Page 11 of Stilettos and Outlaws

We all shook our heads.

Miss Kitty meowed loudly.

Dad’s eyes narrowed.

“Chuck is still refusing to come out of his trailer,” Mom warned, putting the kitten on her lap. “And he has several sticks of dynamite on his kitchen table.”

“If it’s like the stuff in the barn, it’s crystallized,” I interjected.

The muscles bunched in Dad’s jaw. “Fuck!” He ran up the rickety steps and kicked in the trailer door.

Sergeant Bergman, Nate and Frank followed Dad inside.

A minute later, Sergeant Bergman and Frank dragged a loudly protesting Chuck out of the burning trailer. “You have no right to arrest me.”

“How about attempted murder, three sticks of crystallized dynamite and a landmine,” Sergeant Bergman bellowed.

“I want a lawyer.”

Frank snapped, “You have the right to remain silent. So, shut the fuck up.” He stuffed Chuck in the back of his patrol car.”

Mom shot a worried look at the trailer. “Where’s Alex and Nate?”

“They’re checking for more explosive devices,” Sergeant Bergman answered. “I need you to move the patrol car down to the mailbox. The fire department will be here shortly.”

“I’m not leaving until Alex and Nate are safe,” Mom protested.

Dad and Nate charged out of the thick smoke. “Run!”

Sergeant Bergman jumped into his patrol car.

Dad dived into the front seat of our patrol car, while Nate stuffed himself into the back with us. “Get us out of here!” They yelled in unison.

Stomping on the gas pedal, Mom backed the patrol car down the rutted driveway and brought it to a sudden stop next to Chuck’s mailbox.

Sergeant Bergman and Frank parked their cars next to us.

“The fool had Claymore mines next to his bed,” Dad growled.

The trailer exploded in a gout of dirty orange flames. Black funnels of smoke filled the sky and burning debris plunked down around us.

Sirens blaring, two fire trucks skidded to a stop behind us.

Dad, Nate and Sergeant Bergman went to talk with them.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

The double-wide disintegrated into a pile of burning rubble.

A chicken with charred feathers smacked onto the windshield.

“I think we need to buy some lotto tickets and book a trip to Las Vegas. Your luck is phenomenal,” Mom said.

A slightly hysterical laugh broke from Julie. “Lucky? Us?”

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