Field of Fire

Epilogue

Quinn left his mother’s pickup in the public parking lot off H Street and walked with Jacques Thibodaux up Third Avenue toward The Marx Brothers Café. Ronnie Garcia and Beaudine were already in the restaurant. The big Marine lumbered along in a relaxed gait as easy as his Cajun accent, scanning the evening traffic with his good eye. Quinn limped from the ache of the shotgun pellets in his thigh. His right shoulder hung a few inches lower than his left. Mattie called it “wonky.”

Quinn had given the Troopers the location of the plane crash and they’d been able to retrieve Lovita’s body. He and Beaudine would both return to the bush the following morning to attend the funeral in Mountain Village.

“I’m feelin’ sorry for that Russian chemist,” Thibodaux said, falling into the philosophical funk that was his custom after any mission.

“He did manufacture the most deadly nerve agent the planet’s ever seen,” Quinn said.

“And our scientists will reverse engineer that shit and make even more of it,” Thibodaux said. “Should we go after them next?”

“I’m just saying he’s not an innocent,” Quinn said. “But I guess none of us are.”

“It’s still a shame he’s losing his mind and the only kid he’s got left is a useless bag o’ ass.” Thibodaux nodded toward the small, gray cedar shake house that was The Marx Brothers Café, suddenly brightening. “The girls are in there comparing notes on us.”

Quinn laughed. Even after knowing him for three years, he was still amazed at how quickly his friend’s mind could change directions. “You think?”

“Damn right, I think. It’s what womenfolk do. Ain’t you learned nothin’ from me?” He turned his head so he could peer at Quinn with his good eye. “You gonna wait until later tonight before you pop the question to Ronnie?”

“Na,” Quinn said. “I left the ring in my old man’s gun safe. I’m gonna hold off on the marriage thing for a while. Don’t think I could stand two failures.”

“Wise,” Thibodaux mused. “I guess… if it makes you feel lighter.”

“I’m pretty sure it’ll happen,” Quinn said. “Just a couple of issues to work through first.”

“Roger that,” the big Cajun said, thankfully prying no deeper. “Just remember, none of ’em’s perfect… except for my Camille.” He patted Quinn on the back. “Thanks for arranging this meetin’ so I can get reacquainted with Khaki. She’s a good girl, for a Texan. I especially like that badass scar you gave her.”

Quinn stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t give her the scar.”

Thibodaux sighed. “Look around you, Jericho,” he said. “My eye, Kim’s leg, Beaudine’s face… hell, even Garcia’s heart. We’re all this way on account of you.”

Quinn stood, dumbfounded. “I—”

“You’re readin’ me wrong, brother,” Thibodaux smiled, throwing a huge arm around Quinn’s shoulder and drawing him in for a crushing, sideways hug. “If it wasn’t for you, every last one of us would be stone dead. We only have these scars ’cause we’re alive. But I gotta tell you, I am beat. Maybe it’s time we all just step back and take some time to heal.”

Quinn worked his neck back and forth, counting the bones, muscles, and joints that hurt… and realizing it was easier to count the ones that didn’t. “Ronnie would like that,” he said. “And I’d be happy to spend a little more time with Mattie, that’s for sure.”

“I think the free world could get by if we rode into the sunset for a month or two…”

“You think?” Quinn said, pulling open the door to Marx Brothers. The smell of fresh bread hit him in the face. His heart nearly stopped when he caught a glimpse of Garcia.

“Pretty sure, Chair Force,” Thibodaux said. “And if it can’t, they know where to find us.”