“Focus,” he told himself, passing through the crowd to the front of the pit.
Mike was surprised, looking down into the massive hole dug into the ground. The top was the size of a football field narrowing to the bottom where it was the size of maybe two backyard swimming pools, he guessed.
Two men were led into the pit in chains by three others.
He caught their eyes as they passed. One looked confident, like a seasoned boxer entering the venue to his fight song. The other looked terrified, leading him to believe he could pick out the newbie and last champion. He caught the newbie’s eyes, staining his red checks with tears for only a second, and wanted to help. He knew he could not both help him and complete his mission.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed as the lead men took the chains off, pushing him into the bottom fighting arena.
The fight would be brutal and not last long, Mike thought.
You can’t save everyone, he heard in his head. Stay focused on the rest.
He located the brothers he wanted. They were easy to spot, dressed in robes like the eccentric Hugh Hefner used to wear and surrounded by several women and guards. Everyone appeared drunk from his vantage point, even the security detail.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Forty
Weston, Colorado
The Sheriff’s top four deputies gladly received the gift of moonshine from the Judge.
They discussed it on the next shift, not sure if they should mention it to Sheriff Johnson.
“As far as I’m concerned,” said one, “he never told us we had to let him know anything about the Judge. Besides, they were always good friends…until recently, maybe.”
“But that’s not our business,” added another. “Maybe we ought to keep this to ourselves,” he added. “Who knows what’s going to happen with those two, but I’m pretty sure whoever comes out on top will be our boss. I’m not getting involved if I don’t have to, that’s for sure—and neither should any of you.”
* * * *
Ken worked hard on the Mayor’s chair, as did Cam, the electrical wizard from the restaurant.
Neither wanted the other to see their progress, and the shop owner gave them separate work spaces inside the shop. “You guys need anything, just let me know,” he would tell them at the beginning of each day.
Only one man was allowed to see the progress on both chairs at the end of the day.
“How are the projects coming?” the Sheriff called out loudly late that morning?
“Good so far,” both builders called back.
“Well, I don’t want to see them until they are all done,” he called back so both could hear. “I’ll be back later,” the Sheriff said quietly to the shop owner. “What time does the old-timer clock out?”
“Four o’clock on the dot,” he replied.
“All right. I’ll be back at five tonight,” said the Sheriff.
“I need this chair done before Saturday,” he told Ken as he was leaving. “I’ll be presenting it to the Mayor right before your jump.
“Get it done by Thursday, and I’ll let you get a feel for the bike ahead of time. I’m guessing you won’t need any practice jumps with the three broken ribs and the fingers there. How are you healing up, by the way?”
“Good, as far as I can tell, sir,” replied Ken. “Seems better every day. And yes, I would like to get a feel for the bike; and no, I don’t want a practice jump. It’s already going to hurt like crazy on the landing, even if I stick it. Either way, it’s better than fighting Richard.”
“All right. Keep up the good work then,” said the Sheriff as he walked out the door.
* * * *
Judge Lowry was withdrawn, sulking, and craved the power he had so recently lost.
His days blurred into long sleepless nights, and his conversation with his longtime employee ran through his head like one of those old movies on the big reel.
He paced the courthouse again this day, with his employee typing away God knows what, he thought. Always with the typing, and there isn’t even any work to be done, at least not for me.
He wished he had someone else to talk to about this, a girlfriend or perhaps someone else, but wouldn’t dare say it out loud in a town this small. Sure, he had heard the rumors of relationships he may have had in neighboring cities over the years, but rarely did he bring anyone back to town; and if he did, it was always under the cover of night.
Still, he needed someone to talk to who could be impartial to this business with the Sheriff.
“Think, think!” he said aloud.
“James VanFleet,” came the call from his employee, not missing a typewriter stroke.
“What?” he called back across the echoing room.
“Give me just a minute,” she asked, and typed until the bar shifted back to the left for a new line.
“I said James VanFleet, sir.”
“But I didn’t say anything out loud, did I?”
“You didn’t have to, sir. I know you better than anybody, and I’m sure about that. What I was going to say was that you should talk with James VanFleet, just in case you decide to…well, you know.”
“Take control of the town?” he answered for her.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a good idea, but he’s not in town much right now.”
“With all due redirect sir, the Honorable Judge Lowry I have served under for all these years, I mean the one before a couple of weeks ago…that man, sir, would get right in his truck
