Cam was his actual name, as Jason learned when he offered to buy the old-timer breakfast.
“I don’t pay for breakfasts since I keep the restaurant freezers working full time.”
“Sorry,” replied Jason. “I had heard that from the owner before but forgot about it. Anyway, I figured since you’re so good at electrical work that maybe you could help me with a project I have in mind.”
“You know you’re not the only one to ask me a favor, don’t you? I get at least one request every day, and sometimes more.”
“This one,” replied Jason, “is for Mayor James VanFleet, and I can pay you.”
“Well, that changes everything,” replied Cam with a laugh.
“Which part?” asked Jason.
“Both parts, son. That’s why we’re still talking here.”
Jason relayed his idea of building James an electric wheelchair. “Not the kind old peop...well, I mean not like the traditional slow ones you used to see around.”
“No need to mind your tongue around me, Jason. I’m damn old and proud of it. I was so cocky and careless as a young man, I never expected to live past the age of 30. So, you want a wheelchair that a tough cowboy like James could be proud of, right?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jason, getting excited. “Like a monster truck, only smaller, I guess.”
Cam laughed, thinking that it sounded like an interesting project.
“Okay,” he said aloud.
“Okay, what?” asked Jason.
“We can build it for six silver dollars and no less, paid up front. Plus, you will pay for all the parts.”
The price was a little more than Jason had budgeted, but he had already discussed it with Lauren and she was on board. It took a fair amount of the money Jason and Lauren had left, but he paid Cam without another word.
“We should have it done in a week or two, and it will cost you about another four silvers for the parts, I’m guessing. Meet me downtown at the old hardware store tomorrow morning around 9 a.m.,” he added. “Now, let an old man enjoy his breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jason, “and thank you.”
Jason told Lauren the good news, keeping it a secret from Janice and the kids for now.
* * * *
Sheriff Johnson prepared the cell for his newest guest. He was particular about the cleanliness of each holding cell prior to being occupied, even down to the toilets and the bedding.
His guests, as he sometimes called them, never stayed very long, so the cells weren’t as bad as they could be, he supposed.
His newest arrival came in with a bandaged stomach. The bullet had missed everything important. The Sheriff demanded an early release from the doctors, agreeing to call on them if there were any changes in the prisoner’s condition.
Once the prisoner was safely locked away, the Sheriff dismissed his deputies for the afternoon, opting for some alone time with his prisoners. He used to share these moments with Judge Lowry, but they were drifting apart and hadn’t spoken to one another since last Saturday.
He had never before thought of planning an execution without the Judge’s ruling, but now things were different. This time he wouldn’t even ask permission.
He felt good, with a new sense of power over his people and a confidence in the bedroom he had never known before.
“Let’s talk, gentlemen,” he said, standing between the three cells so all could hear.
“You,” he called out, pointing to the new prisoner. “I don’t know you, so I don’t think you know how this goes. But you two, former Councilman and Richard, have been around long enough to know nobody under my watch walks out of here alive.
“The problem, gentlemen, is that I’m getting bored with the traditional hangings. I know they were a staple of times long gone—and don’t get me wrong, they were exciting and served their purpose for the rest of my citizens—but they just don’t excite me anymore. Does that make any sense?”
There was no response from any of the men.
“Before the lights went out, we had electric chairs, lethal injections, gas chambers, and not too long ago, firing squads.”
He made a pistol motion with his right hand, pretending to shoot each man.
“Way, way back, they had guillotines and that thing they did with the horses or with trees, where they pulled the limbs off, but that’s too brutal for sure. Gladiators…I forgot about that. Like that movie with the Australian guy. I can’t remember his name right now.”
“Russell Crowe,” said the former councilman without thinking.
“That’s the one,” replied the Sheriff.
“I was just thinking that maybe you three should have a say in it. Think on it for me, and have a good night.”
He slid three full dinner plates across the floor, one into each of the cells, and locked up for the night, walking the short half-mile home.
Judge Lowry watched the Sheriff walk within thirty feet of the now-abandoned liquor store. The Judge hid inside, peering out a broken side window. He took a deep breath, held it, and pointed the loaded pistol at the Sheriff.
“Pow!” he whispered, as the Sheriff continued down the sidewalk towards home.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Three
Weston, Colorado
Judge Lowry walked back to the courthouse, a confident man. He would not have to confront the Sheriff, man to man, as he had restlessly dreamed about for the last few nights. His surprise would be unexpected, and hopefully quick to end.
All that was left was for him to gain the favor of those who would serve under him in the highest levels of city government and law enforcement.
He sought daily to recruit those men and women needed to fulfill his destiny, to forever fill the post as the leader of Weston.
Sheriff Johnson was home early, relaxing on his front porch with his black crocodile cowboy boots propped up on his workbench. With all the changes after the power went down, he made a note to sift through his old books and magazines. This afternoon he was handed one of his favorite old schoolbooks by his girlfriend. She was slowly inching her way into his daily decision-making on official town matters.
He smiled, reading the cover of the Guinness World Records. He had collected many of these books over the years. This edition was 1975, and he read about his favorite motorcycle jumping hero growing up, Evel Knievel.
“Did you know that in 1975 he held the Guinness record for most bones fractured? He broke 433 bones in more than 20 crashes. And he earned almost $6 million for his Snake River Canyon rocket-crossing attempt.”
“You really like that daredevil stuff, don’t you?” asked his girlfriend.
“More than anything. Wait a minute, that’s it!” he exclaimed. “That’s what I’ve been missing all along! I’ll be back in an hour,” he added excitedly, running off the porch and back through town.
He reached his station out of breath, and he paused outside for a minute, calming his excitement. He thought for a minute about what he was considering and almost backed out to head home.
“Is this what you really want?” he asked himself, knowing it would take some of his power away if it went sideways. Deciding he could live with the worst-case scenario, he pressed on.
“Gentlemen,” he yelled, swinging open the front door. He heard plates clanging in one cell, and a toilet flushing in another.
“You boys weren’t expecting me back until tomorrow, I know, but here I am. What did each of you decide?”
“Gladiator-style, Richard? What about you, former councilman? Maybe a firing squad or guillotine?”
There were no responses from the men, who up until just minutes ago were talking of quick and painless ways to die and the more remote possibility of a jailbreak.
“Sir,” spoke the wounded man, still laying on his cot. “We were hoping there was another way. Like kicking all of us out of town for good, never to return.” He got eager nods from the other two prisoners.
“That’s an interesting thou
ght, considering it’s never happened before. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?” he said, gesturing towards the other two.
“My lady friend reminded me that I like watching death-defying daredevil stunts more than almost anything else in this world. So, gentlemen, here is my proposition.
“As it stands now, the three of you will walk out of this jailhouse in the near future and be justly executed for crimes committed in my town. There are no second chances and no banishments to be had. However, I may consider an alternative of a death-defying stunt. It would have to be performed in front of the citizens of my town, and if you should survive, you have my word that I will let you leave town unharmed, never to return.
“Evel Knievel’s Grand Canyon rocket stunt is one of my all-time favorites, and he survived. I also like the Flying Wallendas’ tightrope walks across canyons and buildings. There are many others, as you surely have seen.
“So, I’ll give you each an opportunity to come up with a few good ones that would, of course, need to have my approval and would give you at least a chance, however small, of walking out of town alive. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added, walking out and locking the front door.
The prisoners discussed their options.
Richard had no takers for his gladiator-style bare-knuckle competition.
The councilman talked about motorcycle jumps, having raced a bit in his early twenties. And the gutshot outlaw, being new to this town, was in disbelief at the happenings of the last few days.
“It’s all just a big lie to scare us,” he said. “They will get tired of feeding us in a day or two and let us go anyway. I’m done with that guy’s bullshit,” he said confidently.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Four
Weston, Colorado
Judge Lowry answered a knock on his front door early the next morning.
It was one of three people he had hired a while back to keep him informed of town happenings.
The woman informed him of the meeting between Jason and the breakfast man the day before. Her information was third-hand, she admitted, but she believed the sources were sound.
He thanked her with two silver dimes and headed downtown to the hardware store. He had known the owner for years and quickly got most of the story out of him.
Handing the shop owner three silver dollars and the promise of more business, the Judge was able to check off a part of step one in his growing plan. Do something big for James without him knowing.
He made a point to stay until Jason and the electric man arrived. On cue, the shop owner said, “Jason, I have been informed of your project idea, and it sounds worthy of an excellent mayor. Judge Lowry has paid in advance for any materials that may be needed for the chair.”
“That’s right,” the Judge interjected, “and I want only the very best materials for my mayor’s new chair,” he told the shop owner.
“We want the big tires and souped-up engine or battery, or whatever goes in it. Right, Jason?”
Jason paused, feeling relieved part of the tab was being picked up, but not sure at what cost.
“Yes, sir,” he said without thinking. “I want a fully rigged off-road chair, befitting a tough-as-nails rancher and mayor. It’s got to be fast and unstoppable.”
“Your Honor,” whispered the shop owner, “that’s going to cost a lot more than...”
The Judge discretely handed him two more silver coins and whispered, “You want to stay on my good side, right?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I do,” replied the shop owner.
“That’s good. Now, are there any more issues?” asked the Judge.
“No, sir,” he replied obediently.
“You heard the Deputy Mayor,” added the Judge loudly. “Let’s get this done! I’ll be back in two days’ time for a progress check,” he added.
* * * *
Jason had Lauren’s help covering in James’ absence, splitting his time between the chair project and the promised greenhouse construction for the town.
Sheriff Johnson returned to the jailhouse, eager to hear any and all ideas his captives had come up with.
The wounded man refused to participate, giving the Sheriff the final push to put him in front of a firing squad. There would be several shooters with only James’ gun containing live rounds, he thought. Let the mayor get his revenge, and he will owe me, he thought, smiling.
The former councilman proposed a death-defying motorcycle jump right over the two-story courthouse if a suitable motorcycle could be obtained and two ramps could be built, one for jumping and the other for landing.
Richard, knowing the outcome if he did nothing, asked for a gladiator-style fight to the death.
“I’ll check on that,” replied the Sheriff, excited about these possible alternatives to the traditional hangings. He proceeded to happily serve his guests, giving each one a large plate of scrambled eggs and bread.
* * * *
The Sheriff stopped by the doctor’s clinic to check on a much more alert James. Janice sat by his bed.
“You’re looking good, James,” he commented. “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m no worse, so I guess that’s good,” James replied.
“Any update on the walking situation?” he asked the doctor, who was taking James’ blood pressure.
“There is no change with that, sir,” she said, “and if there is, it will likely be down the road…weeks, months, or even years.”
“So, I shouldn’t keep asking every day, is what you’re saying?”
“With all due respect, Sheriff, yes, that is my point.”
“Sounds fair, ma’am…Doctor, I mean.”
“This old beater,” he added, pointing to the old worn-down wheelchair Dr. Walters had found in the basement, “isn’t going to do for long. I’ll see what we can come up with. Hang in there, James; you will be up and around in no time, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, sir,” James replied, “and for the chair. It’s a good start.”
* * * *
The Sheriff made a quick stop at the jailhouse, gathering two of his deputies for a private conversation with the former councilman and motocross bike racer.
The man was terrified of being pulled out of his cell and into the private office for a one-on-one talk with the Sheriff.
“You used to race motocross bikes, right?”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
“What else do you know about them? Can you work on them, I mean?”
“Yes, sir. I used to build them from the ground up in my garage. I know everything there is to know about motorcycles!”
The councilman was interested to know where this was going, but he was afraid to ask.
“If you had the materials, could you build a motorized wheelchair?” the Sheriff asked. “It’s not exactly a motorcycle, I know, but the principle is similar.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied without hesitation. “I worked for a company in college where I did that very thing. The business was called Freedom Chair, up in Pueblo, and we built chairs for disabled hunters and fishermen so they could get outdoors and not worry about getting stuck. We even built one for the Governor of Texas. He was in a regular chair for a while, and he loved the outdoors. The company exploded after the news channels featured the new chair when he went dove hunting with his friends.”
“That’s interesting. I will need to keep that in mind,” replied the Sheriff.
Sheriff Johnson’s girlfriend first mentioned the idea of the chair to him last night. “You would literally be giving him the gift of freedom,” she said. “He will have no other choice but to always be on your side when you get rid of the Judge,” she had added coldly.
“You had better stick close to me,” he told her, with a wink. “You know too much now to be on my bad side.”
Most women would have and should have been concerned with this statement. She, however, was not most women, and she was slowly working her way into major decisions affecting her hometown.
Sheriff Johnson found Jason in the mayor’s office, reviewing handwritten plans by an old-school town architect for the proposed greenhouses.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” he said, standing and offering a handshake.
“Good morning to you, and I’m sorry about what happened to James. It happened before we could get a shot off. “
Next World Series (Vol. 4): Families First [Hard Roads] Page 3
