This is episode forty 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.
Last Meal
Three bowls of rice and three cups of tea were brought in by a guard in the late afternoon.
“How did you know?” Sage said to the guard.
“Know what?” The guard said.
“Rice is exactly what I wanted for my last meal,” Sage said.
The guard either didn’t comprehend or possessed a sense of humor.
They sat on their bunks eating the rice with a spoon.
“I don’t know exactly how or exactly when I’m going to act,” Trace said, “but you’ll know it for sure.”
“What do you have planned?” Coyote asked.
“If Me’Ached gets in a good position,” Trace said. “I’m pulling out the pistol and holding it to his head. At that point, he has a choice and does his cult.”
“Geez,” Sage said, “what if they want him dead real bad? They could force a bluff—it is a bluff, ain’t it? You wouldn’t really shoot him in the head, would you?”
“I guess it’s something you don’t know until the time,” Trace said. “I’d like to think I’m not the type of person to do something like that. But, if given a certain set of circumstances, who knows what we are capable of.”
“Trace,” Coyote said. “I got a lot less livin’ to do than you. If you decide to kill him, you have a lot more life ahead of you to get rid of a bothersome conscience. Give me the gun and let me make the decision.”
“Thanks,” Coyote, “but I’m the one who put you in this situation. It’s my problem and mine alone. I have to live with the misery, misfortune, and mayhem I’ve caused. No man can do it for me.”
“Well,” Coyote said, “I ain’t gonna argue with a man who has the gun.”
They continued to eat the rice and sip the tea.
“You know something?” Sage said, “This rice ain’t half bad. It’s tender without being gummy. Whoever made this cares.”
“I don’t like rice,” Coyote said. “Never have. But, I’m inclined to agree with you. I think if I had rice like this a long time ago, might opinion might be different.”
“I think it’s just because you think it’s your last meal,” Sage said.
“That may be but, I sure wish I had to opportunity to advance the theory beyond the present hypothesis.”
“Geez, Coyote,” Trace said, “you’re starting to sound like an intellectual.”
“I’ve saved it all up for such an occasion as this,” Coyote said.
“Go on, Dad,” Sage said, “tell him what you read and listen to.”
“Nah,” Coyote said, “if by some stroke of luck we get out of this mess, he’ll spread it all over Southwest Texas.”
“What is it, Sage?” Trace said.
“You tell and you’re no longer my son,” Coyote said.
“He reads Shakespeare and listens to Mozart,” Sage said.
“I read it in a Texas accent, though,” Coyote replied.
“And that makes it alright?” Sage replied.
“I don’t know about that,” Sage said, “but at least it’s understandable.”
Trace listened to Sage and Coyote verbally sparring back and forth. He smiled. Trace knew exactly what they were doing—it relaxed him. Friends know your tender spot, he thought. It let him know they had full confidence in him. They weren’t going to second guess. His plan was as good or flawed as any. At least it was a plan.
During Sage and Coyote’s exchange, they would glance at Trace. They looked for confirmation that it eased Trace’s mind. They smiled at each other, transmitting a message only they could read. It said, ‘It’s working.’
They finished with the rice and that. They placed their bowls, spoons, and cups on the floor just outside of their cells.
“Hey!” Coyote said, “we’re done in here, ya got a dessert menu?”
Sage called out, “If ya ain’t got desserts just give us our check.”
A guard came in and gathered the bowls, spoons, and cups.
“Tell the chef that was some good rice,” Coyote said.
The guard said nothing. He left the building.
Sage chuckled, “Hardcore.”
“True believer,” Sage replied.
Sage laid down on his bunk. “Do you remember our senior year?”
“Anything in particular?” Trace asked.
Sage sang, “We got to get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do.”
“Yeah,” Trace said, “you grabbed Jenny Walker and said, “‘cause, girl, there’s a better life for me and you.”
“Harold Tester took a swing at me,” Sage said. “He thought I was putting the moves on his girl. He didn’t realize I was acting out a song in free expression.”
“No, Sage,” Trace said, “you were putting the moves on Jenny Walker.”
“She was my leading lady,” Sage said. “What else was expected of me?”
A guard walked in.
“Don’t you guys realize what’s going to happen to you?” the guard said. “How can you be so nonchalant?”
Trace stood at the bars. “If we die, we want you to remember you allowed good men to die; happy men, contented men, men with good lives. We hope you remember us for who we are, not what you think we are. We’re not the enemy, your mind is the enemy. Not against us, but against you.”
The guard left and slammed the door.
“Hey,” Coyote said to Sage, “do you remember when you slammed the door on Ole Drunk Carl? He come around sayin’ our cattle was on his side of the.”
“That was the back door,” Sage said. “If he’d been at the front door he’d known he was all turned around and the cattle was where they should be.”
Trace smiled and shook his head while returning to his bunk.
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