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.
* * * *
Exiting the courthouse he had called his own for more than 20 years, he headed east, ducking behind buildings and cutting up back alleys.
“I never did get a chance to use this,” he said aloud, as he patted the revolver in his right front jacket pocket. He picked up the pace, with his slight build straining under the weight of the nearly 70-pound backpack.
It’s two hours before sunrise, he thought, and I need to be far up the road by then. The plan was simply to get out of town within a few hours and hide out until the early afternoon. The Sheriff would be too busy with trade days and the afternoon’s exhibition to do a full-on search. He would lay low
