Renewal 3 - Your Basic Swiss Family (6 page)

The second truck started without trouble, and they rolled away from the mansion. Terry wasn’t bothered by the wind blowing his hair in his face. He was suddenly getting truck rides left and right, and he decided there was nothing to do but enjoy it. Dusty, on the other hand, hunched low below his grimy baseball cap, and tried to ignore the men sneering at him from the other end of the truck bed. It only took five minutes to reach the turn, and another two minutes before the trucks rumbled to a stop in front of Teeny Town’s roadside guard houses.

No one was visible, which Terry thought was surprising. He had expected a show of force by the community. The Judge’s men vaulted and climbed out of the trucks and made a ridiculous line across the front yards of the houses. It also looked rehearsed. Terry imagined these tough looking men taking “line up” classes back at the Jenkins farm, and smiled as he watched them standing there. The Judge noticed Terry and Dusty still sitting in the truck, and said, “Get up here, you two!”

They took their time climbing down from the truck and took a spot on the left hand end of the line. They waited until the Judge stopped glaring at them, and took a step backwards. They were next to twitchy fellow who clearly hadn’t shaved in... well, his entire life. Terry looked for any bird nests in the man’s beard.

The men were getting restless. Nothing was happening. No one had showed.

The Judge finally ran out of patience, which really didn’t take long. He slapped the man next to him on the arm and said, “Get up there and knock on the door.”

The man stepped cagily across the grass, and up the front steps of the middle house. He knocked on the door and stepped quickly to the side. Nothing. He knocked louder, and still nothing. The man was reduced to banging on the door, and almost fell into the house when Bill yanked it open. The line of men reacted to the sudden moment and a few guns were brought up, but they were trained well enough to stop when they could see that Bill wasn’t armed. He was dressed just like any working day; only a belt knife hung at his side.

“Can I help you?” Bill asked politely.

“Yeah, you can get off my land,” the Judge replied, as his man scuttled back in line.

“And you are?”

“I’m Jerry Doan Jenkins,” the Judge said, visibly puffing his chest out. “I have legal right to this land, all twelve hundred acres of it.

“I see, Judge. You would know about legal rights, from what I hear.”

“That’s right. I am the top legal representative in this county.”

What a pompous windbag
, Terry thought.

“Hold on a second, Judge.” Bill said, leaning inside the door. Then he walked out, down the steps and right up to the Judge. “My brother will be out in a minute.”

“Well, hurry up!” the Judge snapped.

Bill looked up and down the line of men. “Quite a little army you brought, Judge. Are they deputies?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but they are my personal men.”

“So, not legally imbued with any authority...”

“They are imbued with my authority, and that’s all the authority they need.”

“I see,” Bill said, frustrating the Judge by failing to be upset or intimidated.

Kirk walked out the door. It was the first time Terry had really looked at the man, and now he could see what everyone said in quiet voices when they talked about Kirk Carter. He had an oddly graceful economy of motion, almost feline, and a distant look in his eyes that would make any man think twice, lest they see whatever Kirk saw on the far side of some hidden veil. He carried a leather document folder, held closed by a piece of rawhide.

When Kirk stopped next to his brother, no introductions were made. He simply untied the folder and handed it to Bill.

Bill held it out for the Judge to see, and said, “As you can see, Mr. Jenkins, we have a prior legal claim to this land, over 2200 acres of it, granted by the State of Tennessee over eight years ago. As you must know, these claims supersede any other claims, by the law passed in 2039.”

“I don’t happen to agree with that law,” the Judge growled.

“Well, I’m sorry that’s the case, Judge, but you have no authority to overrule the State.”

“I’m here now, and the state isn’t.”

“Word has it that the state would be very interested in how you use your authority, Mr. Jenkins. Maybe you and I can take a ride up to Murfreesboro and talk it over with a state judge.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Bill had his indication that the Judge had no real pull with the state. If he did, he would be happy to throw Bill to his friends, the lions of state government. “So, what I’m gathering is that you intend to ignore the law, and simply take our land.”

“That’s about the size of it,” the Judge responded, unconsciously sliding his hand towards a revolver.

“Well, Judge, and I use the term loosely, I am truly sorry that you feel that way. I’d prefer not to fight.”

The Judge actually rested his hand on the grip of his gun. “That’s not your choice to make.”

“Do you drink coffee, Judge?” Bill asked.

“Wha...?”

At the word “coffee,” the judge’s trucks started and pulled away. The entire line of his men turned in surprise, and watched with open mouths as their rides disappeared down the road. When they turned back to face the houses, they were greeted with open windows, twenty-one of them in all, each with a pair of gun barrels protruding far enough to make sure that the Judge couldn’t miss them.

“You really need to take the keys with you, Judge.” Bill said, all pretense gone. “I’ll give you a single chance. It’s only five miles back to town. We’ll keep the trucks for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

At that, men and women began to appear in the gaps around the fences, and the Judge’s men were casting glances in every direction, trying to see all the threats at once. Dusty and Terry were easing backwards, like a baseball player leading off to steal a base. They were ready to run out of the crossfire.

The Judge was staring into Bill’s face with open hatred. He said, “I’ll give
you
one chance. Bring back my trucks, and throw down your weapons, or I will see you all hang. Every last one of you.”

Bill, still completely calm, said, “You know... I knew your father. Fought beside him in the Tullahoma war. He was a good man. What happened to you, Judge?”

Jerry Doan Jenkins fought for composure as his face turned a dangerous dark shade of red. “My father spent his life giving away the farm. I’ve spent mine getting it back.”

“And look what you’ve got. A county full of starving people who would be happy to watch you burn, no friends except for the dirtbags on your payroll, and a wife who spends her time trying to avoid you so she can play with that good looking brother of yours. Word has it that he loves to talk about what she does to him when you’re not looking.”

The Judge knew he was being baited, and struggled to keep the top of his black hat from blowing sky high from sheer steam pressure. He turned to the man next to him, and said through a clenched jaw, “Kill this arrogant motherfucker.”

The Judge’s man went for his own revolver, but never even touched it. Kirk moved so fast that it was not clear what he actually did. Only the results were clear. Within the first second, blood sprayed out of the man’s neck onto the Judge, who was blinded by the red deluge, and Kirk’s knife paused, buried in the man’s chest. The Judge’s men froze, shocked into inaction by the incredible display of violence. But only for an instant; then they panicked. The line of men were bringing their guns to bear on Kirk, all of them at once. His show of force made them momentarily forget that there were 120 other guns trained on them. A stunning blast of near-simultaneous gunfire dropped the Judge’s not-so-well-trained men before they fired a single shot, unless one death spasm shot into the sky counted for anything.

Terry and Dusty lifted their heads over the edge of the ditch. They had seen Kirk’s blinding attack, and had run like hell. Terry’s biggest impression of the aftermath was that Bill and Kirk were still standing, as if nothing unusual had happened, side by side.

The Judge was untouched, as was planned. He finished wiping the blood from his eyes, and squinting and blinking, he attempted to absorb the scene. Not a single one of his men was alive, his trucks were gone, and in all likelihood, he was about to die.

“We’re not going to kill you, Judge,” Bill said. “Although I’d say you deserve it, and worse.”

“You son of a bitch. You killed my men!” the Judge screamed the last part, tears running down his cheeks, leaving trails in the drying blood.

“No, Judge. You killed your men. You ordered an attack in a situation where any fool would have walked away. You let your huge ego kill your men.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Maybe it’s been too long since you had to fight fair. You don’t seem to understand the concept.”

The Judge was looking around, trying to see past the line of armed Teeny Town residents who had stopped aiming in his direction.

Bill watched him search and then said, “Oh, the men you sent out here last night? We took them. Seven men.”

Bill could see from the change in the Judge’s face, that he had crushed the last hope from the man. He was wrong. The Judge’s expression changed again, screwed tight into a mask of fury, and he yanked the gun from his holster. Kirk moved again. The bystanders saw the first hint of movement, a curving blur, and then the gun was in Kirk’s hand, pointed at the Judge’s chest.

That was it. Kirk lifted the Judge’s other polished revolver from its holster, and handed it to Bill. Kirk patted the Judge down, took his belt knife, and the little .25 automatic from the small of his back. Jerry Doan Jenkins sat on the ground like a little boy throwing a tantrum.

He looked up at Bill and said, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Why, we’re going to turn you over to the state, in accordance with the law.”

Chapter 3 - 6

Terry discovered that the Teeny Town community had a prison. This knowledge set him a bit off balance, since the whole of the community seemed far too idyllic to require a lockup. It was located away from the settlement, across the main road to the south, and apparently in the woods. Bill and Kirk and a select few of Kirk’s elite team were walking the judge across a giant expanse of open field, in the direction of a line of tall trees. The Judge was trudging slowly, and Bill occasionally reminded the man that he should pick up the pace, since the county helicopter was not likely to spot him. The county helicopter, of course, was a burnt pile of scrap by then.

“It’s not just the prison,” Bill was saying quietly to Terry as they trailed Kirk’s group. “It’s mostly our training ground. About ninety-nine percent of the time, training; one percent, prison. You’ll see. We’ve only used it that way a half dozen times, and only three times on one of our own.”

Terry nodded silently as Bill spoke. He was listening carefully as they walked ever more slowly.

“Come on Judge! You lost your guns, not your legs.” Bill said. This completely failed to motivate Jerry Doan Jenkins.

“You’ll end up in the same place either way. If you stop wasting time, we may give you some lunch,” Bill said, more loudly. Now, the Judge picked up the pace, if not by much.

Terry was beginning to sweat in the midmorning sun. The hot day promised in the early mist had arrived, burned the air clear, and was probably pushing ninety degrees. He was thankful when the group passed into the shade of a mature section of forest, consisting mostly of the local blend of oaks and poplars. These trees were ideal for the community’s purposes. Each tree made a perfect support for a tangle of heavy ropes and platforms that extended through the woods in a chaotic network.

They stopped the Judge near the base of a massive poplar. The branches had been cut clean to the main trunk for at least eighty feet upwards, and two solid looking platforms were attached, one at about sixty feet, and another smaller perch, just below the canopy at about eighty feet. A classic rope bridge extended from the upper platform to the nearest tree on the right, about forty feet away, which had three layers of platforms. A third tree, on the opposite side of the one they were facing, was a near-twin, with three more platforms, but lacking the rope bridge. Those two companion trees held young men on the mid-level, standing with assault style rifles, apparently ready for trouble.

Kirk gave an intricate hand signal, and one of the tree-guards climbed up to the top level of the guard tree on the right, worked his way across the rope bridge, and kicked a huge bundle off the top platform of the apparent prison tree. The young man then attached himself to the tree with a leather strap. The rope ladder uncoiled on its long trip to the ground, and the tree guards raised their rifles, aiming at the lower platform. The rope ladder bounced and swayed when it hit the ground, quickly settling to a gentle back and forth.

“I hope you’ve been getting your exercise, Judge. It’s a long climb.” Bill said, shooing the Judge up the ladder.

Jerry Doan Jenkins looked ready to argue, but then gauged his situation with a practiced eye, and began to climb. It was almost five minutes before the Judge flopped onto the naked wooden platform, panting and sweating. He was surprised to find that two of his men from the advance party were sitting on the platform already. The Judge had assumed they were all dead. The men looked back at him with hooded eyes and closed expressions.

The guard began to reel in the rope ladder. The Judge sat quietly and watched until the end of the ladder passed overhead and out of reach. He probably considered giving the thing a pull, but then he remembered the safety strap and just let it go.

The young guard completed the coil and tied it to the trunk of the tree to prevent it from falling accidentally or blowing off its perch in high winds. He unbuckled his safety strap, wobbled back across the rope bridge and took his post on the middle platform of the guard tree. Terry had to admire the thought that had gone into the system. The platforms for the guards had a minor advantage in height, so that they would have a complete view of whatever was happening with the prisoners. With guards on either side of the prisoners, there was literally no place to hide. The guard level had a heavy wall, which could be used for cover. The prison platform had no protection at all, and was large enough to hold three or four men, but not large enough that those men could, say, take a nap without fear of rolling off the edge in their sleep. It was bound to result in some tired, edgy prisoners in a very short time.