Renewal 3 - Your Basic Swiss Family by Jf Perkins Read Free Book Online Page A

scrip, they would wait a long time to make a sale. Some had deals with the wealthy families, which meant they were not worried with the common rabble and their trade goods. They could afford to wait for real money. Everyone else knew who to avoid.
    Terry pulled up at the county engineering office, and found the door unlocked. He pushed his bike through the optimistically named lobby and into its usual parking spot behind the file cabinets. He waved at Dusty, who was the only one there this early in the morning, and locked his new weapons in his desk drawer. Today, of all days it would not do to let anyone see the fine gun and it’s tooled leather holster. To be safe, he locked up his new knife as well, and hung his old knife on his belt. Then he looked at the big mechanical wall clock and saw that he still had twenty minutes to spare. He went to Dusty’s office and waited for his boss to gesture him into a chair.
    “Well, here we go,” Terry said, heaving an anxious sigh.
    “Yep. I assume Bill knows what’s coming.”
    “Yeah, he knows. He seemed to take it pretty well.”
    “He would. That’s why he’s been mayor for so long. Nothing shakes him.”
    “He gave us some instructions.”
    “Stand on the end if we can? Run for the ditch when the shooting starts? Otherwise, look stupid?”
    “Yes. How did you know?”
    “That’s the other reason he’s in charge. He plans for everything.”
    “Ah,” Terry said, as if that explained everything.
    “Ok, you head on over to the mansion. I’ll come along in a few minutes. Don’t take any crap off his men,” Dusty said, waving Terry towards the door.
    “Ok, but if they have guns, I’ll probably try for polite.”
    Dusty laughed. “Yeah, always a good policy. I meant verbal crap.”
    “Right. Ok,” Terry said with a worried smile. He scuffed the chair backwards as he got up and headed out the door.
    Terry reached the mansion and saw two pickup trucks parked right in front of the door. There were a dozen tough looking and well-armed men standing on the porch, but they seemed content to ignore him. He leaned on one of the round entry columns and stared anxiously towards the town square. He would feel much better when Dusty arrived.
    Over the background noise of men conversing about their tough and likely illegal exploits, basic dick measuring to Terry’s ears, he heard the Judge inside, hollering at someone about horse feed. He tried to ignore it, but he jumped when he heard the front door slam open, and turned to see Jerry Doan Jenkins stalk out onto the porch. The Judge was wearing what looked like an old western gunfighter getup. Black pants, black duster, black hat, white shirt with frills, and a string tie. Black cowboy boots, of course. Terry looked at the twin revolvers hanging low on the Judge’s hips and decided it was all just a little overkill, even though he decided that black was an appropriate choice for a high caliber asshole.
    “Where’s that worthless boss of yours, boy?” the Judge asked, much louder than was necessary.
    “I’m sure he’ll be here in a minute, sir.” Terry replied.
    One of the Judge’s men mocked him with a falsetto, “I’m sure he’ll be here, sir.”
    Finally, Terry spotted Dusty approaching, more from the man’s shambling gait than from any detail at this distance. Dusty appeared to be taking his time, maybe just to annoy the Judge. When he finally strolled across the parking lot, the Judge held up his wrist. “You’re late, Baer!”
    “I have a job to do, mayor.” Dusty replied, with no show of respect.
    The Judge appeared about to say something sharp, but thought better of it, and just narrowed his eyes at Dusty instead. Terry could almost see the Judge thinking of ways to make Dusty pay.
    “Let’s load up, men!” the Judge ordered, still much louder than was required.
    The men filed into position as if it were rehearsed. Maybe it was. Three got into the cab of the second truck, and the Judge rode shotgun