The Ranger (A Quinn Colson Novel)
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Fans of Justified and James Lee Burke will love Mississippi lawman Quinn Colson…
The first Quinn Colson novel from the author of The Lost Ones, The Broken Places, and The Forsaken
After years of war, Army Ranger Quinn Colson returns home to the rugged, rough hill country of northeast Mississippi to find his native Tibbehah County overrun with corruption, decay, meth runners, and violence. His uncle, the longtime county sheriff, is dead. A suicide, he’s told, but others—like tomboy deputy Lillie Virgil—whisper murder.
In the days that follow, it’s up to Colson to discover the truth, not only about his uncle, but about his family, his friends, his town, and himself. And once it’s discovered, there’s no going back for this real hero of the Deep South.
“And he had a tattoo of a shamrock on his neck. Must be Irish.” “That or he’s in the Aryan Brotherhood.” “That’s their symbol?” “Yeah. The peace sign was taken.” “Sound familiar?” Boom nodded, adjusting his large weight in the cab of the truck, reaching down to roll back the seat and pulling at the seat belt with his left hand. “That motherfucker’s name is Gowrie. His people moved in here about two years ago. He is bad news, man. He’s plugged into the Memphis scene, cooks meth all around the
eye, this time nodding a hello because she had the father with her and wasn’t just a no-account girl with no damn sense or plan on bringing a child into this world. Charley nodded, too. He carried the baby, and they all made their way down to the vending machines. He punched up a couple Coca-Colas and some Little Debbie snack cakes. “Can she have one of these?” “Do you have a lick of sense?” They sat down in that small, silent room with no windows, just a narrow door. It smelled like burnt
first and then kicking them in, finding trash and upturned couches, plastic bags of trash and clothes, and children’s toys. By the fourth trailer, the old trooper was on the radio, and the four-wheelers buzzed on down Hell Creek and crossed along a sandy shoal, hitting their engines into a high whine up a hill. They found only two vehicles left. One was up on blocks. The other was missing an engine. Both of them had FOR SALE signs in the cracked windshields. Lillie had pulled the hood of her
dying. “Where’s Ditto?” “Please,” Brother Davis said, screaming. “He took all I got but said it wasn’t enough.” “Where are they?” “Help me.” “Speak, you old wretched man.” “They gone to the bank.” 34 Quinn stood up from the hospital bed wearing one of those paper nightgowns that left his naked ass hanging out as he made his way to a water pitcher. He was weak and light-headed, not feeling much in his body at all, his right leg stinging like it was asleep and fingers fat and clumsy in
handwriting. “I was gonna burn it,” Stagg said. Quinn read the short note written to his mother, flecked with blood: I walk a lonely road, Jean. It’s never been a straight path and you loved me despite it. I killed a young woman named Jill Bullard. She was a witness to a fire in a drug house. She kept coming back for money after. I, and I alone, shushed it up. Don’t look for answers because that’s all there is to it. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.