Next World Series (Vol. 4): Families First [Hard Roads]
Page 30
“Have it your way, sir.” The deputy prepared to tap the truck just behind the left rear wheel. “Slow down, boys,” he called and then followed with “Here she goes.”
The tap was more of a grinding sound of metal and the truck’s back end was shimmying violently from side to side, from one shoulder of the road to the other. The truck finally came to a stop, still on four wheels.
“Hold up everybody, don’t forget that he is likely armed after buying that gun last week,” called out the lead deputy.
The three deputies stood next to their cars, side by side, in a barricade position.
Calling over the megaphone, the lead deputy shouted, “Judge Lowry!... What’s his first name?” he asked his guys quietly.
“I don’t know, beats me. Lionel or Landry…maybe Larry. Heck, I don’t know.”
“Thanks for the help, guys.”
“Judge Lowry,” he called again. “You are to step out of your vehicle slowly with your hands in the air before further instructions are given.” The truck engine revved.
“What’s he doing? Is he getting ready to run again?” asked another deputy, fumbling in his pants pocket for his keys.
The Judge stomped on the gas, lurching the old truck forward and leaving tire tracks on the dry pavement. The quick maneuver gave him a head start as the deputies scrambled to get back into their vehicles. He was nearly a mile down the road when the deputies caught up with him once more.
“What’s happening now?” asked the Sheriff, sounding annoyed he hadn’t gotten a call about the Judge’s capture.
“Well, sir, we had him…I mean, sort of. I bumped him and got him stopped. He just took off again after being ordered out of the truck.”
“Well, try again, and this time you had better get it done right!” the Sheriff yelled, slamming his radio onto the desk.
* * * *
His three jailed men overheard everything said inside the jailhouse, and they had a pretty good idea of what was happening out on the road.
“It looks like one of us is getting a cellmate,” said Richard quietly to his fellow prisoners. “And don’t you worry, my future fighting opponent for this Saturday,” he called out, laughing. “I’ll make it quick and as painless as possible.”
“Screw you,” came a reply, making Richard laugh even more.
“Hey, keep it down back there,” yelled the Sheriff, now pacing the front office.
“All they had to do was pull him over,” the Sheriff said aloud. “How hard can it be to pull over a sitting Judge? They know the law as well as anyone. Why wouldn’t he just pull over and see what we wanted. Now we’ve got evading law enforcement, reckless driving for sure, and probably resisting arrest before it’s all said and done.
“You did this to yourself, Judge. All you had to do was step back and give me the control I’ve already earned in my town. But you had to bring James into this. I let the wheelchair contest go, since I already know we’re going to kick your ass. I saw yours just last night when your assembly guy cut out early at four,” he continued loudly, as if the Judge were standing right in front of him. Everyone inside heard his rant.
The Sheriff had done this before and didn’t give it a second thought since he had planned to hang everyone inside. But now he had a man he would consider saving if he survived his jump; and he may have to let one of the gladiators walk out of town a free man, but he still hadn’t decided that for the winner… He dismissed the passing thought, continuing his rant.
“My chair goes a full five miles an hour more than yours. That’s what I know. But then…then I find out from your one employee, the one you trust more than anyone else on this earth, that you are at James VanFleets’ ranch, trying to get him on your side and against me.
“King Kong ain’t got shit on me!” he yelled, taking the line from one of his favorite drama movies in the early 2000s. Now he yelled even louder. “It’s my town. I say what happens here. I make the rules; I run the court. You’re done! Do you hear me?” he screamed into the radio without thinking.
“Uh, sir, can you repeat?”
“Just bring him in!” the Sheriff yelled.
All three deputies were in sight range of the truck, losing it every ten seconds or so as they navigated the narrow road snaking up into the mountains. Higher and higher they climbed into the Rockies.
At the top of a large peak, with each deputy halfway up the steep grade, the truck abruptly turned around, and Judge Lowry gunned the engine.
“Back off the road, guys,” the lead deputy called out over the radio. “He’s heading this way! Now, boys! Now!”
“I don’t have any shoulder!” one cried out. “I can’t get off…I can’t make it!”
“He’s not going to hit you,” added the Sheriff, now on the radio full time. “You can play chicken with him if you want. He won’t hold the line, that I know.”
“I don’t want to play chicken; I just want to get off this road! I have a family, and I didn’t sign up for this!”
“Comes with the territory sometimes,” replied the Sheriff. “Maybe that moonshine you all took from the Judge will calm your nerves later.”
None of the deputies responded, wondering how he knew.
“Let’s let him pass and pick him up from the rear again when he goes by,” said the lead deputy.
Judge Lowry came barreling down the middle of the road, fully expecting what he saw as the cars were pulled onto the shoulder, with the exception of one on the right cliffside.
“Maybe I’ll just scare him a little,” the Judge said aloud, intentionally veering to that side. The deputy could be clearly seen putting his hands up in a defensive way, as if he were going to be hit head-on.
Judge Lowry corrected his steering at the last second, veering hard left, taking the patrol car’s passenger-side mirror off completely and continuing down the road.
“Ha, ha, ha! Take that, you bastards! I’ll have your heads for this…or at least your necks!”
“He’s headed back towards town,” called the lead deputy. “Put out the strips,” he called to his man four miles down the road. “Come up no more than a mile and set them all the way across both lanes.”
He was referring to the spike strips the Sheriff’s Department had used only two times in the last 15 years he had been on the job.
“Radio the location, and we will push him right over them.”
“Then what?” asked the deputy. “I mean, we are talking about the Judge here.”
“Then we take him in, and it’s out of our hands,” replied the lead deputy. “Let’s get this done.”
Judge Lowry had the lead again, without knowing where he was heading. He was going 73 miles per hour when he passed the fourth deputy on the side of the road and hit the strips, shredding his tires and skidding the truck down the pavement on sparks to an abrupt stop.
Seconds turned to minutes as he was repeatedly ordered out of the truck.
The driver’s side door opened slowly, and the Judge stepped out with hands to his side.
The orders were given repeatedly but seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“Drop the gun and lay facedown on the ground!” the deputy ordered.
To be continued...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lance K. Ewing lives with his wife, three boys (Hudson, Jax and Hendrix), Ringo, Mini and Bobo (dogs and a cat) in McKinney, Texas. When he is not at work, he can always be found with his family, preferably outdoors. Lance grew up in the foothills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, with the Rockies quite literally in his backyard.
Families First is his debut novel. Volume five is being written now.
Lance is a Chiropractor in Dallas, Texas. His new Chronic Pain quick-read series of books is now available for sale on Amazon Kindle.
His just released a children’s picture book, titled The Great Toy Revolt, reminding kids that their classic toys can still be more fun than the glitzy electronic ones. It is now available on Kindle, KU and in paperback.
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From the author: “As a young man, I was fascinated by the writing of Stephen King. I can still remember getting a used, or sometimes brand-new, copy of classics, such as The Shining, Firestarter, Christine, Cujo, and The Dark Tower series.
“One book, however, topped them all: The Stand. To this day, that is the book I measure all other Post-Apocalyptic work against, including my own.
“As I grew older, I never left for a vacation or camping trip without a book by James Patterson stowed away in my backpack.”
If you enjoyed this volume, please leave an honest review. In this new age of publishing, reviews are heavily tied to the success of Indie authors who don’t have the backing of a large publishing house.
Lance can be contacted at Lance@lancekewingauthor.com. Join our e-mail list for news about upcoming volumes and sneak peaks at Lance@lancekewingauthor.com.
Look for the paperback and Audible version to be available on Amazon, June/August 2020.
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