the weather was looking on the drive over. The big deputy made kind of a grunting noise and pushed the man ahead, his hands cuffed behind his back. Reggie still not able to see his face as he worked, thinking it was odd they hadn’t removed the hoodie.

Reggie picked up a clipboard to fill out the information. “Heard you got his paperwork with you?”

“Sure do,” the big man said, turning and pulling out a big black revolver and pointing it at Reggie’s chest. “How ’bout you walk me back to dispatch and no one gets hurt. I always hate blowing a hole straight through a man.”

*   *   *

“Are you going to puke?” Caddy said.

“You gonna tell Quinn?”

“Doesn’t exactly answer my question,” Caddy said, driving with her left hand, taking Main Street on down to the turn to Sugar Ditch and Boom’s house. Her radio was playing low, weather reports out of Tupelo. Sounded like the worst part of it had passed. A few more tornadoes had been seen over on the county line, well away from them.

“Quinn doesn’t have to know,” she said. “You always call me. Don’t you ever try and do something stupid and drive.”

“I just wanted one goddamn beer,” Boom said. “And things kind of went south after that.”

“That’s the way it goes,” Caddy said. “Did you call your sponsor?”

“Sure,” he said. “But he’s down at the beach with his momma. I guess I could’ve tried Mr. Varner, but I knew he was probably asleep.”

“How’d you know I wasn’t asleep?”

“’Cause you don’t sleep, Caddy,” he said. “And you told me the Bentley fella was in town. Where’s he at anyway?”

Caddy didn’t answer, peering into the darkness ahead, lightning cracking off down in the bottomland, just a good eight to ten feet shining ahead of them, the broken yellow line heading on out of town. She hit her high beams and looked for some kind of mile marker.

“Remember how you used to always drive me and Quinn?” he said. “You’d always show up at the end of Alma Jane’s keg parties, telling us it was time to go. You always knew we’d get stranded because Quinn and Anna Lee had been drinking. And when they’d been drinking, they’d get into it. I’m really glad he didn’t marry that woman. I don’t think she’s bad. Just not right for Quinn.”