The Broken Places Read Online Free Page B

again.”
    Quinn shook his head.
    “Most evidence was circumstantial,” Lillie said. “Your uncle found where Dixon had blocked in Adelaide’s car with his truck. Her car had been rammed into their carport, knocking the crap out of a support beam. There wasn’t much left of her, but they found her in her pajamas without any shoes. Your uncle worked with the prosecutors in Oxford to say she was running for her life, presenting two witnesses to show prior abuse. After a few weeks, Hamp found this fella who drove a logging truck who saw Dixon standing on the road, unfazed by the mess that had been his girlfriend. The truck driver thought someone had hit a deer.”
    “Ophelia believes there is more to the pardon than our outgoing governor believing in the power of redemption.”
    “You think?” Lillie said, dropping her boots to the floor. “But shit, what the hell could a shitbag like Jamey Dixon have to offer the governor? He’s got no money, no sense, and has reentered society as a two-bit preacher.”
    “You know Caddy is one of his flock?”
    “And she’s fucking him, too,” Lillie said. “Damn, Quinn. You need to plug in a little bit more to what’s going on in the county.”
    “Trust me, I’m well aware of Caddy’s love of Jamey Dixon and Jesus Christ.”
    “Was Ophelia trying to warn you?”
    “Yep.”
    “She’s an authentic weirdo, but smart.”
    “Yep.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “You know Caddy,” Quinn said. “There isn’t shit I can do. I think she’s planning on bringing him to dinner tonight at Momma’s house.”
    Lillie laughed.
    “I’d pay to see that, Quinn,” Lillie said. “Can I please come? I want to hear you say, ‘Pass the peas, dickhead.’”
    “I’ll be civil.”
    “Yeah, that was the motto of all the Rangers I’ve read about,” she said. “Jump out of airplanes, pull your gun, and be civil.”
    “I’ll be polite.” Quinn tapped the ash of his cigar.
    “Can I come?” Lillie asked. “What’s Jean making tonight?”
    “Fried chicken. And no.”
    “What a shame,” Lillie said. “I do love me some of Miss Jean’s fried chicken.”

 
    Esau and Bones made it all the way to Olive Branch and a Pilot truck stop off Highway 78. They could blend in with the truckers and travelers, who did not give the two scruffy, stinky men a sideways glance. But just to make sure, Bones had parked the slick Chevelle on the far side of the truck stop, by the diesel pumps. Besides the loaded .357, the muscle car, and four sausage biscuits, Esau had taken the little redneck’s wallet, two hundred dollars and some change, and a Visa card. The truck stop was one of those places they call a travel plaza, with a restaurant, a convenience store, a Western-wear shop, and a dozen showers by a trucker rest area. They bought some fresh T-shirts, stiff flannel shirts, a couple pairs of Wranglers and work boots. They paid cash, saving the card for where nobody would be watching.
    They bought soap and shaving cream and razors, too. Esau decided to leave the red beard growth, knowing his prison mug showed him with a clean face. Bones shaved off everything but a thin, smart-ass mustache. And thirty minutes later they met back at the trucker room, where a bunch of fat guys drank coffee and farted, watching a flickering television playing the Maury Povichshow.
    “Leave the car,” Esau said.
    “I love that car.”
    “But they got to know.”
    Bones looked up at the wall clock, which showed it was two hours since they’d hightailed it from the trailer. He shrugged and thought on it. “Couple more hours.”
    “Couple more hours get us kilt.”
    “This ain’t the place.”
    Esau looked through the glass window into the truck stop store and bustling restaurant. If they were going to steal another car, they sure as hell needed a spot with fewer witnesses. Of course, he could do it all cool and easy, pointing a .357 in someone’s ribs, have him ride down the road with them, and