This is episode thirty-seven of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise
. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by.
A Cane to the Crotch
The guard returned.
As he walked toward Trace’s cell, Trace looked at the crotch in his pants. “Are you wearing it?”
“Yeah,” the guard said.
“I can’t tell,” Trace said, “but honestly, I paid little attention before so I have no frame of reference.”
“I just hope it doesn’t slip,” the guard said.
“If it does, let me know. Wink or something,” Trace said. “I’ll fake something and get Me’Ached’s attention and you make the necessary adjustments.”
“Me’Ached is waiting,” the guard said.
“After you,” Trace said.
Trace walked behind the guard to the main building. They walked in and made their way to Me'Ached’s sanctuary. They stopped a couple of steps before his desk.
Me'Ached’s eyes were closed. He appeared to be in meditation. His eyes slowly opened and he lifted his head. “My disciple has brought great shame on me and what we stand for. The report is that you weren’t feeling well.”
“Appreciate your concern,” Trace said. “A little woozy and nauseated. I’m fine now.”
“Retribution is necessary,” Me’Ached said. “For everyone concerned. It spreads the offense among all. No one takes pleasure in it, not the offender or retaliator, nor those aware. It distributes the offense. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Trace said. “It plays itself out in every civil society, in one form or another. It’s for the good of all.”
“Have you decided upon a just retribution?” Me’Ached asked.
“I have,” Trace said. He took one step forward. He turned to the guard. “Your cane, please.”
The guard handed the cane to Trace. The guard stiffened his neck as if preparing for a blow to the head. Trace suddenly and violently launched the baton upward, and with a whiff and thud, it landed in the guard's crotch.
He yelped loudly and fell to the floor. He curled into a ball of pain, rocking back and forth. He gritted his teeth and cried out in agony.
Trace dropped the cane next to the guard and watched his performance.
Trace turned to Me'Ached. “My head feels better.”
“When he recovers, he’ll walk you back,” Me’Ached said. He turned and slowly walked out of the sanctuary.
The guard continued to feign the agony. He held onto a chair but did not get to his feet. He breathed heavily as if out of breath.
“I’m ready anytime you are,” Trace mercilessly.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” the guard cried out painfully. He took rapid, deep breaths and rolled from side to side. Finally, he stood and doubled over, grasping his crotch. “Let’s go,” he said painfully through gritted teeth.
They walked side by side through the sanctuary. The guard continued, slightly bent over, and Trace walked erect.
On the pathway back to the stockade, the guard said tight-lipped, “Was I convincing?’
“I ain’t lying,” Trace said, “I could feel your pain. I almost dropped over myself.”
“I hope Me’Ached thinks so,” the guard said. “His life is built around deception. What is it they say, it takes one to fool one.”
“Not really,” Trace said,” they always think everyone’s a sucker but them.”
“You seem to have a lot of experience at this,” the guard said.
“I’ve been raised by my grandpa and dad,” Trace said. “They’ve handed a lifetime of experience to me.”
“Good men,” the guard said.
“How would you like to meet one of them?” Trace asked.
“How?” The guard said.
“How would you like to meet one of them?” Trace repeated.
“I would,” the guard said.
“What’s your name?” Trace asked.
“Well, Tom,” Trace said, “you don’t mind if I call you Tom, do you?”
“No,” Tom said.
“When the time comes…” Trace paused. “Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
“Sure,” Tom said. “Is there something I can do to help?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Trace said, “but if I told you, it could be misleading. Not purposely, mind you. But it’s all in the planning stages.”
“There are others?” Tom asked.
“You see,” Trace said, “that’s something that changes all the plans.” Trace stopped abruptly. “Why don’t you revolt?”
“As far as I can figure there’s only a half dozen,” Tom said, “and two of them are gone.”
Trace continued to walk. “So that means there are three more besides you who are known. I’m not sure that many can be accommodated. I was only thinking about you.”
“Never mind me,” Tom said. “Let me know when and where and I’ll send somebody in my place.”
“That’s awful good of you,” Trace said, “but as it is, you are it. I won’t take anybody but you. So don’t bother informing anybody else.”
“What about the others?” Tom said. “I don’t want to leave them behind.”
“Then stay here,” Trace said. “Stay with the promise that I will return. Once I’ve been here, I can’t leave it like this. It will haunt me.”
“I would guess we owe that to your grandpa and dad,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” Trace said, “Grandpa will curse me for not letting him in on this whole thing.”
“How old is he?” Tom inquired.
“Eighty going on eighteen,” Trace said.
They stopped talking the closer they got to the lockup and the two guards posted at the door.
Tom stood more erect but hobbled enough to feign an injury. He escorted Trace to his cell and locked him in.
As soon as Tom left, Coyote asked, “What happened to him? He’s walking like he’s somewhat saddlesore.”
“Yeah, looks that way.” Trace said, “Problem is, there’s no horses.”
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