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“Hadn’t seen you much since the storm,” Van said. “God damn, we got lucky out here. Someone was to fart in a different direction, I wouldn’t have nowhere to live.”
Qui
“I tried Uncle Jerry,” Qui
Van stopped chewing. He put down his burger and wiped his mouth. “You hadn’t ever asked me word one about your old man. Is he in trouble again? What the hell did he do now?”
“Nothing,” Qui
“He was still working in Hollywood,” Van said. “He’d come through maybe once a year to see family, check on your grandfather before he kicked the bucket. ’Seventy-seven was the year our momma died and he came back to help get Daddy settled. He wouldn’t have ever come back after that except on account of your mother, trying to make that all work, trying to stay away from those high-flying Hollywood ways and all that shit. Did I tell you he once took me out to the Joshua Tree and we got so screwed-up on mushrooms that I had a four-hour conversation with an iguana?”
“Never heard that one.”
“Strange,” Van said, taking another bite of burger.
“I know he was in Jericho in ’78 and married my mom in ’79,” Qui
“He loved you, Qui
Uncle Van removed his conductor’s hat as if suddenly realizing he had it on his head. “Damn kids drive me crazy, asking me to toot my horn. But there’s some nice ladies out at Barnes Crossing. They got this one gal selling panties at Victoria’s Secret. Holy shit.”
“What I need to know is if my father used to ride with a motorcycle gang here,” Qui
Van’s face didn’t show much. He washed down the burger with some beer. He put down the beer, picked it back up and took another swig. “Hmm,” he said. “Define what you mean by ‘ride’?”
“Was he a member?”
“No.”
“But he hung out with them?”
Van shrugged. His house still showed the admiration he had for his older brother, framed and signed movie posters from Stroker Ace and Ca
“Your old man hung out with lots of folks,” Van said. “You got to understand, he was a famous man when he came back to Jericho. Back in the seventies was prime time. He was making all these damn movies with Burt Reynolds and would show up wearing jackets from the latest films. Those real cool silky jackets. He had this one that Burt had given him, one made special by GM for the Trans Am. It had the big flaming bird on it, and I just thought it was the coolest thing ever. You know what your daddy did when I said I admired it?”
“Gave it to you.”
“Hanging right there in my closet.”
“Around the same time he met my mom, something real bad happened in Jericho,” Qui
Uncle Van stuffed his face in what seemed like an act of keeping his mouth shut. He chewed for a while and then shook his head. “I can’t recall.”
“You can’t recall if my dad was around? Or the lynching?”
“Neither.”
“Everybody else remembers it.”
“Nephew,” Van said, patting Qui
“Is it possible that my father was riding a lot with the Born Losers?”
“I guess.”
“You need to more than guess.”
“What’s all this about?” Van said, taking the rest of the burger and shoving it into his mouth, licking his fingers. “You don’t want to know this kind of shit about your dad. This was a hell of a long time ago and these were some really bad hombres. These the kind of folks you just didn’t mention. You see them riding your way and, man, you better keep your eyes to the ground.”
“They killed an i
“Your daddy wasn’t a part of that.”
“How do you know if you can’t recall?”
“Leave it, Qui
“I kind of got my hands full.”
Outside a small, insignificant window, the snow was coming down in wet clumps. In the center of Van’s trailer, a small space heater blew hard in front of a forty-inch television. Qui
“I wish I could be of more help.”
Qui
“My mind ain’t so good these days, Qui
“You know where he is?”
“Who?”
Qui
“No,” Van said. “I guess I’m like you, I wrote Jason Colson off a while back. He started to turn on himself and there was nothing any of us could do.”
“He’s alive.”
Van nodded. “Leave it,” he said. “That man ain’t done nothing but break all our hearts for a long, long time.”
Lillie Virgil had been watching the Rebel Truck Stop since she’d officially gone off work at six. She paid the babysitter to stay late, exchanged her sheriff’s office Jeep with her old Toyota Corolla, and found a decent observation point between the diner and the Booby Trap. Qui
Lillie had always heard Stagg kept a secret office at the Trap, away from prying eyes, and she didn’t doubt it.
She’d about decided this wasn’t worth it, at ten dollars an hour for the sitter, when she saw Hank Stillwell get out of that 1970 Plymouth Road Ru
This could be interesting or disgusting. Depended on if this was a meet with Stagg or a late-night chicken choke.
Lillie called home. She’d give it another hour.
She’d wait it out.
• • •
“I’d prefer you not just showing up like this,” Stagg said, eyes widening, looking over his desk at Hank Stillwell, before taking a seat in that big old executive chair. “You should’ve called.”
“I called you eight times this evening, Mr. Stagg,” Stillwell said. “Some woman kept on saying you were busy.”
“I was.”
“Because of the news?”