Fat Assassins by Marita Fowler Read Free Book Online Page A

exit to the sound of the drums and crowd applause. 
    The last band members were stepping through the gate when an old Model T came chugging through the entrance honking wildly. It was leading a long snaking line of vintage vehicles around the perimeter while proud passengers threw candy into the crowds. 
    I nudged Ulyssa, “You should have entered your car in the parade. The Pinto brand is clearly underrepresented!”
    She rolled her eyes.
    The last group of cars were convertibles with beauty pageant contestants perched on the back seats throwing bright smiles and royal waves at the adoring crowds. The convertibles parked on each side of the gazebo with the Misses on the right side and Junior Misses on the left side. An elegant woman glided across the dirt and blowing air kisses to each contestant before ascending into the gazebo. She quickly announced the Miss and Junior Miss West Virginia Roadkill. 
    The bovine portion of the parade was blissfully short. About fifteen farmers led show cows around the arena to promote their farm and dairy products. I was losing interest in the parade by the time the rooster rodeo began. 
    This was my first rodeo, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I listened excitedly as the mayor returned to the gazebo to explain the rules. “Get ready for an exciting Rooster Rodeo! It’s the first time we’ve hosted this event and I’m certainly looking forward to it. I’d like to thank Gone a-Fowl for sponsoring the chase. I look forward to enjoying a big fried chicken dinner at your tent.” He unconsciously rubbed his belly before continuing. “The rodeo rules are simple. Each of the contestants has a wire cage with their name on it. When they catch a bird, it goes in the cage. The person with the most chickens in their cage at the end of the chase wins $100 in prize money!” 
    The volunteers stood near the cages ready to release their feathered hostages for chasing. 
    There were about four chickens per contestant. Four chickens times twenty contestants equals eighty chickens! 
    Is releasing eighty agitated chickens into a fairground filled with people really a good idea? 
    “Y’all ready for the chase?” 
    The crowd yelled and cheered in response. 
    “Release the chickens!”
    All hell broke loose.
    The contestants ran towards the chickens. 
    The chickens ran towards the bleachers.
    Two chickens must have taken offense to the Mayor’s plan for a fried chicken dinner because they flew straight into the gazebo and started attacking him.
    In attempt to gain an early lead, the contestants started grabbing for the nearest targets. Mitchell smashed into two other guys going for the same chicken. He was the smallest of the three and ended up on his butt, in the dirt, while the other two continued their tug-o-war over the squawking bird. 
    Another chicken flew out of the dust storm and landed on Mitchell’s stomach. The bird realized Mitchell wasn’t a dirt clod about the same time Mitchell realized his good luck. The chicken let out a warning bok as it sprinted away from the chaos. Mitchell scrambled onto his belly and tried to grab its legs, but the chicken sensed the human predator and sent dribbles of white goo flying out its backside. Mitchell dropped his hands while the crowd laughed at the fowl escape. Determined to defend his injured pride, he jumped to his feet and took a running dive at the offensive bird. His torso slammed into the dirt as his arms wrapped the bird in a bear hug. He gave the crowd a grin and ran to deposit it in his cage. 
    It was a weird, modern day display of gladiatorial skill. Half the crowd was cheering in excitement, the other half in fear. Chickens were flying into bleachers only to be thrown back into the chase.
    Mitchell was the fourth person who had managed to get a chicken in the cage and he surveyed the arena looking for another easy target. He ran over to the gazebo and pulled one of the chickens off the Mayor and dropped it into the cage.