Freeport complete novel

Freeport

Adam Simon

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

FREEPORT

© 2013 by Armando Simon III

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

Published by Lulu Publishing

www.lulu.com

First edition: January 2013

Printed in the United States of America

Introduction and Acknowledgment

My writing buddy, Jodi, told me today, “Take an adderall and write a book.” So I did.

Freeport is the story of a small town sheriff taking on a comic book supervillain. It is directly inspired by a trailer for The Last Stand that has a small town sheriff taking on a drug cartel, but one of the characters jokes that a car is the Batmobile, so it got me thinking, “When Doomsday was crossing the country to kill Superman, what if a small town sheriff tried to stop him?” He'd get squished like a bug, obviously, because it's Doomsday. But it could be interesting with someone like the Joker or Two-Face or even Doctor Octopus.

As always, this is dedicated to my wife, Kiri, and my son, Hunter, as well as anyone else who likes me even in the least bit and says nice things about me.

Freeport

One

Sheriff Kincade drank his coffee at Jack and Mary's Diner, a diner in Freeport, Oklahoma, that had been standing since '72 and provided the small town with the basics: coffee, meatloaf, pie, and fish on Friday. There weren't a lot of people who observed the religious tenet of foregoing meat on Fridays, including the Honorable Reverend Sebastian Thomas Jones who enjoyed his meatloaf with extra ketchup, but the Williamsons family observed it and everyone else was just happy to accommodate. Freeport was an accommodating town.

There was one major road through town, though major is a relative term and in this case it meant that there was a light at one of the intersections. Not a stop light. It was a blinking warning light. The state tried to put a stop light at the intersection of the US-40 bypass and Lakeside Road, but Mayor Landry and the city commission (Ret. Cpl. and Mrs. Waller and Tom Brownfield, who owns the hardware store) managed to drag feet and win over the right people with kindness to satisfy the state with just a blinking warning light. The US-40 bypass was still a two road after all and the speed limit was 25 mph. It was 55 mph on the off ramp and dropped in speed every mile by 10 mph. It was that 25 mph speed limit that kept Sheriff Kincade and his one deputy, Chris McGarvey, paid. Folks would shoot through town at 70 mph because they had been driving that fast for hours on US-40 and the ticket revenue would keep meatloaf and pie on Kincade's plate for another day.

Kincade didn't care for writing the tickets, but he knew it had to be done. There wasn't any crime in Freeport. Not really. Last month he caught Tom Brownfield's oldest kid, John, with a little weed, but that didn't count. He didn't even write it up. If the US-40 had no traffic and the bypass wasn't being used, he would drive around and shine his searchlight over the houses of the Wallers and Williamsons and a few other nervous people. “The Prowler” was a big concern for these worried families, though he didn't exist. It was just the imagination of small-town people with nothing to do and nothing real to worry about. Still, he “looked for the Prowler” because it made them happy.

“Refill, Sheriff?” asked the pretty redhead behind the counter in the pink dress and white apron.

“Please, Lucy,” said the sheriff to Jack and Mary's daughter as she filled his cup to within a finger's width of the top. “When do you go back to school?”

“Next week,” Lucy answered with a smile, handing him a cup of skim milk. Lucy knew how everyone in the town took their coffee, what their favorites on the menu were, and how old their kids were. She had babysat most of them before leaving for state college to get her degree in agriculture. The day she went off to college was a confusing day in the lives of the citizens of Freeport. Mary filled in behind the counter, but she was nowhere near as personable as Lucy. At that point, everyone was used to their special orders being known without saying anything. Sheriff Kincade had been handed cream instead of skim milk for his coffee. The Honorable Reverend Sebastian Thomas Jones had not been given the bottle of ketchup with his meatloaf. It had been chaos in Freeport.

“We'll miss you,” said the Sheriff earnestly, resulting in some murmurs of agreement from the other patrons of that day, Mayor Landry, Homer Higgins, Ret. Cpl. and Mrs. Waller, and Jack, Lucy's father, who never seemed to leave the kitchen behind the diner partition. It was a running joke that Jack didn't have any legs since no one ever saw his bottom half. It was one of those stupid jokes that just got stupider with time.

Chris McGarvey came in with his wife, Marissa, and his little daughter, Angelica, and the little girl yelled, “Arr, me matey!” to Jack. Months ago, Chris had joked with Angelica that Jack didn't have legs which the little girl took to mean he had peg legs and was therefore a pirate. Everyone laughed and thought it was adorable.

“Yo ho, lil lass!” said Jack with a grin, saluting with his spatula. “What word of the seven seas?”

“All ashore that's going ashore!” she replied back, not caring what the words meant, only that they sounded nautical and pirate-y.

“Aye aye, cap'n!” replied Jack before returning to cooking fried eggs for Homer Higgins from Higgins Pharmacy.

“Hi, Angelica!” shouted Lucy with a big smile, leaning over the counter.

“Lucy!” cried Angelica, climbing up on a bar stool to lean across the counter and get her hug. “Thomas caught a bunch of frogs!”

Lucy looked up at Chris and Marissa, and said, “He did?! Wow!”

“We didn't bring them in, hon,” assured Marissa, putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

“We're going to race them after we eat,” announced the little girl.

“That's great! Make sure you wash your hands,” said Lucy, standing up. Marissa helped her daughter off the bar stool as Lucy addressed her father, “Sweet tea, half-and-half, and apple juice?”

“Yup,” said Chris with a smile. Like the rest of the town, he was happy to have Lucy behind the counter. He walked over to Sheriff Kincade and shook his hand. “How you doin', bossman?”

“Uh, oh,” said Kincade with a smile. “With both of us here, who's riding tickets to truckers?”

Chris waved his hand dismissively as he walked to the booth his family had taken. “Nah! US-40's running like clockwork. We're not getting any visitors today.”

Lucy brought their drinks out and set them in front of each of the McGarveys. Sweet tea for Chris. Half sweet, half unsweet for Marissa. Two glasses of apple juice for Angelica, who would finish a whole glass before the food arrived.

“Whatcha'll eating?” asked Lucy. The pen and pad in her apron was mostly for show. The diner was never that busy and she knew most people's orders before they spoke. She knew that Chris would want the meatloaf with mashed potatoes and peas and Marissa would want breast of chicken with rice and black-eye peas. Angelica was less predictable as children often are. She usually wanted chicken nuggets with macaroni and cheese. Jack would cut up broccoli very fine and mix it in the mac and cheese at Marissa's request so Angelica would eat her greens without knowing it. But you could never tell with Angelica. She had asked for fried chicken in the past, just mac and cheese, a baloney sandwich, she was less predictable than the average Freeport resident, but not today.

“Can I get nuggets and mac and cheese?” asked Angelica of her parents.

“Sounds good,” replied Chris, giving Lucy a nod that they both understood to mean Jack should add broccoli to the cheese.

Kincade stood up and reached in his pocket for some change for his coffee, telling Chris, “Well, one of us should be on duty anyway.”

“Yeah, bossman, you do that,” replied Chris with a smile. He knew the sheriff was going to work simply because there was nothing else to do and he might as well do that as sit in the diner. Chris had worked for the Amarillo Police Department before coming down US-40 to Freeport. Amarillo, Texas wasn't a big city by any means, but compared to Freeport it was New York City. The difference between the two was night and day and the lax attitude of Kincade's sheriff's office took some getting used to. Now, Chris could never go back. There were no punch cards, no prisoners to deal with, no bureaucracy. He never told his friends still back in Amarillo about Freeport for fear that they would be overrun with people wanting to transfer and ruin the beauty of this small town office.

Kincade turned on his radio when he got in his car and held down the handset button, saying, “Good afternoon, Carol. Anything going on?”

There was some static then the voice on the other end came through with a thick Alabama accent that said, “Afternoon, Sheriff. The Williamsons called in that Tom Robbins' dog is on their property. Other than that, nothing's been in.”

“I gotcha, Carol. How's the 40 look?” asked Kincade, praying for good news.

“Smooth as silk, Sheriff. Don't think you'll have any speeders today,” answered Carol.

“Thank you, Carol. Heading out to the Williamsons,” Kincade said before replacing the handset. On the one hand, if the 40 was moving along well, it would be an easy day. On the other hand, if the 40 was moving along too well, it meant that the budget might be a little short at the end of the year. Kincade had kept McGarvey and Carol as a steady 5% raise ever year for the last five years, but Kincade hadn't taken a raise in those same five years. Last year he even took a small pay cut. Not that he need much. Freeport was an easy town to live in. And he knew that if he ever hinted that he was low on money, then Martin Cruise at the grocery would make sure he got what he needed for a discount and Tom Brownfield would probably give him any lumber he needed for free. That was just the type of town Freeport was before the news arrived about their special visitor.

Two

Getting to the Williamsons' compound was the most difficult journey in Freeport because it involved three turns. Getting to the Williamsons themselves was even more difficult.

After Sheriff Kincade left the diner and pulled onto the bypass, he took a left at Lakeside Road (relatives visiting residents of Freeport were often disappointed to find out that there was no lake), then a right onto a dirt road next to a large rock just after Tom Robbins' farm. He traveled a mile alongside Tom Robbins' farm to find the man himself standing in front of him in the middle of the dirt road, calling out with his hands cupped around his mouth.

Kincade parked and unbuckled his seat belt, then got out of the car.

“Hi, Tom!” the Sheriff called out.

Robbins stopped yelling, “Here, boy!” long enough to say, “Hi, Sheriff.” Then he resumed calling for his nameless dog. The dog had a name once, Rusty, but Tom stopped using it long ago when he realized that the dog was never going to come when he called him.

Kincade opened his trunk and got out his gun belt and put it on.

“Hey now, Sheriff!” said Robbins with a start. “You aren't thinking of putting down the dumb dog, are you?”

“No, Tom,” Kincade said with a smile. “This is in case Phil tries to bite me.”

They both laughed a little. The Williamsons were always treated with a little bit of fun. Just a tiny bit and never to their faces. The patriarch of the clan, Phil Williamson, was a devout Catholic, gun nut, and paranoid right-winger. Visitors to the Williamson compound shared stories of wall-to-wall canned food and more guns than anyone could ever use. Getting into any kind of debate or even much of a discussion with Phil Williamson was universally considered a bad idea. With the exception of church on Sundays, dinner at Jack and Mary's on Fridays, and the occasional church picnic, bake sale, or other function, the Williamsons kept to themselves. The Williamsons ordered things in bulk from the internet and it was a safe bet that a delivery truck coming into town was going to their home. For the few things they couldn't order from Amazon, Homer Higgins would gather the requested supplies and take a drive out to see them. Homer once revealed that he would get a $100 bill from Phil Williamson for his troubles every time he made a delivery. Where Phil got his money, nobody knew or cared to ask for fear that Phil might talk to them at length.

The rest of the Williamson clan were much less odd. Adam and Ezekiel were twin boys, both young adults and clearly their father's sons, in appearance and attitude. Hester was a teenage daughter who shone like a star in her clan. There had been many teenage boys, overcome by hormones who weighed the dangers of asking Phil Williamson's daughter to a church dance. To the town's knowledge, no one had braved that challenge. Phil's wife was named Peggy and she was the residents hoped to encounter when having to interact with the Williamsons. Peggy was a delight to speak with and the very definition of lady-like. She baked a pecan pie for church bake sales that could win any contest, but she never entered because she didn't like the confrontation of having one pie be judged as better or worse than another.

Sheriff Kincade was hopeful to be talking to Peggy about this dog situation so that it could be resolved without having to hear that Tom Robbins was some sort of communist because his dog got onto the Williamson compound. Robbins and Phil had butted heads since Phil moved into town eight years ago and built his fortress. Robbins learned quickly not to enter the property of his neighbor, even to retrieve his dog.

This is why Tom Robbins was shouting in the middle of the road. Being scared off once with a shotgun pointed in his face had left an impression on him eight years ago.

“I'll get your dog, Tom. Just stay here and I'll bring him back,” assured the Sheriff with a pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Sheriff,” said Robbins.

The Sheriff walked across the street to the perimeter of the Williamson compound. There were a steel mesh fence around the perimeter. The gate was unlocked, but it was not wise to just enter. Next to the gate was an intercom with a large sign that said, “DO NOT ENTER! RING INTERCOM FOR CLEARANCE!”

The Sheriff buzzed the intercom and Phil's voice came immediately back, “Quit buzzing, Tom! I got the boys out looking for your dog and they're gonna put that rat fink out of its misery when they find it!”

“This is Sheriff Kincade,” responded the Sheriff.

The voice came back with a bit more respect, “Oh, Sheriff... I'm glad your here. Arrest that Tom Robbins for trespassing!”

“He's not trespassing, Phil. He's in the road right here with me.”

“His dog is trespassing!”

The Sheriff looked at Tom Robbins, then pressed the button again and said, “You're right, Phil. I want to arrest that dog. That means you need to let me in and you need to tell Adam and Ezekiel that they need to capture the dog alive and unharmed, understand?”

There was a pause of silence, then Phil came back on and said, “Come on in, Sheriff. But just you.”

Kincade opened the gate and the bottom dragged over the white rocks that formed the driveway until it hit the dirt of the road. Kincade walked back to Tom Robbins, who said, “Like I want to go into that house of horrors.”

“I'll be right back, Tom,” said Kincade as he got into his car. He rolled down the window and asked Robbins, “Close the gate behind me?”

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” came the reply as he hopped across the street and held the gate ready.

The rocks made crunching noises beneath the police car's wheels as it climbed the winding driveway towards the farmhouse. The Williamsons' dairy cows didn't take any notice of the car as it made its way passed their grazing grounds. As he got closer to the ground, he passed the emu pens, which were bred for their meat (Phil swore they were healthier than any other meat on earth), and the chicken coops. Kincade parked in front of the house, painted sky blue (it was assumed this was done to confuse drone strikes or something like that). The once charming white wooden shutters that had been there eight years ago had been replaced with metal retractable storm shutters. The beautiful windows replaced with a double pane plastic of some sort.

Kincade was up the second step to the porch when the door opened to show Phil Williamson, standing 6'5” and 300 pounds of muscle, a handlebar mustache the only hair left on his head. His blue overalls and white button up shirt gave contradicting images of high class and low class. In his right hand was a Crimson Trace Lasergrip Smith and Wesson L Frame Round Butt Revolver.

Kincade held up both of his hands and stretched out the name, “Phil” as a polite warning.

“Oh,” Phil looked at the gun, embarrassed, “Sorry. Forgot you don't like guns.” He put it in his pocket.

Kincade took another step and got onto the porch, explaining, “I like guns just fine, Phil. You can't just open the door to a cop with a gun in your hand though.”

“It's my damned property and I have my second amendment rights,” he stated harshly, pointed downwards and stabbing his finger in the air like he was pointing to the constitution.

“Of course, Phil,” said Kincade, realizing he was getting sucked into an argument with Williamson. “Why don't you just show me where the dog is?”

They took two of Phil's 4-wheelers across the pasture. On the horizon were a couple of dots that Kincade made out to be two men and two more 4-wheelers. Gun shots started to break the droning of the engines.

“Damn it, Phil! I told you to tell your boys not to hurt the dog!” yelled Kincade, hitting the gas and passing the elder Williamson.

“I did!” countered Phil.

As Kincade got closer and the boys heard the engines, the gun shots stopped. They were near an old chicken coop, one that had sat on the farm since before the Williamsons arrived. It was filthy and broken down and now sported a few bullet holes.

“Where's the dog?” Kincade demanded. Adam and Ezekiel looked at each other and said nothing, but tightened the grips on their guns. Kincade noticed this and ordered the boys to drop their guns.

“They have to do no such thing, Sheriff!” yelled Phil as he arrived and turned off his engine, pulling out his own revolver. “You got no right coming on our property and telling us what to do!”

Kincade thought for a brief second about showing the three of them what he had the right to do and taking all three into the station and charging them with everything he could think up. The reality of it was that life would be much easier if he worked with the Williamsons than against them. The likelihood of needing their cooperation the next time a dog goes onto their property or their target practice keeps up the whole town was too great to make permanent enemies of five people in a town with a population of forty-nine.

“They need to put the safeties on, Phil. Tell them to do that,” compromised Kincade.

Phil started to say “They have to do no such thing,” but somewhere around “no such”, Sheriff Kincade shot him a look that said he was done playing around.

“You know what,” said Phil, “we got nothing to be afraid of here, boys. Let's put the safeties on. That dog ain't going to hurt anyone.”

“That's bull,” said Ezekiel, pointing to the coop. “That mutt's holed up in there and snapping at us when we try to get him out.”

“We were only shooting around him, trying to scare him out,” explained Adam, more to Sheriff Kincade than his father.

“There. You see,” said Phil proudly. “They weren't hurting anything.”

Kincade ignored the Williamson clan and crouched down to peer into the darkness of the small coop. Rays of light came in through rot and bullet holes and a brown furred creature could be seen in the darkness. When Kincade made eye contact with the dog, a soft growl filled the coop, warning against any attempt to enter.

“Easy, boy,” said Kincade calmly, holding up his hands. “Nobody's here to hurt you.”

He held a hand out to the dog, limp and palm down. He inched closer and closer to the entrance of the coop. The growling intensified, but Kincade continued, speaking softly, “It's okay, dog. We're gonna get you home to Tom.”

“You said you were gonna arrest him!” yelled Phil angrily.

The dog's growl picked up a little at the yelling and Kincade snapped back, “Shut up and let me get this dog off your property!”

Phil wasn't used to being spoken to in that manner and he crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, but he didn't argue with the Sheriff.

“Easy boy,” cooed Kincade. “Easy.”

He inched closer and his hand entered the portal into the coop. He stopped moving forward and lowered his hand until it was almost on the dirty straw layered on the floor.

The dog's growling eased and he inched forward, sniffing the air. There was a moment where it seemed the dog didn't know what it was going to do. Then it whined and scurried quickly into Sheriff Kincade's arms.

“That thing should be put down,” said Adam.

“It snapped at me!” argued Ezekiel

“I'll get out of your hair, gentlemen,” said Kincade, hoisting the dog up to his chest and carrying it in his arms.

It was a long walk back to the car without using the 4-wheelers with the Williamsons, but the less that Kincade had to do with those men, the better he saw his future.

Three

The Williamsons returned to the farmhouse much earlier than Sheriff Kincade who was carrying a thirty pound dog in his arms while they had the advantage of all-terrain vehicles. So Kincade was surprised when he found himself still having to deal with the clan.

The family's Hummer stood idling next to his police car. He opened the rear door of the police car and set the dog down, then shut it. The dog barked happily at Kincade through the window. As he stood up, he saw the Phil Williamson at the steering wheel of the Hummer with Peggy waving politely next to him. Kincade returned the wave with a smile and the beautiful Hester appeared between them, waving and smiling.

Kincade had every intention of that being the extent of his interaction, but it seemed that Phil had other ideas. He exited the Hummer and walked over to the Sheriff aggressively. The outline in his pocket was clearly a revolver.

“Because of you, we're getting a late start to the town meeting, Sheriff! My boys had to ride back doubled up to bring back the 4-wheeler you left out there. You know, I didn't have to let you drive that machine out there and you showed it and me disrespect by leaving it out there where any thief could help themselves to it!”

“Slow down, Phil,” Kincade said. “What are you talking about? What town meeting?”

“Emergency town meeting, Kincade. Mayor Landry just called it. Peggy got the call from the church phone tree while we were out dealing with that,” he pointed to the back seat of the police car where the dog growled softly, “mangy trespasser!”

Kincade furrowed his brow in worry and asked, “What's the meeting about?”

Phil shook his head and looked off in the distance, “I don't know. I don't like it.” His eyebrows raised a little as a motor came into hearing distance and he spotted two 4-wheelers. “There's my boys. You'll see yourself out, Sheriff.”

The final sentence came more as an order than anything else, but as Kincade wanted to leave anyway, he obeyed as quickly as possible. As he drove down the rock driveway, he spoke on the radio with the dog barking in the background, “Carol, this is Kincade.”

“Sheriff!” came an excited voice on the other with a Southern drawl. “I've been trying to reach you for a half hour!”

“I was deep in Williamson territory,” replied Kincade with a smirk.

“The mayor's called an emergency town meeting. He wants you there right away!”

“What's all this about, Carol? What could be so important?”

“I don't know, Sheriff. He said he needs to tell you immediately, but he doesn't want to tell anyone else until he talks to you!”

“Alright, Carol. Get on the horn and tell him I'll meet him at Town Hall.”

Town Hall was the only government building in town. It was a two story brown brick rectangle. The room with lots of books in it was the library. The three rooms with chalkboards were the elementary school, the middle school, and the high school. The room with the little locked boxes that sold stamps was the post office. The office with the mayor's desk was the mayor's office. The room with a witness stand was the court. It went on like this so that twenty rooms substituted for what would be twenty buildings in a larger city. Even the police office was reduced to just a room in Town Hall. A small structure built on the back lawn of the Town Hall to match federal specifications was the jail, though it was never used. In the center was a basketball court that doubled as a theater, voting precinct, Boy Scouts den, or anything else that was needed. As the sun set over the tiny town of Freeport, the basketball court was serving as a meeting hall.

On the raised stage on one end of the room stood a podium where Mayor Landry was expected to appear. Below, on the court, were rows of folding chairs filled with most of the population of the town. Their children played basketball while the adults waited and wondered and talked amongst themselves.

When the Sheriff entered the back of the group with Tom Robbins' dog, everyone turned around. The dog went running to his grateful owner in the third row. They had been looking at everyone to enter the room in the hopes of seeing the mayor or someone with answers. They assumed Sheriff Kincade was the latter and many citizens jumped out of their seats to rush him with questions. Their requests jumbled into an unintelligible mass of confusion to which Kincade had nothing but his own confusion to add.

“I'm going to go find the mayor right now everyone,” announced Kincade, his arms up trying to keep people from crowding him. “If you let me through, we'll have answers soon enough.”

Town meetings were interesting in this town with nothing to do. An emergency town meeting doubly so. The last emergency meeting disrupted life in Freeport for weeks. Travis Ferguson had defaulted on the bank loan for his gas station, the only gas station for 30 miles. Until it was resolved, the whole town was forced to make 60 mile long round trips to fill up. So much gas was wasted in getting the gas that the town started a very aggressive carpooling club. Ferguson's Gas had also been the only place around to get propane, resulting in a July 4^th with much less barbeque than the citizens would have liked.

Sheriff Kincade made his way to the stage and climbed up the stairs, stumbling a bit, but catching himself. He felt uneasy on the stage, with everyone watching him, and quickly looked around for a way off. He ducked behind the curtain and looked around for the mayor. He found Jenny Weiss, who served as the mayor's secretary, the town librarian, and the substitute teacher.

“Jenny, where's Landry? He's not in his office.”

“Thank goodness you're here, Sheriff,” she said. “He's been looking all over for you!”

She took him by the arm and gently led him through the curtains.

“What is it?” asked Kincade. “What's going on?”

“I don't know, Sheriff. He says he'll only talk to you.”

The mayor's voice became clearer as they parted another set of curtains as he was talking on his cell phone, saying “We're not prepared for this in any way. Can't we get some kind of assistance?”

“Mayor,” Jenny whispered, tapping him on the shoulder.

Mayor Landry turned around to face Jenny and the Sheriff. Fat and balding, but dying his remaining hair black, Ryan Landry looked like a caricature of a used car salesman. Since Freeport had no used car lot, he became mayor.

The mayor mouthed, “Thank God” upon seeing Sheriff Kincade, but continued his phone conversation. He motioned for the Sheriff to sit in the only folding chair in the alcove behind the curtain. A small television was on, but the sound was turned down. It was the local Amarillo news affiliate. There were no subtitles, but it appeared to be news as usual. Some crime, some fluff pieces, some politics.

“I know that's what you expect, but I need to know for sure. Just answer me outright. If US-40 is jammed, will they come through Freeport?”

Kincade's spirit picked up. Maybe, he thought, this was a good emergency. Maybe Willie Nelson's tour might come through and we didn't have hotels. Of course, it could be bad. Maybe they're talking about road construction. Widening the bypass would require everyone's business to pull back from the street.

“Play it by ear is not an option!” said the mayor angrily. “I need to know and I need to know ten minutes ago!”

Mayor Landry hung up with purpose and looked down for a moment in thought. He took a deep breath. He started to speak, then stopped and looked around the alcove. He moved around the curtain and made sure no one was eavesdropping. He hurried back to Kincade with a rushed, “Okay, Sheriff. Here's the situation. I've been on the phone with a lot of people and no one can give me an answer either way. So we might have to be ready for something big.”

Kincade nodded.

“I need you to know that this may be nothing,” he said in a suddenly carefree tone. Kincade guessed that he was practicing his coming speech to the town. A town which was starting to grow in audible volume as they became impatient on the other side of the curtains. “It is very likely that nothing will happen and our lives will not be disrupted in any way.”

Kincade nodded again and prodded, “I understand, Mayor. What is it?”

“And just because it might happen is no reason to be alarmed,” the mayor continued. “Even if it does happen, nothing might happen.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Kincade point blank.

“There is going to be someone traveling along US-40 soon. If US-40 is jammed, that someone may or may not be traveling through our town. If that happens, and there's no reason to think that it will as US-40 has been running very smoothly for quite some time and even if it is jammed that day, I don't have any confirmation that they will take the bypass or just sit in traffic and wait, but if they do, well, there is a chance that we may have, passing through our town, very briefly and without stopping...”

Kincade was on the edge of his seat. He recognized that the mayor was trying to instill calm, but it only made him more anxious to know the identity of this traveler.

Jenny poked her head around the curtain and address the Mayor, “Sir, they're getting very anxious.”

“Fine!” said the Mayor. “Just another ten seconds!”

Jenny disappeared and the Mayor deflated, then point blank told Kincade, “We might have Mister Impossible come through town.”

Kincade was lost, “Who's that?”

“Christ, Kincade. He's a supervillain. One of those costume types. Impossible has held the world hostage. He's that type that blows up bridges with people on them and crashes satellites into Manhattan.”

“Oh,” was all Kincade could say.

“You really have never heard of him?”

Kincade shook his head and shrugged, “Not exactly my jurisdiction, Mayor.”

The mayor took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Well, he's about to be,” he said, before correcting himself, “Maybe... Probably not. Almost certainly not.”

“Why's he coming through here?”

“Prison transfer. They're moving him to some special prison for those types and they're taking US-40 in an undercover vehicle so he gets lost in the traffic and no one can break him out.”

“You're worried someone is going to try to free him?” asked Kincade, finally understanding the Mayor's concern.

“It's, well, it's possible. These cape types are in and out of jails like they have revolving doors. Big city people and big city superheroes have probably never heard of Freeport. That's how we like it. But what if this Mister Impossible or his people have heard of us? Can't you see how this could be a problem?”

“Yeah,” said Kincade, “but there's a lot of 'ifs' there before we end up with a supervillain on the loose in Freeport.”

“Still,” said the Mayor, “I'm not happy with the possibility.”

They sat listening to the demands for answers coming from the crowd below the stage.

“I wanted to get to you earlier,” explained Mayor Landry, “because I wanted to say we were prepared with a plan of action so that none of this could happen.”

“I was out at Williamsons' place away from the radio.”

“I know, Sheriff, I know. I talked to Carol,” he paused and thought, “I'm going to go out there and lie, Sheriff. I'm going to tell these people that they are safe. That we have a plan of action if the worst should happen. I want you to come up with a plan while I'm lying in case anyone demands it. Can you do it?”

“No,” said the Sheriff.

“God damn it, Kincade.”

“What do you want me to say? This is Freeport. We're not prepared for something like that. Just tell them it isn't going to happen because it isn't going to happen.”

“Well, I'm going to tell them it isn't going to happen, but you know they're going to want more than that. Look, I'm going to tell them you have a plan, but it is confidential. Can you at least back me up on that?”

“You want me to tell people there's a secret plan for their safety?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I guess that's alright because nothing's going to happen.”

The speech went as they predicted. Nearly everyone saw that nothing was going to happen. The worrisome Wallers and the paranoid Williamsons demanded safety and answers, but Mayor Landry soothed their fears and deflected their accusations. To Kincade's surprise, most of the town had heard of Mister Impossible and took the news as a serious occurrence, something that might be a part of the town's history one day as “The town that a supervillain passed through”.

After the meeting came Kincade's part. People came up to him offering to help prepare or trying to get details on the plan from him and he kept everyone at bay with the magic word “confidential” that polite people wouldn't pry into. He stayed at Town Hall until everyone had left, but he tugged on his deputy's arm and kept him back.

“Chris, I think we've got some work to do tonight. Better go ahead and send Marissa and Angelica on home. Give them my love.”

“Sure thing, bossman.”

As Chris was leaving to say good-bye to his family outside, Kincade noticed they were alone in the meeting hall. Alone with a person he trusted, Kincade was hoping to finally get a straight answer on the subject.

“Hey, Chris?”

Chris stopped with his hand on the door, about to leave, but turned back to face Kincade.

“Chris, you watch the tv with these costume types. This Mister Impossible guy? Is he anything we really need to worry about?”

Deputy McGarvey bobbed his head and broke his eye contact with Sheriff Kincade. He shrugged his shoulders a bit and exited the building. Kincade knew what that meant.

“Crap.”

Four

Kincade and McGarvey worked late into the night, talking about worst case scenarios, thankful that no one else was around to hear them talk about the hypothetical deaths of those around them.

By the next morning, Kincade was prepared to talk to the mayor. Kincade stopped in to Jack and Mary's Diner for some coffee first though, toting papers and maps that his deputy and he had scribbled on throughout the night. When he entered the diner, the little bell on the door jingled and all conversation stopped. They all turned and stared except Lucy, who ignored the crowd's reaction and asked, “Coffee, Sheriff?”

“Please,” he answered, bringing his work with him to the counter and sitting.

“Skim milk, right?” Lucy asked. They both knew that she knew he wanted skim milk, but the diner was so quiet she felt as thought someone should talk.

“Thank you, Lucy,” replied the Sheriff, setting the papers down and getting comfortable with his cup.

The Wallers started to talk to themselves and John Brownfield asked his dad, “Do you think that's the plan?” a little too loudly, causing the Wallers to stop talking again and listen for some confirmation.

With everyone watching him, Kincade felt like he should answer. And why not, he thought. He was prepared.

“Yes, John, this is the plan. Actually lots of plans. But we're not going to need any of them because nothing's going to happen.”

There was some relieved laughing from Tom Brownfield and from Martin Cruise and his son Thomas, who went back to talking to John Brownfield about the frog race he had won yesterday. Lucy arrived with the milk.

“Thank you,” said Kincade.

“No problem,” she replied, before leaning in and adding, “I know you've got all this covered.”

Kincade patted his stack of papers and whispered back, “I sure hope so. I spent long enough on these.”

After finishing his coffee, Kincade tried to pay, but Lucy held up her hand and said, “It's on the house today, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff smiled and gathered his papers, then continued to the Mayor's Office. He first stopped in to his office and check with Carol that there weren't any messages for him.

“Lots of messages, but nothing important,” she said with a smile. “Everyone wants to know your big plan for dealing with Mister Impossible.”

“Hopefully I'm not going to need a plan, Carol,” he said with a smile.

Down the hall, he entered the mayor's office, where he was greeted by Jenny.

“Sheriff, I'm glad you're here,” she said, stacking a ham sandwich on top of all the plans. “Maybe you can get him to eat something. He's been in here since the meeting last night.”

She opened the door to the mayor's tiny office since Kincade's hands were now full. With his head on the desk, slept Mayor Landry. Around him were maps and rolodexes that had been torn apart.

“Oh, he fell asleep,” said Jenny. “Can this wait?”

“I'm afraid not,” replied Kincade, genuinely sorry. It was clear to him that the mayor had stayed up all night trying to get a handle on the situation. He clumsily scooted the plate off of his papers and onto the desk. The clattering awoke the mayor.

“Hm! Hm? Oh, Kincade!” he said, focusing on his surroundings and company. “Come in.”

The Sheriff laughed, “I am in.”

“Then have a seat,” he said, straightening his tie and brushing his remaining hairs into place. “What have you got for me?”

“A lot,” said Kincade happily. “McGarvey and I were up late last night coming up with ideas.”

“Hmph,” grunted the mayor. “So was I. I hope you had better luck than me.”

Kincade unrolled a map of Freeport with US-40 on the southern edge.

“Here's our first idea. We close off a lane of US-40 and give the prison transport it's own lane so it doesn't risk stopping here.”

“Oh, God, Sheriff,” said the mayor sitting back in his seat. “I hope your other ideas are better than this.”

“What's wrong with this?”

“It's terrible, short-sighted, and I already came up with it,” he said with a smirk. “They want the transport to be undercover. Giving it its own lane kind of defeats the purpose. Impossible's men would know exactly which vehicle he was in.”

“It's okay, Mayor, we have more,” said Kincade hopeful.

“I hope so.”

Kincade pointed to the bypass entrance and said, “Why don't we block off the entrance so it can't be used. That way the transport will be forced to sit in traffic if it's jammed.”

“Can't,” replied the Mayor. “Bureaucracy. I thought about even just getting a pothole or two filled so it wasn't closed for no reason, but the Department of Transportation said no dice. We could blow up the road, but short of that, we can't close it down.”

“DUI checkpoint,” countered Kincade.

“What?”

“McGarvey and I set up a DUI checkpoint at the bypass entrance.”

“What does that do?”

“It creates traffic. More traffic that US-40. We make it faster for them to go through the traffic on 40.”

The mayor shook his head and said, “It wouldn't work. The transport is going to have undercover police with it. They'll just flash their lights and get around it, going down the other side of the road.”

The mayor sighed and said, “Kincade, are all these plans ways to keep the prison transport on the 40?”

Kincade looked confused and answered hesitantly, “Yeah.”

“Oh, Kincade,” the mayor said rubbing his face, still trying to wake up. “I didn't want you to come up with a politician's plan. That's my job. I'm doing that... well, I'm trying to do that.”

Kincade looked at him confused.

“I want you to come up with a combat plan. I want you to come up with the plan that we really, really don't want to have to use. If there's traffic on US-40. If the prison transport takes the bypass. If Impossible's men attack the transport in Freeport. If they succeed. Then we need your plan.”

“That's not going to happen,” declared Kincade.

“But if it does, Kincade,” said the mayor gravely. “If it does, then I have to know. How do you plan to stop Mister Impossible?”

Five

Mister Impossible sat with a black bag over his grotesque head. His slight frame was bound to his metal chair with handcuffs and leg restraints. The metal chair was bound to the metal floor of the semi-truck trailer that glowed brightly with fluorescent lighting. Around his chair was empty space save for six armed guards dressed in riot gear around the perimeter of the area. The only sound was horrible hissing noise that came from him when he breathed. All eyes were focused on him. His bright orange jumpsuit fit him loosely and his damaged skin, seemingly melted or burned away, was visible on his hands and feet and neck, reminding all six men that this prisoner, this person, was not normal.

Mister Impossible murmured something.

“What did you say, freak?” said one of the guards moving closer.

“Hey!” said another, raising his gun. “Don't approach the prisoner.”

The man returned to his position, “You're right. Sorry.”

Underneath the bag, Mister Impossible tried to smile. He still tried to smile when he was happy or found something funny and still tried to frown when he was sad or worried. It had been many years since he was able to do either.

Mister Impossible spoke louder and more clearly, “Oklahoma.”

The guards looked at each other. They had been instructed not to interact with Mister Impossible at all and the recent reminder of that cemented that Mister Impossible would not be getting a response from them.

“We're in Oklahoma now,” he said, pushing his feet against the metal floor to feel the new vibrations from the change in asphalt which confirmed the math in his head.

The guards looked at each other briefly. They had no idea how far into the trip they were. The six of them were left to stand silently and digest the fact that their prisoner knew more about this prison transfer than they did.

Six

“How exactly does he expect us to fight a supervillain?” asked McGarvey with disbelief. “I thought we were just trying to divert the traffic. That's what we do here. We're traffic cops.”

“Did Amarillo ever have any of these types?” asked Kincade, pacing around the office.

“No, not really,” answered the deputy. “To be honest, we probably had more problems with wannabe superheroes that supervillains. Idiots in masks that hit a jaywalker with a crowbar and scream 'Justice!' the whole time they're doing it.”

“Well, what about superheroes then?” asked Kincade. “I don't know anything about them. Can we flash a signal in the sky and get one to stay in town in case something happens?”

The deputy shook his head, “Not really. They get all territorial. They stay in their own cities.”

“Can we call one anyway and see if they'll come?”

“I don't know. I guess I could call someone and try to get a message to a superhero. But they don't usually show up until after things are going wrong.”

“Do it,” said Kincade. “Get us a superhero. I'm going to get us lunch.”

Kincade left as McGarvey was dialing a New York precinct for some help contacting a man in spandex. The Sheriff walked the block and a half and crossed at the blinking warning light to get to Jack and Mary's Diner.

“Hey,” said Kincade, a little short of breath from his quick walk and stress.

“Everything okay, Sheriff?” asked Lucy, worried.

Everyone else in the diner had stopped and were looking at him, as if his demeanor had a direct indication on their chances for survival.

“Everything's fine,” he said to everyone instead of Lucy. “There's nothing to worry about.”

The Wallers paid their check and left with meatloaf and grits still on their plates.

“What was with them?” Kincade asked.

“Oh,” said Lucy, trying to find the right words, “They were talking about going on a little vacation, I think.”

“You mean they're skipping town until after this Impossible thing passes?”

Lucy shrugged and gave him a smile. “What do you want for lunch?”

“Two steak sandwiches and some fries,” answered Kincade.

“Don't bother him,” Tom Brownfield said to his son.

“Whatever, dad,” said John, getting up from his stool and approaching the Sheriff. “Sheriff, should we get out of town, too?”

Kincade didn't know how to answer. Saying yes could send the entire town into a panic and cost lives. Saying no could, in the worst possible scenario, cost lives. The hesitation was all John Brownfield needed.

“Are you guys gonna use rock salt?” the teen asked.

“What?” asked Kincade, still trying to decide on the evacuation question.

“Rock salt, like Black Dog used,” said John, as if that explained everything.

“What are you talking about?” asked Kincade.

Tom Brownfield got up and put a hand on his son's shoulder, edging him back to his seat, “Come on, John, let's finish our lunch, then we'll take a trip to see Grandma.”

“Whatever,” said John. “That's how Black Dog beat him before.”

“You know this how?” asked Kincade.

“Oh, are you kidding?” said John with a smile. “Superheroes kick ass.”

The steak sandwiches arrived in a brown bag.

“Tom, would you mind if I join you and John for lunch?” asked Kincade.

“Oh, I don't know,” said Tom Brownfield. “We were just wrapping up and then we have to hit the road.”

“It might be a big help,” said Kincade.

Tom looked nervously at the Coca-Cola clock on the wall and said, “We could stay for another ten minutes maybe.”

“Thanks,” he said to Tom before turning to John. “What can you tell me about Mister Impossible.”

“Oh, man,” said John. “He's crazy. One of those guys who doesn't have any powers, but the powerful guys are still scared of him. He's got this, like, melted face and his whole body is tore up. He doesn't have any nerve endings left so he doesn't feel anything.”

“What's this about rock salt?”

“Black Dog used rock salt to take out the Idea Men, that's his gang or something. Mister Impossible makes them look like him a little and melt their faces or something. So Black Dog filled a shotgun with rock salt and peppered the Idea Men. They all fell to the ground screaming in pain from the salt in their melting faces.”

“Uh huh,” said Kincade. “And how did he beat Mister Impossible? Rock salt?”

John shrugged. “He tried, but Impossible didn't feel it.”

“So what did he do?”

“His team mate Blue Ribbon used her magic ribbons to hold him.”

“Great,” said Kincade. “So all I need are some magic ribbons.”

“He's just a normal guy. Handcuffs would work, I guess,” said John. “He just usually outsmarts the good guys.”

On US-40, a man with a melted face started swerving left and right, smashing into vehicles before his own overturned in the middle of the highway. Traffic quickly became backed up.

Seven

Underneath Mister Impossible's black bag, he was trying to smile again as the truck's speed slowed and stopped.

The guards looked around at each other nervously. The brief yelp of a siren was heard and the truck started to move again, first slowly and then, after taking a turn, a little faster.

The hissing coming from Mister Impossible as he tried to stifle his laughing was too much for one guard.

“Shut the hell up, freak!” he shouted. Mister Impossible immediately became quiet.

Eight

Sheriff Kincade exited Tom Brownfield's hardware store and locked up behind him. Tom had been so eager to leave town that he left his keys with the Sheriff to get rock salt, trusting him to lock up. The Sheriff walked quickly to the office and moved to the gun cabinet, while Mayor Landry and Deputy McGarvey yelled.

“Here he is!” yelled the mayor sarcastically.

“What's wrong?” said Kincade, taking a box of shotgun shells to his desk and starting to empty the shot from each.

“There was a crash on the 40. Everything's backed up,” said McGarvey.

“And I think we have a good idea who's responsible for it!” yelled the mayor.

“We don't know that!” yelled back the deputy. “What are you doing, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff stopped filling shells with rock salt for a moment to look at the two confused men staring at him to save them. “It's,” he thought for a moment, “kind of a long story. Do we know where the transport is?”

“No!” the mayor said in desperation, “No one will tell me. They all say it's too confidential for us to know!”

“Call Phil Williamson,” said Kincade as he loaded his shotgun.

“What? Why?” ask McGarvey.

“He's been itching for a fight for eight years,” explained Kincade. “Tell him he can use any gun he wants.”

Carol came into the room and announced, “I know y'all got your plates full, but I'm just passing it along that Martin Cruise said there's some kids speeding westbound.”

“Yeah, Carol, they have their plates full,” said the Mayor sarcastically.

Kincade holstered a revolver and took his salt-filled shotgun with him out the door, yelling back, “Mayor, why don't you get on the church phone tree and tell people to keep away from the bypass today?”

Nine

Westbound on the bypass, eight black SUVs sped dangerously around the curves. In the first car's passenger seat sat Red Magik, a ridiculously brawny and endowed woman with long flowing black hair and a red spandex outfit. She touched the headset in her ear when she spotted matching cars in front of and behind an unmarked semi-truck and said, “We have contact.”

The driver turned sharply to the left, blocking the road. The other SUVs charged the convoy, smashing into the undercover police cars and the cab of the semi-truck, disabling it. The trailer jack knifed to the side and the men inside were thrown to the ground violently when the trailer stopped moving. Except for Mister Impossible who was bound to his chair. He starting hissing as he was laughing uncontrollably under the black bag when there was gunfire outside and at the lock on the trailer. The doors swung open and all around him, Mister Impossible heard screams and bullets hitting flesh, going through flesh, and hitting the metal walls and floor.

“Mister Impossible,” said Red Magik as she walked up to the prisoner. She removed the bag and a dying guard looked into his prisoner's face for the first time before passing away. “Your moment of freedom is at hand.”

There were no lips to speak of. His full set of teeth were visible and without lips to hold in the fluids, drool dripped from between his cracked and obscene teeth. His nose was gone and two holes gaped in the red scar tissue where his nostrils should be. They made a fluttering noise when he breathed. His eyes appeared useless. They were a mixing of yellow and red and the pupils were black and glassy. They seemed to point in opposite directions and had a dry, sticky appearance from the lack of eyelids. The scar tissue reached up to the top of his forehead and a little bone was visible above his right eye.

“A pleasure to see you again, Red Magik,” said Mister Impossible as an Idea Man uncuffed his hands and another released the restraints on his ankles.

“The pleasure is all mine, darling,” she replied, helping him to his feet and taking him in an embrace. They kissed to the extent that Impossible could kiss which was an open mouthed rubbing of teeth and pointed tongue waggling. “Come, Mister Impossible. I have brought you some clothing more befitting a man of your stature.”

Impossible looked down at his prison garb and said, “Orange isn't my color, is it?”

As the couple exited the trailer with two Idea Men, they surveyed the results of the attack. All the government agents were dead, the six in the truck, two in the cab, and two more in each of the cars for a total of twelve. Of the sixteen Idea Men that had attacked the transport, four died during the kamikaze attack and five more died in the following shoot out.

“How many cars do we have?” asked Mister Impossible as he dressed in the middle of the road. From the window of the diner, Jack and Mary stood with Lucy while Homer Higgins hid in their bathroom. Ferguson's Gas was now unmanned and Ferguson himself had taken off running toward Tom Robbins' and the Williamsons' pastures up North. Jenny and Carol watched from the window of the library as Kincade and McGarvey stood, peeking out of the front windows of Town Hall with Mayor Landry.

“I knew it!” said Landry in a hushed tone, hitting McGarvey for emphasis. “I knew this would happen! Damn it! God damned bureaucrats are going to be the death of us all!”

“Now, we don't know nothing,” said McGarvey. “Maybe they're just going to move on.”

Sheriff Kincade checked his revolver and was satisfied to see it was fully loaded.

“What are you thinking, Kincade?” said the mayor. “Let them go.”

“I'm just getting ready, Mayor,” replied the Sheriff. “Just in case,” he added.

“Keep down, Kincade! I want McGarvey to be able to go home to Marissa and Angelica tonight. If they're going to move on, you let them move on, understand?”

Kincade didn't get a chance to answer as a gunshot rang out and one of the Idea Men fell to the ground. Another shot from a bolt action M24 resting on the roof rack of a Hummer came towards Mister Impossible, but froze in mid-air as Red Magik held up her hand. A shimmering ball of clear force surrounded the two and the bullet fell to the ground. Mister Impossible finished getting dressed, unfazed by the attack. He straightened the black tie he wore over his red shirt and buttoned the brown jacket while the Idea Men charged the Williamson Hummer down the road, firing wildly at Adam and Ezekiel on the roof.

“Hold on,” yelled Hester, the daughter as she reversed and drove backwards up Lakeside Road away from the eight remaining Idea Men who charged them. A round object landed in front of the Idea Men and then exploded, sending three of them flying through the air. The remaining five turned their fire on Peggy Williamson, tearing her to pieces with bullets.

“God damn it, you sons of bitches!” cried out the broken hearted Phil Williamson as he pumped round after round from his Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon into the Idea Men. When they were all dead and his wife was avenged, Phil Williamson's children ran to him.

“Daddy!” cried out Hester.

“Oh no,” said Ezekiel

Adam just stared silently.

Phil Williamson should have died from his bullet wounds mid-way through the shoot out. It was the pure love that he had for his wife and the pure hate for those that killed her that kept his body firing after it should have ceased to function. With his mission complete, the Williamson patriarch slumped down to his knees, fell to the ground next to his wife, and closed his eyes.

Ten

Oblivious to the suffering of those around him, including his own men, Mister Impossible pulled on his black gloves and brushed off his suit.

“How do I look?” he asked Red Magik.

“Wonderful, darling,” was the reply.

He motioned to the bloodbath a thousand yards from him and said, “This simplifies things. We only need one car now.”

“We still have working SUVs,” offered Red Magik.

“Yeah,” replied Mister Impossible, looking up at the Williamson children, crying over the death of their parents near the family Hummer, “But I've always wanted to drive one of those gas-guzzling monsters.”

“They're going after the Williamsons. I'm going out,” said Sheriff Kincade.

“You're just going to end up dead!” reminded Mayor Landry.

“Better me than them!”

“How are you going to get passed that magic thing?” asked McGarvey.

“I don't know,” Kincade said hopelessly before rushing out the door. He drew his revolver and pointed it at Mister Impossible and Red Magik.

“Hold it right there,” he yelled out sternly.

To his surprise, they obeyed.

“Sure,” said Mister Impossible. “Now what?”

After a moment, Mister Impossible continued, “Didn't think this through, did you?”

“Get on the ground! Both of you!”

“No,” replied Mister Impossible, playing with his glove. He stood there, daring the Sheriff.

“You son of a bitch!” yelled Ezekiel as he fired round after round from his Heckler and Koch HK45 into the villainous couple. Red Magik waved a hand and the bullets hovered in mid-air in front of them in the same shimmering clear bubble of protection. With another flick of her wrist the bullets returned to their owner forcefully, embedding themselves in his soft tissue.

As Ezekiel Williamson fell to the ground, Mister Impossible remained nonplussed, “Still waiting, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff fired off a round at Mister Impossible and it hung in front of his face. Had it not been stopped by Red Magik, it would have gone right between his eyes, a fact not lost on Mister Impossible. “Nice shot. I mean, you aren't learning anything by watching your neighbors die, but at least you would get first prize at a turkey shoot.” He reached forward and plucked the bullet out of the air. “Anything else?”

The Sheriff lowered his gun, feeling helpless.

“My turn then. Magik?”

Red Magik moved a hand over one of the crashed SUVs and moved her hand over towards the Town Hall. The SUVs soared through the air in time with her hand. Sheriff Kincade dove to the ground to avoid the vehicle, which crashed into the front of the Town Hall, exactly where his deputy and mayor had been standing. He sat up quickly and looked, but couldn't tell if they were alive or even still there.

Distracted by the Sheriff and throwing an SUV at him, it was then that Mister Impossible and Red Magik were successfully attacked for the first time. Adam Williamson crashed the family Hummer into the villainous duo. Although Red Magik managed to protect herself and her lover from fatal injury, the two were thrown across the street and through the window of Jack and Mary's Diner.

“Lucy!” Kincade found himself shouting out without thinking. He got to his feet and started running towards the diner. As he passed Adam, chills went up his spine to see that he had gone to meet his twin in the afterlife as his lifeless eyes stared up from the steering wheel where his head impacted. When Kincade made it across the street, he saw a surreal sight. Red Magik was standing with her hands up and the family of Jack and Mary and Lucy were floating before him, gripping their necks as if they were being choked. Mister Impossible dusted himself off.

“Oh no,” whimpered Kincade.

“So who's Lucy?” asked Mister Impossible as he looked at the three rotating pies in the pie rack. “I mean, I think we can assume it isn't the male. Magik?”

Magik twisted her wrist and there was a snapping noise like wet celery being broken in half and Jack stopped moving. His arms fell to his side and his eyes rolled back. Mary and Lucy screamed in horror as his body fell to the ground.

“I don't suppose they're wearing name tags, are they?” asked Mister Impossible, sticking his fingers in the lemon meringue pie and sticking them down his throat. “Mmm, these are good.”

Magik spun her hands and Kincade was worried the women would share Jack's fate, but they simply turned in place to face Magik. “No, Mister Impossible. No name tags.”

“Well, I suppose we can assume it's the younger one, unless the sheriff has a mother-son relationship with the elder or he's just really into mature women.”

“Please,” begged Kincade. “You can leave. You can do whatever you want. Just please.”

Mister Impossible dropped the pie and walked over to the Sheriff. He grabbed him by the face and the Sheriff put up no resistance.

“I know,” said Mister Impossible. “I know I can do whatever I want. You don't seem to understand something. I'm doing it. I'm doing what I want. I can leave her any time I want, but not because you let me. Because I choose to. So every moment that I remain in this teeny tiny town is because I choose to. Because I have something else I want to do.”

Mister Impossible turned to Magik and said, “Leave them here. Come out with me. I want to show the Sheriff what I want to do.”

Magik flicked her hands behind her and the two women went flying to the back of the restaurant. She stepped out with Impossible, who was dragging Kincade by the collar. Kincade resisted at one point and Impossible told him, “Come along or I'll burn this town to the ground.” The Sheriff complied.

Under the blinking warning light at the intersection of the bypass and Lakeside Road, Mister Impossible threw the Sheriff to the ground and kicked him in the head with four hundred dollar pointed shoes.

“Listen up, you yokels!” Mister Impossible yelled out to the town. “I know you're all hiding for safety, but you just can't resist sneaking a peek at what's going on! Well, here's what's going on! Here's the Sheriff! He says that he's thrown all he's got at me and nothing's stuck. He says he gives up. So now you're all my bitches! That's right. Every man, woman, and child in this backwater town is property of Mister Impossible. Before I leave here, those of you that live to tell about today will have a story to share about how the great Mister Impossible made his escape and put your little town of Freeport on the map. How the Sheriff and some rednecks tried to stop him and died. And how people like you need to know your place, way, WAY below people like me.”

Mister Impossible started to kick Kincade in the ribs. The Sheriff coughed up blood and rolled to the side, holding his ribs. Impossible kicked him in the kidneys twice, but stopped when a gunshot rang out.

“Don't you people ever learn!?” he yelled out to the town. “Who fired that one?”

He looked at where the bullet was lodged in the protective field and looked off in the direction of where it could have been fired from, but he saw nothing. Another gunshot to his right got his attention and this time he saw a quick movement as someone hid behind the hardware store.

Two more bullets fired out from different spots, and Mister Impossible turned to find those as well. “Don't you mouth breathers understand?! You can't shoot me!”

Another bullet fired and lodged in the bubble. And another. Each hit sent a glowing pulse through the bubble around the three of them.

“Who's firing all of these?!” Mister Impossible muttered with frustration.

Kincade spit out some of his own blood and said, “This is the country, Impossible. Everyone and their mother is armed.”

“Everyone?” said Mister Impossible, perhaps worried for the first time.

Kincade saw one of the attackers was Marissa and added, “And their mother.”

Bullets started to rain in more quickly now in varying calibers. Mister Impossible was trying to keep track of all his attackers and Red Magik focused on maintaining the force field which was becoming crowded with held bullets, slugs, and shot. The protective bubble pulsed with every hit around the three of them. Gunfire echoed through the tiny town's only street, and then all the bullets fell to the ground and the shooting stopped. Red Magik lay on the ground with hundreds of tiny wounds all over her body and bits of rock salt embedded in them. She screamed in pain as Mister Impossible turned to find Deputy McGarvey standing over the Sheriff, who was holding a shotgun full of rock salt.

“You dropped this, Sheriff,” he said.

“Thanks,” Kincade coughed out.

McGarvey charged Mister Impossible and swung a right fist into his exposed teeth, then followed it up with a left to his bony, pointed chin. Impossible didn't even feel the hits and grabbed McGarvey by the neck and spun him around, using him as a human shield to Kincade.

“I can't feel anything, idiot,” sneered Mister Impossible. He backed up with McGarvey towards one of the SUVs. “I'm just going to have to settle for leaving this town in my dust, I guess. If you try anything, I will snap your man's neck like a twig.” He twisted his grip to prove his point.

“Okay,” said the Sheriff, lowering the shotgun.

“Darling,” gasped Red Magik, looking up and reaching out for Mister Impossible.

“Sorry, honey, but I think we should see other people,” replied Mister Impossible, moving more towards the SUVs.

“Damn it! Somebody shoot him!” yelled out Deputy McGarvey.

Impossible started to take off his belt as he held his hold on McGarvey with the other and he explained, “They aren't going to, buddy. They like you too much.” He wrapped the belt around McGarvey's throat. “They want you to get back to your apple pie and church picnic life. No one wants to take the risk that you might get hurt.” Impossible opened the driver's side door of the SUVs. “Now you're going to drive and if you or anyone else makes a move, I'm going to pull on this belt and you're going to have a very bad day.”

Mister Impossible turned to face the growing crowd of people, emboldened by his apparent lack of ability to kill them. “Oh, people of Freeport,” he said with a quick tightening to McGarvey's choke chain to keep them at bay, “Your hospitality has been wonderful. When I get to a real city, I will be sure to tell the actual homo sapiens that live there about your quiet, little, piss ant, redneck, podunk, jerkwater, greenhorn, one-horse, mud-hole, peckerwood, right-wing, whistle-stop, hob-mail, truck-drivin', old-fashioned, hayseed, inbred, unkempt, out-of-date, out-of-touch, white trash...”

“Sic 'em,” said Tom Robbins' to the dog with no name.

The dog charged Mister Impossible and lunged at his throat. Impossible dropped the belt to defend himself and McGarvey dove away as the town unloaded a bulletstorm into Mister Impossible and the dog and the SUV. The dog died and fell and Impossible jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine, then floored it while the men and women peppered his car with bullets, tearing it to shreds but failing to stop it.

“Do you think we got him?” asked Lucy as she lowered her Ruger No. 1 Varminter K1-V-BBZ.

“I don't know,” said Kincade. “He doesn't feel pain, so we don't know how much we actually got him or if he'll die down the road.”

“I want to find out,” said Mayor Landry, holstering his Colt Peacemaker, and running to his car.

The other citizens took his example and ran to their cars and soon a caravan of armed and vengeful Freeport residents were eastbound on the bypass. McGarvey and Kincade were in the lead with Marissa and Angelica in the backseat. Kincade coughed painfully again.

“I should take you to a hospital, bossman,” said McGarvey as he looked over at the Sheriff in the passenger seat.

“Soon,” replied the Sheriff. “But not yet.”

A plume of smoke became visible over a hill and McGarvey quickly found himself in the aftermath of a massive explosion. The twisted, fiery wreckage of a vehicle was barely recognizable on the side of the road in a ditch. In the middle of road, lay a beautiful blond teenage woman, the last of the Williamson clan. Near her, a bazooka.

The two police jumped out of the car, McGarvey much faster than Kincade and rushed to Hester's side. To their relief, he opened her eyes and moaned.

“She's alive,” Kincade joyously proclaimed, yelling back to the town as they exited their cars. “Hester's alive!”

“And Phil Williamson had a bazooka,” pointed out McGarvey.

Eleven

The body of Mister Impossible was never found. By the time the town returned to the warning light, Red Magik had disappeared as well.

“It was all for nothing,” said Mayor Landry. “They wanted to escape and they escaped. And we lost Jack and nearly the whole Williamson clan.”

Kincade sat behind his desk, his ribs bandaged and a cast on his hand from where he had broken a finger and didn't even realize it. McGarvey sat at his desk, a neck brace limiting his movement.

“He wanted to burn this town to the ground, Mayor,” added Kincade. “Seeing as Freeport is still here, I'm counting this as one for the good guys.”

“The superheroes?” suggested McGarvey.

Kincade laughed, then groaned in pain from his ribs and said, “I wish.”

“Oh, come on, Boss Man,” McGarvey said with a smile, making it sound like a superhero name.

“Nope,” said Kincade to shut him down. “Not even a little funny.”

Mary replaced Jack on the stove top and Lucy decided to stay in the family business. The funerals for the Williamson clan were held on the compound. Hester allowed everyone to attend.

Everyone did.