Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  “We leave on Monday,” he told Kate before she left.

  “I’m not going fishing at some god-awful lake thirty miles away,” she responded.

  “It’s 18.”

  “What?”

  “I said it’s 18, and that means it’s within our 20-mile town radius. I’ve been thinking of doubling that to 40 miles before some other Sheriff, or Judge, beats me to it with their town. Anyway, I aim to go fishing in my town. Besides, I haven’t met my citizens on that side. Technically the entire lake is mine, anyway. How cool is that?”

  “It’s cool, all right,” she responded, “but only if they already know it. You had better take some backup if you want to make it back home.”

  “Maybe I should just take Judge Lowry with me! He loves to fish, you know,” he told her.

  “I know you’re joking, honey, so I won’t even respond to that. Speaking of him, what are your plans?”

  “I don’t know. Wish I did, Kate, ’cause man, I need a break.”

  “You could...” she started to say, before pausing and not wanting to give away anything she may be planning.

  “Could what?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I was just thinking out loud, but I’ve got nothing. Anyway, I’ll be back in just a bit,” she added, carrying the container of food with four trays.

  * * * *

  “It’s me, everybody,” she called out as she unlocked the front door to the jailhouse. “Now. I know you can’t all see me right now, but I have your supper here. When I slide it under the cell, I am going to ask you how many ketchups you want. Your answer will be one or two. And don’t even think of reaching through the bars towards me or I’ll see you’re shot this very night. Understand, gentlemen?”

  “Yes. Yes, ma’am,” came the response from everyone besides Judge Lowry.

  “You okay, Judge? I don’t hear your response.”

  “I’m here,” he said.

  “Good, and I hope you’ve been a good boy since the last time we spoke.”

  There was a pause before Ken broke the tension with “He has,” getting a look from the others.

  “Well, now. That’s what I like to hear,” she responded. “One or two packets of ketchup?” she asked, starting with Ken.

  “Ah, I guess… Well, ah…”

  “Just answer her!” shouted James’ shooter. “I’m hungry over here.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Ken, taking in a deep breath. “Two, please.”

  “Good choice,” she replied, giving him a wink only he could see.

  She moved down the hall with two cells side by side, housing Judge Lowry and Richard.

  “One more to go,” she said, after sliding Richard’s plate under the door.

  “Boo!” called out Richard, as he ran up to the cell door, slapping his large mitts on the bars in a slamming motion.

  Kate was ready for some attitude or maybe a sexist remark, but not this.

  She stumbled backward, like after the car wreck she had been in at age seven. The very same one that killed her mother and put Kate on a rollercoaster of physical and mental rehabilitation. As she grew older, a relationship developed with her father that no thirteen-year-old girl should ever have. Falling backward, she tried to turn and catch herself.

  “Gotcha, darlin’,” said James’ shooter, reaching his arms through the bars, with one around her waist and another around her throat. His breath, hot and sticky, hit her neck like a firehose trying to cool off a midsummer Arizona sidewalk. One breath after another and another, as she squirmed to get free.

  “You let her go now!” commanded Ken.

  “Or what? the Sheriff will kill me? You intend to do just that, don’t you, Richard?”

  “That I do, my fine opponent-to-be,” replied Richard.

  “Stay calm,” Ken called to her intentionally, not using her name.

  “Let me go, you bastard!” she screamed. Her heavy breathing slowed as she realized he was not squeezing her throat. Not yet, at least. But the breathing reminded her of everything wrong with her daddy before he left town, for the last time, when she turned fourteen.

  “What do you want?” she asked, as calmly as her trembling voice would let her.

  “You’re shaking, lady,” he said, laughing. “So, either you’re scared to death or mad as hell. Which is it?”

  “Let me go, and you’ll find out quick, you poorest excuse for a human being.”

  “We have a winner!” he announced to his audience, with the Judge now starting to pay attention.

  “So, I’ll ask you again,” she repeated. “What do you want?”

  “I just want to talk, darlin’…at least to start. I ain’t been this close to a woman in quite some time, and even longer since I was around a girl as pretty as you. Whatever you’re wearing, it’s working,” he said, inhaling deeply through his nose resting on top of her head.

  Kate struggled to get free but could not.

  Judge Lowry offered no support for either side but stood at his cell door, observing intently as Ken continued to scream, “Let her go!”

  “Okay, you have options,” she stated calmly. “You let me go in ten seconds, and maybe we pretend this didn’t happen. And you, Richard—don’t forget you started this!

  “Or you kill me right now, and when the Sheriff finds me he makes an example of you both for everyone here in this jail.”

  “Let her go!” called out Richard. “Do it right now.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or come Saturday, I take my time with you, real slow like, with no mercy.”

  The man hesitated for only a few seconds before loosening his grip, allowing Kate to slip away. Without a word, she ran up to the office, past the keys she would need to get to Ken, and grabbed her pistol.

  The silence in the back was thunderous as they all strained to hear what was next. She racked the slide of her compact Ruger LC9 pistol. The snap echoed throughout the building.

  “Hey now, wait just a minute,” the man who was in control only moments ago called out. “We had a deal!” he yelled.

  Kate couldn’t hear him; she couldn’t hear anything. Never in her life had she felt such utter terror and blinding rage, at least not at the same time.

  Without a word, she walked back, her hands shaking as she held her pistol out. Pointing it at the man she had come to hate deeply in a matter of only a few minutes, she steadied one hand with the other and pointed toward his chest.

  “Ma’am, Ma’am!” called out Ken, again not wanting to say her name in front of the other men. She was unfazed, not hearing his pleas.

  “Kate! Kate is her name,” called out Judge Lowry from around the corner, “but you know that already, don’t you, Ken?”

  “Kate,” called Ken, not responding to the Judge.

  “What?” she replied, without taking her eyes off the target.

  “You don’t want to do this,” he continued. “It’s dangerous.”

  “I think I’m good, and I’m ready to send this piece of crap back down where he came from.”

  “What I mean is, it’s dangerous to fire a gun in here. If you hit one of the bars or miss him, there’s no telling where that bullet could end up.”

  James’ shooter took six steps back, cowering in the corner, with his back turned.

  “Come on up to the front, tough guy. I don’t want to shoot you from behind. Where’s the sport in that?”

  “It’s okay, Kate,” said Ken calmly. “It’s over. This is done.”

  She slowly lowered the pistol towards the ground and started back towards the office.

  “Eat up, boys,” she called back behind her. “I’m picking up trays in fifteen minutes.”

  Kate breathed deeply, wiping the tears from her eyes. She would never let them see her cry. “Focus,” she told herself, pulling a sheet of blank typing paper out of the top desk drawer.

  “Option #2,” she wrote across the top. Then underneath, she wrote this note:

  Tonight
, after midnight, when all are asleep, you will take these keys and open your cell door, Judge Lowry’s, and then the front door.

  The Judge will need to keep the keys, locking you back in your cell before leaving. We don’t need the keys back, so tell him to keep them.

  If he refuses to leave, tell him he will be the third man in the gladiator contest this Saturday.

  He is to leave town this night, never to return. He must stay off the main roads out of town. If he’s picked up tomorrow, I won’t be able to help him.

  Last, eat this note, every bit of it.

  Love, Kate

  She hadn’t yet figured out how to get the note and keys to Ken without being seen by the others.

  Think! Think! she told herself. This is too important to screw up.

  “Trays down in five,” she called out.

  Kate still hadn’t figured out how to pull off the next step and briefly considered pulling Ken out of his cell quickly for the exchange.

  Glancing up at the old poster she had seen hundreds of times before, hanging above the front door, she had an idea. Not a great one, or even a good one, but one that could possibly work.

  The poster showed a man from behind, cuffed and turned away from the photographer. The slogan didn’t matter, and she had her idea.

  “Trays on the floor,” she called down the hall. “Push them outside of your cells and turn around facing the back wall of your cells. Anyone turns around or looks at me, and I’ll risk letting a bullet bounce around this jailhouse. Understand, boys?”

  She only got a couple of responses, but it didn’t matter. They were all faced away, with trays shoved into the hall. She made a clanking of the trays intentionally to cover the sound of the paper with keys wrapped inside sliding across the floor of Ken’s cell. He was quick to recover the package and stuff it under his mattress.

  “All right, gentlemen. It’s been interesting, for sure,” she said, with her confidence back. “And I’m just as excited as you are for Saturday’s entertainment. Sleep tight,” she called out as she locked the front door behind her.

  Ken made a point of crouching in the corner to read the note before the light outside faded to dark. Reading the note over three times in a row, one thing stuck—“Love, Kate.”

  * * * *

  “How did it go, honey?” asked her fiancé. “Did the guests behave themselves?”

  “They are fed and still alive. Now relax, and I’ll get started on your favorite dinner,” she said with a smile.

  “What did I do to deserve all of this?” he asked.

  “Everything,” she replied. “Everything you do for us and this town, day-in and day-out.”

  “Well, I do try, and thanks for saying that.”

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  Weston, Colorado

  Ken was worried that he would fall asleep and miss his opportunity to complete “the mission,” as he called it.

  A bright and nearly full moon filled the windows of each cell with enough light to navigate basic objects.

  He sat with his back to the bars and front door of his cell, listening intently. It had been totally dark for about three hours, near as he could tell, and he could separate the loud snoring from Richard and the heavy breathing, with occasional fearful outbursts from his soon-to-be rival. It’s now or never, he thought, wishing he only had to worry about his jump tomorrow. He vowed to get this over with and try to get some sleep for the big day.

  There were three keys on the ring. He guessed one was the front door; one was universal for the cells…and the third? Maybe the office, he thought, although it didn’t really matter, he decided. Reaching out through the front bars, he used the skeleton-type key he had seen every time his door had been opened. His hand shook and cramped as he fumbled to insert the key from the outside.

  “Let me go!” screamed James’ shooter, startling Ken enough to drop the keys.

  A clang echoed through the halls as they fell on the hard cement floor… Ken froze, holding his breath and straining his ears like a big buck on the first day of hunting season. Richard was still snoring, so that was good, and only minutes later he heard the other one breathing hard once again.

  “The second time is a charm,” he mumbled, reaching through the bars for the keys. Streaks of light through the window distorted his perception.

  “No, no, no!” he whispered, realizing he was six inches short of reaching the keys. Trying again, pressing his body against the bars and exhaling deeply, he gained three more inches in reach, but it wasn’t enough.

  This isn’t good, he thought. Tomorrow morning they are going to know it’s me! He scanned the room, looking for the broomstick or coat hanger he knew wasn’t there. Sitting on his cot, he wondered if he could take it apart, cut a wire maybe and make some fashion of a hook. With his head in his hands, he nearly laughed out loud.

  Laces, he heard, as if someone were standing next to him. With this having been his first-ever stint in the big house, he thought he might not have them in a larger jail. But this was Weston, and things were different here.

  Tying both laces together to a single shoe, the retrieval process was less than a minute. He quickly unlocked his cell before something else, with his luck, could derail the mission.

  Operation Get the Judge Out of Town resumes, he thought.

  Judge Lowry’s cell was between the other two, and he hadn’t heard a peep out of him since last night. Lacing his own shoes back up, he hoped the good Judge hadn’t done something worse with his own laces.

  Opening his cell door, the creak went unnoticed and he stared down at the Judge. What now? he thought, feeling dumb that he hadn’t already thought this through. I mean, he had enough time, hours to be exact, to plan this out. He could shake him awake or cover his mouth, but they would need to talk in the end.

  At the last minute, he covered the Judge’s mouth with one hand while shaking him with the other. Two shakes and Judge Lowry jumped up, red eyes glaring in the moonlight.

  “Easy Judge. I’m just here to talk.” Judge Lowry pushed his intruder back, almost screaming out loud. “What happens next is your future, good or bad,” Ken whispered.

  “What is this about, old friend, or should I say ‘employee’?”

  “This intervention is about your freedom if you choose it, and it’s the only reason you’re getting a chance not to hang from a rope. So, listen closely. You are going to take these keys, lock me back in my cell, and leave the front door unlocked. You have until sunup to gather what you can from the courthouse and disappear, never to return. Stay off the main roads…or, even better, off all roads on your way out of town. If the Sheriff sees you, you’re done. You know that, right?”

  There was a pause for too long…

  “Do you hear me?” Ken asked, waiting for a response.

  “All right, don’t threaten me,” the Judge whispered. “I’ll leave for now.”

  “Do I get a thank-you?” asked Ken, with a hint of his former snarky self.

  “I’ll give you ‘You’re welcome,’ but that’s it.”

  “Okay, whatever… Let’s get you going,” Ken conceded.

  * * * *

  Judge Lowry played the game, locking Ken back in his cell and walking out the front door a free man. The smell of rain coming was in the air—his favorite smell in the whole world, launching him towards his new life.

  * * * *

  Keys to the courthouse’s back door lay under the same fake rock where it had been for the last 23 years. His bug-out bag hid inside the secret room he called home since the day.

  “I know,” he yelled at the clock on the far wall. “It’s 1 a.m. I get that,” he continued, “but I’m not going to let them win,” pointing to the wall of pictures, including Sheriff Johnson, James VanFleet, and other town higher-ups. Minutes later, they were all ripped off the wall. “I’m going fishing, you bastards,” he yelled loud enough for nobody to hear in the empty courthouse.

  The large pack
was heavier than he remembered, and he was now regretting having not picked up another running vehicle. His old truck had surely been impounded by now, and he didn’t have time to go gallivanting all over town looking for it. “Tires are shredded anyways,” he said, laughing. “I gave those boys a hell of a chase, though. They will be talking about that, I’ll bet, for years to come,” he said, exiting the courthouse for the last time. “South or east,” he said aloud. “South or east, south or east? Would James hide me out if I head south? Maybe, maybe not. Head east to the cabin?”

  The cabin was a secret from almost everyone, including Sheriff Johnson. He had owned it for sixteen years this coming fall. He had only ever told one person about it, and he hoped she had long since forgotten the conversation. The neatly kept cabin was a place he could call his own, close enough to drive to in thirty minutes, but far enough away to warrant calling it a true getaway. In all this time, not a single other soul had stepped inside since his agent did the final walkthrough with him before the purchase. He would go up for long weekends, careful not to commit to working Friday afternoons at the courthouse. His secretary saw to that. It was off the lake, maybe a half-mile, but so were all the others in the area. He remembered telling his realtor he wanted something on the water.

  “Not at a state park, Your Honor,” was the reply. “Nobody gets that right, not even the Governor.”

  Judge Lowry kept the small cabin stocked with food, both in cabinets and refrigerated, and always parked his truck, which didn’t start now, under the attached carport, not wanting to grab attention from his neighbors. He was a loner up there at least ten weekends a year and liked it that way. The last time he was up was right after it happened. It was around election time and Sheriff Johnson had loaned him one of the patrol vehicles that still started. Now he would have a long walk, as he had to stay off the main roads. At least I cleaned out the refrigerator last time, he thought.