Next World Series , Ewing, K. [classic books for 12 year olds txt] 📗

waiting for just the right time or an opening, maybe an open gate or a soft spot of dirt to dig under the wire. But the fox made a mistake. He thought it was just a game between him and the chickens. He ignored the possibility that others could also be at play. On a cold Saturday night, I gave him the last chicken. Not the last one I had but the last one he would. He was again hungry two nights later, and I didn’t make it easy, but he found his way in. My fattest juiciest chicken was all the way in the back. Hard to get to, and he passed several others to have a shot. When he did, the kill shot was a hallucination, a clean piece of glass. Once he realized it and turned, it was too late; he was caught. The captor had become the captive in a matter of seconds. He struggled, of course, but it was no use; he had eaten his last chicken on my ranch and all others. You, Kate, and you too, Judge, are the fox. The citizens of this great town are the chickens, but I am the ranch owner, and I don’t stand alone.”

“What is he saying?” asked Kate. “Is he threatening us from a wheelchair?” she asked, snorting with laughter.

“I think,” responded the Judge with a sober face, “he is telling us there are more players in the story—even more than him.”

“I have half a mind to hang them both tomorrow in front of the whole town,” said the Sheriff.

Jason buckled with the thought and attempted a full run out of the jailhouse, with hands still bound. He made it out of the office, tripping over the trash can in his haste and landing facedown before being brought back by a deputy.

“Your turn, James. Are you going to roll on out of here?” she asked sarcastically.

“Now, why would I?” he replied. “Sure, Jason and I will spend the night behind bars but so will you both; you two are in my office now!”

Kate looked at Judge Lowry with a confused but still confident face.

“How do you figure?” she asked.

“We’re a test town—part location and part a who-you-know scenario. In a week, you won’t recognize the town of Weston or this jailhouse. The only question remaining is, will you leave or be the ones locked inside? It pays to have friends in high places,” he added—“don’t you think, Sheriff?”

* * * * * * *

Chapter Twenty-seven

Weston, Colorado

“Hey! Hey, what’s going on here?” came the loud voice she recognized at once.

“Ken!” she said, excusing herself from the room.

James could hear talking back and forth but couldn’t make out the words.

“Why exactly do you have my girlfriend in your jail?” was the only question he could hear from Ken, repeated over and over as the Sheriff tried to calm him down.

“It was me,” said Judge Lowry, staring at the man who used to work for him years ago, the same man who set him free only a week before. “She was drunk and disorderly—like you were, if you recall.”

“She doesn’t drink,” said Ken flatly.

“Well, then, let’s just call it disorderly conduct and leave it at that. Either way, she’s staying for a bit.”

“I want to talk to her right now!” Ken screamed.

“Ken, is that you?!” all could hear from the back of the building. “Ken, get me out of here! I didn’t do anything!”

“Let her out now, Kate. You have to let her out,” he pleaded.

“We’ll see if we can strike some sort of deal,” she replied, motioning for two deputies to show him outside.

“A deal! What kind of deal?” he called out, as they dragged him towards the door like a bouncer at a club may throw out a rowdy customer.

“One where everyone wins,” she called back. “We’ll talk later. Sorry about that, gentlemen. Or were we done here anyway?”

James shrugged, and nobody spoke.

“Just for conversation’s sake,” she said, crouching down to James at eye level, “what’s my town going to look like in a week?”

“A FEMA camp with Military control,” he said with a smile.

“Get them out of here!” she said. “Not only is he a traitor but a liar as well. I want them in separate cells, as far from each other as possible,” she snarled.

“Yes, ma’am, Sheriff,” said the lead deputy, winking at James when nobody was looking.

“Right this way, Mr. Mayor,” he said, pushing the chair down the hall, with Jason walking in front. “Hang tight,” the deputy whispered to James. “I’ll be back tonight for supper, and we’ll make a plan. I put some snacks under your mattress; just please be discreet.”

“Thanks, old friend,” replied James. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, man. Me too.”

* * * *

Jason was across the hall and couldn’t see James’ cell. He hollered out a few times, being warned by Kate what would happen if he didn’t shut up.

Ten minutes later, he slipped into the corner of his cell and traded crying for praying and praying for crying. He just wanted to be home and wondered if it would ever be safe again for him and his family. James heard him but stayed quiet until both the Sheriff and Judge Lowry left for the day around 4 p.m.

“Jason!” he called out when he was sure they had left. “Jason, I need you to be strong; your family needs you to be strong. So far, everything that has happened is what we expected.”

He didn’t say anything about the deputies or the Colonel, thinking they were likely being videoed, or at least recorded. “The Sheriff and Judge Lowry are just doing their job, that’s all,” James said, just in case he was right.

“When can we go home?” asked Jason through his tears.