The Redeemers Read Online Free PDF

cold wind shot into the waiting room, ruffling the crappy old magazines and scattering the stale-antiseptic smell of the room. “You need to know, I’m looking for another job far away from this county.”
    Quinn nodded.
    “I can’t stay around this mess,” he said. “You and Anna Lee, y’all do what you want.”
    Quinn placed his right hand in his jeans pocket and waited for Luke to either punch him or shoot him. He deserved both. The buzzer sounded again on the game show. The old woman on the gurney talking nonsense about having no one to feed her chickens anymore and now the coyotes were back. She disappeared down a long hall lined with yellow tile.
    “I never thought of us as great friends,” Luke said. “But I had always thought of you as an honorable man.”
    Quinn nodded.
    “The instructions for the meds will be on the bottle,” he said. “I gave Caddy my cell number. But I don’t want you calling me or contacting me ever again. And if you ever try and get in the way of my relationship with my daughter, I’ll come for you. I don’t give a shit if you were an Army Ranger or MMA superstar. Do you understand me?”
    Quinn looked Luke in the eye. Luke’s face was hot with blood, his chin quivered.
    All Quinn could do is nod and say, “I’m sorry.”
    “To hell you are,” Luke said. “Don’t kid yourself. My wife is the only reason you came back to Jericho. You wanted her and now you have her, Quinn Colson. Good luck with that.”

4.
    J ohnny Stagg had brought on a right-hand man not long after the storm, an ex-military soldier of fortune named Ringold who’d come with a résumé so long that Stagg needed a flowchart. He was young-looking but bald, with a full black beard and sleeve tattoos of skulls, daggers, and maps of places on the other side of the earth. Stagg never talked to him about the places he’d been or the things he’d done, all he needed to know was that Ringold was good with a pistol and would protect Johnny’s old ass when the bullets started to fly. After some trouble with a crew of shitbirds on scooters from over on Choctaw Lake—the goddamn Born Losers Motorcycle Club—the man had proven his worth. Now Ringold had taken on more, working direct with Stagg on running the Rebel Truck Stop and the ladies next door at the Booby Trap. The man not only knew how to fight but had a head for business. Stagg liked Ringold better than his worthless son, who was now over in Atlanta selling used cars and luxury watches and pretending he’d never heard of a place called Jericho, Mississippi.
    Only problem he’d had with Ringold is that the man liked to drink.
    “How’d it go last night?” Stagg said. “Any trouble?”
    “Smooth night,” Ringold said. “We had a couple kids up from State that kept on getting onstage with Laquita and dancing. One of them took her bikini top and was wearing it like a hat, putting the cups over his ears and tying the string up under his chin.”
    “Them Bulldogs don’t have no respect for strippers.”
    “Ole Miss kids are just as bad,” Ringold said. “They just tip better.”
    “Yeah,” Stagg said. “But God bless them Rebels. Those boys will call a naked woman ‘ma’am.’”
    They were in the kitchen of the Rebel Truck Stop as the breakfast rush was slowing and the lunch rush was about to begin. Plates of eggs and grits slapped on the long stainless steel counter were moving on over to the world-famous chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy. The Rebel was doing a pretty good share of barbecue business these days with chopped pork and rib plates. Truckers all up and down 45 knew and appreciated Johnny’s place. Good to have the help of Ringold making sure toilets were flushed and the waitresses served a meal with a smile. He needed to give the boy some kind of title like assistant manager or something.
    Stagg moved on over to the big brick pit and pulled a little of the charred meat from a side of pork. A big black guy