Free The Ranger by Ace Atkins

there in that open space, thinking of Anna Lee out back of the football stadium, she and him buck-ass naked and kissing, hands all over each other, when the headlights of her father’s car lit up his rearview.
    “Quinn?” Luke said, handing him a fresh beer. “Here you go.”
    “Appreciate it.”
    He patted Quinn’s back and told him how sorry he was and how much he respected his uncle. He said he’d gone quail hunting with him last year and even did a little fishing in late summer, saying he never saw any signs of depression. “But most of them hide it well. Your uncle put on a good act.”
    “Could he have been sick?” Quinn asked.
    “Didn’t see any sign of it.”
    “Were you his doctor?”
    “I’m lucky enough to be the town coroner,” Luke said. “But that’s not the same.”
    “You see anything strange about the kill shot?”
    “You mean the wound?” Luke shook his head and drank some bourbon.
    “Lillie said the entry point didn’t make sense.”
    “Makes sense if you’re that drunk.”
    A couple women from the nail salon, spray-tanned orange, saddled up next to them at the bar, and Luke introduced Quinn as his old buddy, a Ranger and a national hero. Quinn couldn’t tell if the last part was praise or sarcasm.
    “If you’re asking did anything look strange,” Luke said, “I’d have to say no.”
    Quinn turned back to his beer, and after a few minutes asked, “So what’d you want to see me about, Luke?”
    The two of them sat side by side, the bartender putting down a couple more drinks for them, no one asking for another round but appreciating it.
    The jukebox clicked onto some Loretta Lynn, telling ole Doo not to come home drinkin’ with lovin’ on his mind, and just about halfway through Anna Lee walked through the door, getting stopped by a couple of women playing darts.
    She’d changed into heels and nice jeans with a sequined tank. She waved over to her husband.
    “I guess I don’t want you to feel weird about the situation with Anna Lee.”
    “What’s the situation? She’s your damn wife.”
    “It’d be nice if we could all have drinks while you were at home.”
    “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
    Luke smiled, and Quinn realized his voice had some edge to it. No one could think of anything to say, Anna Lee getting stopped every few feet, talking to everyone in town, Quinn not knowing almost anyone, wondering who in the hell they were. The Southern Star was elbow to elbow, lots of laughter and loud drunk talk. Quinn usually tried to stay out of bars because bars are where all those fights had started.
    “If you were the coroner, you worked with my uncle a lot.”
    Luke nodded.
    “I heard the job had run him down.”
    “I know he needed help with all the drugs.”
    “I don’t remember a lot of drugs.” Quinn grinned, taking a swig of beer. “Besides some of that dope I smoked.”
    “Most all the problems I get as a physician are connected to meth,” Luke said. “I mean, it could be neglected or abused kids, or a woman being beaten up. Your uncle had to deal with the other side of it, people robbing Mr. Varner or the Sonic for fifty bucks, or people jacked up on that shit taking shots at his deputies. You know they call it the workin’ man’s cocaine? Sometimes I wish someone would put me in a padded room and let me try that stuff. It must be some kind of high, to sell your soul away.”
    “They grow poppies in Afghanistan like we grow cotton. And the Army was under direct orders to leave it alone. No one wanted to offend the warlords.”
    “You see much action?”
    Quinn shrugged, Anna Lee weaving her way between them and picking up Luke’s glass of bourbon and downing the rest of it. Luke laughed at her and reached behind her, gripping her ass hard. “Ain’t she a pistol?”
    Anna Lee squealed and knocked his hand away.
    “I better be goin’,” Quinn said.
    Luke excused himself and stumbled his way to the toilet while more sad country music played