Next World Series (Vol. 3): Families First [Second Wind]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  Cory broke the bad news to Mac but vowed a surprise when he was better.

  * * * *

  Samuel headed back to his house, pushing a couple of meetings back by 30 minutes.

  He had always been in the teach-a-man-to-fish camp, having studied the art for many years, including the finest equipment for the sport. He instructed a fishing class as an elective at a local community college in Loveland a few years back and enjoyed the comradery amongst his students.

  Digging through his back closet, he was looking for the one. Not the new one, or even the oldest one, but the special one.

  There it was! The Fenwick Yellow Jacket in an unopened custom-made wooden box. A bright yellow spin rod that was a match for any freshwater fish in the country.

  * * * *

  Mac was given early release by Sarah at lunchtime, so he could meet Cory and Rico for the special surprise.

  Samuel met them all up at the Ranch for lunch. He handed Mac a long case. Every fisherman could guess the basic contents.

  “This was given to me by my old friend, Ronald Reagan, back in 1985. Back then, he was getting ready to serve his second term in office. We had become close over the years, as I guided him in the ways of the spirit. He had once told me to call on him if I ever needed anything.

  “I never dreamed I would…until that day. It was February 5, 1985. It was a Tuesday, I remember, and the city had given all of us in this Valley official notice that they would be taking our land by eminent domain, to be used as the new City dump. It was even signed by the Governor himself.

  “I couldn’t just stand by and watch our pristine Valley be turned into a refuge pile, so I used my get-out-of-jail-free card. I called the sitting President and asked for a huge favor.

  “When he got back to me the next day, he asked if I knew it had been signed by the Governor of Colorado. I told him I had seen that in the document.

  “OK, old friend,” he told me. “Let me work on this.”

  “One week later, the City informed us that they had found a more suitable spot for the dump on the other side of town. Two days later, a package arrived from Washington, DC, with this Fenwick Yellow Jacket fishing rod, signed by the 40th President of the United States, with a note saying: ‘May you have happy fishing days in your valley for years to come.’

  “Those are the stories you never hear on the 6 o’clock news.

  “Now, I want you to have this special rod, Mac.”

  Mac didn’t know what to say, looking to Sarah for help, but she only shrugged.

  “Samuel,” he started slowly, wanting to pick the right words. “This gift means a lot to me, and I will take great care of this keepsake, as you have all these years.”

  “I know you will, son,” Samuel replied. “Just promise me you will catch some fish with it. The darn thing has been collecting dust in my closet for too long.”

  Rico appeared with a large silver platter, with steam pouring out the sides of the cover. “Something smells good, and I’m starving!” said Mac, as Rico set the plate in front of him.

  “Please do the honors,” said Rico. Mac slowly lifted the cover, revealing a whole monster rainbow trout, complete with its head.

  “I remember you, big guy!” said Mac, looking around the table. “How did this happen, Rico?”

  “It wasn’t me; I was only helping Cory with the surprise.”

  “Are you kidding me? The fish that nearly cost me my life is in front of me and smells delicious! It’s like that movie The Jewel of the Nile, where the crocodile swallows the jewel and Michael Douglas’s character dives in the water after it, with just a knife. Then, in later scenes, he is wearing crocodile boots.”

  “Yeah,” said Cory. “It’s kind of like that, but this one you get to eat.”

  “I still don’t know how you pulled this off, Cory, but thank you. And I can’t wait to try out my new rod!”

  “In good time,” Sarah told him. “You still need to rest up a bit before jumping full-throttle back into everything, including work and play.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he reluctantly agreed, “but only for a day or two.”

  * * * *

  “Cory!” came the call from the Miller boy, running into the dining room at full speed and startling a few of the residents.

  Stopping at the table, catching his breath, he asked, “How are you feeling, Mac?”

  “Better, thank you. Now what’s going on?”

  “It’s the MacDonalds. They’re, well, what I mean is…they are…I don’t know, but their property is being overrun right as we’re talking.”

  “By who?” asked Cory.

  “I’m not sure,” replied the Miller boy, “but there’s a lot of people up there, and they never have folks over to their place. Unless a bunch of cousins done showed up without a call, I think they’re in trouble.”

  “I thought you two didn’t get along,” questioned Mac.

  “He and my pops never saw eye to eye, but that don’t mean we stop looking out for each other up there on the mountain. When something bad happens like this, it has a way of bulldozing everything in its path, including this here Ranch.”

  “Thanks, son,” said Cory. “Do you know anything about how many are up there and if they are armed?”

  “I was huntin’ and did some spyin’, and I figure there must be 50 or more up at the MacDonald place right now. Some have rifles, but most carried shovels or pitchforks, looked like.”

  “Did you see old man MacDonald or his wife?” asked Mac.

  “Nope, but they always stayed close to the main house, or inside.”

  “All right, that’s a good job. Can you wait outside for just a few?” asked Cory.

  “Sure,” the Miller boy replied, heading out the front door of the Pavilion.

  Mac stood quickly and swayed enough for Sarah to demand he sit back down.

  “I have to see what’s happening,” Mac said, standing again, but this time holding on to the table with one hand.

  “Let me take a couple of my former officers up and see what’s going on,” said Cory. “They may even know some of the people, and if we’re lucky, maybe we can get things under control before they get out of hand.

  “You’re not well enough to go up there yet, Mac,” he whispered. “We both know that, and Sarah is going to kick your ass if you try.”

  “You’re right on both accounts,” Mac conceded, feeling helpless to lead his team. “I want radio contact with me at all times, though,” he added. “And yes, I’ll keep an eye out for your boy, just as always.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Cory. “And I’ll take the Miller boy also, if that’s OK.”

  “That’s a good idea, since he knows the MacDonalds and the terrain up there better than anyone else here. This is a recon only, unless you’re fired upon,” added Mac.

  Cory was excited to get back to work with some of his old team, but the rules were different now, and he wished he had Jimmy with him.

  * * * *

  Parking their four-wheelers at Moon Rock, one of the new security team was left to watch over the machines.

  “Nobody takes these machines,” Cory told him. “Nobody. Radio me if you see any trouble.”

  The Miller boy led them by foot around the east side of the MacDonald property line.

  “There’s a spot up on the cliff,” he told Cory, speaking low, “that offers a view of their entire spread. It’s how I always knew what they were up to. If we’re quiet, we will have the advantage, but if one of us slips up, we’ll have to fight our way back down to survive.”

  Cory had chosen two of his former officers, one male and one female, plus three other men from the security team, bringing the total to 7, not counting the ATV guard.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your first name,” said Cory to the Miller boy.

  “It’s Drake, sir, just like the little town up the canyon a ways,” he said, pointing up the mountain.

  “That’s it. I remember now,” replied Cory. �
�Drake is going to lead us quietly up to a vantage point above the property, where we hopefully will learn what we are dealing with. Stay low and don’t fire unless I give the go-ahead. Are we all clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied everyone, even Drake.

  * * * *

  Sounds of laughter and rowdiness came from the direction of the main house, giving Cory a reason to be concerned. The short one-mile hike was harder than it looked, quickly increasing in elevation. Each team member carried a small daypack with enough provisions for an overnight stay in the bush, if absolutely necessary.

  The first vantage point gave them a clear picture of the outside of the east and part of the south side of the house, surrounded by men, women, and some children.

  Cory pulled his binoculars, scanning the crowd, looking for anyone he may recognize from days earlier or from his former position in Loveland. It dawned on him that most formerly clean-cut men would now be sporting beards, and the women would not be made up.

  Still, he scanned the crowd, wondering how long it took them to get all the way up here. A few days, he heard in his mind, just a few days to get from the southern border of the Ranch, following my boy and me here, right after Mac’s duel with Ralph.

  “It’s them,” Cory said out loud, only now realizing his team hadn’t been there for the action.

  “Them who?” asked Drake.

  “The townspeople that gave us some trouble before. They promised not to return to the Ranch, but they didn’t exactly leave either.”

  Cory, with others, watched with their binoculars as the side door of the main house was thrown open and Mr. MacDonald, along with his wife, was shoved out and onto the ground. They were pushed to the side, further and faster still, until they tripped over their own feet and went on to their knees.

  Cory held his breath, not ready to engage but also not willing to sit by and watch an execution.

  A man had his pistol out and leveled at the back of old man Macdonald’s head.

  “Fire on three,” said Cory quietly… One…two…wait, wait, hold fire,” he said, as the man with the pistol became distracted and walked down the road towards a small incoming group.

  Cory flashed a pocket mirror, sending a beam down in front of the old man, getting his attention.

  Waving his arm in a sweeping motion, Cory gestured for them to run. They ran up and around, climbing slowly up the back of the steep cliff. Near the top, Drake lent each of them a hand, getting a nod out of Cory as Mr. MacDonald took it, with a “Thank you, son” added on.

  “Do we call for backup or hold tight?” asked one of Cory’s former officers.

  “We are the backup plan,” replied Cory, speaking quietly.

  “I doubt they are going to put out much of a search for Mr. MacDonald and his wife here, so we will stay put for now and see if we can find out some more information about our new neighbors.”

  Minutes ticked by, with most mulling around the property aimlessly. The small incoming group was receiving lots of attention from others as they gathered around, blocking Cory’s line of sight.

  The small crowd whooped and clapped as the procession came into view.

  “Oh, hell,” said Cory, still looking through his binoculars, as the group made way for the man being carried on a stretcher. “How can we not get rid of that guy?” he said aloud.

  “Do you know them?” asked Mr. MacDonald.

  “I know one for sure,” replied Cory, “and he appears to be their leader.”

  “When do we get our house back?” asked the old man’s wife.

  “I honestly don’t know,” replied Cory.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Weston, Colorado

  Sheriff Johnson felt a bit better, having a new rival locked up in his jail, but it was still too quiet.

  He thought about how to get the loud-mouth obese man, who had disrespected him more than once already, inside as well.

  Talking it over with his girlfriend at lunch, he told her he was thinking about asking the Judge’s permission to arrest the man on a civil unrest charge.

  “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” she responded immediately. “You are the Sheriff of this town and the most powerful man here. Why would you ask his permission to do anything? Are you going soft on me?”

  “Give me a minute,” he told her, walking outside, with his head spinning. Never before had anyone suggested he was soft about anything, and now he had recently heard it from the two people closest to him.

  Could it be true? he thought, questioning his sanity for a split second, before the fear and anxiety turned to anger. “I am the sitting Sheriff of Weston, voted in by the citizens in a landslide victory, and nobody tells me how to do my job,” he mumbled.

  “Say it again,” she told him, overhearing the first attempt, “and this time with conviction!”

  He stood, his voice booming across the small house. “I am the sitting Sheriff of Weston, voted in by the citizens in a landslide victory, and nobody tells me how to do my job!”

  “There’s my man,” she said, smiling flirtatiously and pulling him into the back bedroom.

  An hour later, he emerged, confident and resolute, calling to his deputies to arrest the man on-site for civil disobedience.

  “He’s a big boy,” he added, “so it may take a few of you. Throw him into the same cell as the former councilman, just for fun.”

  He thought about telling the Judge what he had done. He’ll find out soon enough, he thought.

  His deputies found the fugitive in the midst of a multiplayer bastardized version of craps, right on the sidewalk downtown.

  “What’s your name?” they asked the man, easily tipping the scales at 350 pounds.

  “My name?” he responded, looking around at his fellow players. “Why, my name is you rent-a-cops better move on down the road.”

  With that, he turned his back on them and continued his game.

  “Sir,” called out the lead deputy, “you are under arrest for civil disobedience.”

  “You mean because I said a few things in front of your boss and hurt his feelings?” He got a laugh out of only a couple guys with this last statement.

  The other players were getting nervous. “His…his name is Richard,” called out one of the players.

  “That’s right,” added another.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” the officer responded.

  The hulk of a man, overweight and at least 6’5”, had a path opening to him, man by man, as the other gamers backed away from him.

  “Now, Richard,” said the lead deputy calmly, “we can do this one of two ways. I would prefer option number one, where you slowly and quietly walk over here, turn around and put your hands behind your back. However, it’s completely up to you, and my boss has given me carte blanche permission to do whatever is necessary.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about with that cartey blankly Spanish crap, but I haven’t heard option two.”

  “Fair enough, Richard. Option two is a hostile and assuredly unpleasant removal of yourself from this area, and one way or the other ending up in our jail cell.”

  The rest of the men around him scattered with this final statement.

  Richard paused, silently mulling over his options. The air was still, with nobody speaking.

  “I choose,” he finally spoke slowly, “option number 3!” he announced, grabbing one of the male spectators around the neck and putting a small pocketknife to the man’s throat.

  The hostage let out a stifled scream, his eyes wide with fear of what could happen next.

  The deputies didn’t react, but each had a hand on the butt of their holstered pistols.

  Richard slowly backed away from the crowd, with the deputies following five yards behind.

  “Where are you going, big guy?” asked one of the officers.

  “Wherever I want! And if you try anything, you’re going to have a dead man on your hands.”

 
Judge Lowry was promptly notified by one of the spectators, who had been making a small amount of side money each week to keep him informed of out-of-the-ordinary town happenings.

  “That’s enough, deputies,” called out Judge Lowry, rounding the street corner. “Who authorized this?”

  “Sheriff’s orders not to let anyone interfere, even you,” replied the lead deputy.