Sheriff "Big Bert" Tubb once cleaned up Craw County, Alabama with an iron jaw and a big ol' stick. But that was 40 years ago. When his son, Earl Tubb, returns home to settle some family business, he finds his daddy's grave unkempt, the stick he was buried with grown into a gnarled old tree, and Craw County in worse shape than ever. Then that tree gets struck by lightning. And suddenly Earl has a stick of his own. And some questions he'd like answered. The hit new crime series, Southern Bastards, returns for its second volume, as Jason Aaron (Scalped, Thor, Star Wars) and Jason Latour (Wolverine & the X-Men, Loose Ends) pull back the curtain on the dark and seedy history of Craw County and its most famous and feared resident, the high school football coach turned backwoods crime lord, Euless Boss. In a place where only bastards flourish, what does it take to be the biggest, meanest, most powerful bastard of them all? Only Coach Boss knows. But if I was you, I wouldn't ask him. Collects Southern Bastards #5-8.

Earl Tubb is an angry old man with a very big stick. Euless Boss is a high school football coach with no more room in his office for trophies and no more room underneath the bleachers for burying bodies. And they're just two of the folks you'll meet in Castor County, Alabama, home of Boss BBQ, the state champion Runnin' Rebs and more bastards than you've ever seen! "What does old Earl Tubb do when he returns home to Craw County, Ala., only to find the place a veritable criminal fiefdom run by Euless Boss, the local high school football coach? Why, pick up the stick helpfully cleaved by lightning from a tree growing out of his daddy's grave and start meting out justice just like his father, the old sheriff, did. In the cleaning-up-the-dirty-old-town Southern-fried pulper, writer Aaron (Scalped) and artist Jason Latour (Django Unchained) spread around no more story than is absolutely necessary, and most of it involves people being at the wrong end of a stick, baseball bat, or even (in an early fight scene) a deep-fryer basket. Both Jasons hail from the South, as they discuss in a particularly bighearted introduction, and so likely feel unencumbered by concerns about overdosing on cliches. Thus, the high-impact pages are strewn with bruising high school football, sweet tea, barbecue, trucker caps, and snarling rednecks. The story, in which Tubb clobbers his way through throngs of underlings to get at Boss, is no more complicated than a redo of Walking Tall. But there's a thread of something deeper, bloodier, and more resonant that often transcends the usual psychotic-redneck shtick, aided in no small part by Latour's spare, elegant art." - Publishers Weekly