Page 41 of Robin and Marian
Robin knew exactly what had happened. Guy had inflated the interest rates so he could steal their property… fair and square. His mind raced, trying to think of a way to stop his cousin. “What do you owe him?”
“$364,000. He’s got my interest rates as high as 50%.”
Marian gasped.
“I’ve petitioned to federal for an appeal and they’ve frozen the debt while they review the case. The sheriff can’t evict me like he does everyone else, but he can still collect on the interest. That’s why he comes every month and takes off with whatever property equal to what I owe.” He let out a deep sigh. “I just lost my Harley today. That’s what happens when you make the wrong people mad.”
Robin remembered how the Sheriff had been obsessed with pinning the fire on Little John last night. “What’d you do?”
“What anyone in their right mind would do—we’re fighting back. I’m seeing lawyers now and we’re contesting this in court. It’s why Guy wants me out, but… I don’t have much money behind me. Still, I’ll do what I can.”
Robin thought of John’s idea for the Mayfair. Was this why none of the local businesses were willing to give John the time of day? Were they somehow linked to Guy?
They bumped along the windy roads set against the plush green countryside on their way to the King Estate. Marian relaxed against his arm while Robin tried to figure out what to do. Guy was an even bigger super fan of the Robin Hood tales than their great-grandfather had been—only less self-aware. Why would Guy want to play the villain? But was it really all about the bottom line? Maybe not. Guy was buying up Nottingham for a reason, and Robin wanted to know why.
The hills grew steeper the closer they neared the estate, and Little John’s truck struggled to climb them. The truck began to shake on the last one. “Is this going to make it?” Robin asked.
“Sorry, I didn’t take the Porsche my granddaddy gave me.”
At his words, the truck broke down with a choke. John tried to get it started with no luck. Each time he cranked the engine, it groaned like a wheezy toy then sputtered out. Marian turned to look through the back window and jumped. “Tell me that’snotthe sheriff.”
Robin twisted around, seeing a motorcycle follow them in the distance.
“He’s got my Harley!” Little John said. “Get out!” His door slammed behind him and he ran around the side of his truck and dragged the canvas off of it. The maypole was in there, along with an old cart he’d stashed along with it. He must’ve used that to get it there. He hauled the cart out and loaded the maypole on next.
“Wait!” Robin threw his hands up, envisioning a wacky car chase involving a donkey cart. “We don’t have to take it with us. Just untie a ribbon!”
“You got the GPS coordinates to where I took this thing?” Little John asked in his rough way.
“No.”
“Then we bring it.”
The sheriff was catching up to them. The risk of getting caught with John wasn’t worth it. “We only have five minutes to get it up this hill,” Robin said.
“Push the cart.”
There was no arguing with him. They all got behind the cart and pushed the thing up the hill. The king estate was on the other side. The sheriff was gaining on them. “Get in!” John said.
Robin turned to him, seeing the sweat popping up over his forehead like water pushed from a sponge. “You can’t push us all the way, Little John!”
“You think you tiny people are anything to me? I’ll take you skinny wimps over the finish line.”
Robin looked over at Marian, who hadn’t moved. He jumped into the cart on top of the canvas, his sense of humor kicking in. “I think he’s skinny-shaming us. Get in, Marian.”
She squeezed in next to him, and he enjoyed the soft feel of her next to him while the cart bumped against the road. John’s groans made him feel guilty, and he looked back at him. They had two minutes left. There was no way they’d make it on time.
“Okay, enough’s enough.” His words were swept away when they cleared the hill and he saw the massive crowd at the King’s estate. The lone reporter from the morning had multiplied to at least two dozen. “Can reporters clone themselves?”
He caught sight of the cameras. No! They couldn’t have video proof that Robin and Little John were working together. He took both ends of the canvas and dragged it over both him and Marian. “John!” He stuck his head out to make him get lost. “You think you can push us from ten feet away?” John gave him a disdainful look and then heaved against the cart, sending it shooting down the hill toward the crowd below. Marian screamed shrilly in response and grabbed Robin for support. Robin would have thought that John was finally getting his revenge, but it was just a stupid idea to get them to win.
The maypole projected from the cart like a battering ram, and seeing it, the media scattered in all directions. Some smart aleck started a countdown; it was Midge over a loudspeaker. “10, 9, 8…” The sheriff chased after them on his motorcycle, calling for them to stop—which wasn’t going to happen. They were at least ten feet away from Little John… and now ten feet from the finish line. Marian hadn’t stopped screaming, and he wrapped his arms around her to protect her against a crash.
“3, 2…” And they were over the line.
The crowd burst into cheers… once most of them were a safe distance away. The cart slowed to a stop so that Robin could climb out shakily and give Marian a hand. She hit him away. “What was that?” she asked, though she was half-laughing, as Robin had come to expect.
“It wasn’t me!” He stayed mum on who it was with the cameras catching their every movement.
