Renewal 3 - Your Basic Swiss Family by Jf Perkins Page B

river either.” Dusty stopped talking and started stuffing food into his mouth.
    They finished quickly, and Dusty snagged Terry’s empty water cup from the table. “I’ll take these back. You head on out.”
    “Yes, sir. Are we meeting here in the morning?” Terry asked.
    “It might work out that way. I’d definitely leave your bike in the office, though, and walk over to the mansion from here. The Judge might toss it in Morton Lake just for spite.”
    Terry laughed and said, “Good point. See you in the morning. Oh, thanks for lunch.”
    “You bet,” Dusty said over his shoulder as they walked away in opposite directions.
    Terry went back to his desk and pulled his new gun and knife out of the locking drawer on the bottom, and placed them in the plastic tote he had strapped to the bicycle rack. He didn’t want anyone in town to see them. They all knew he was fresh out of school and couldn’t afford anything that nice. He kept them hidden when he was in town.
    He rolled his bike out the door and kicked once to mount it on the run. His feet hit the pedals just as the bike dropped off the sidewalk and onto the rough pavement of the square. He wondered where Dusty had gone in such a hurry, but then he spotted his boss, still by the lunch counter, flirting with a redhead half his age. Terry realized he knew nothing about Dusty’s family. Maybe he was married, maybe not; but either way, he wasn’t the world’s ugliest man, so maybe he had a shot.
    Terry pedaled hard past the courthouse and turned left to shift over one block to the highway. He didn’t pause for traffic because if there was any, he was going faster than they were. Nobody liked to push their horses too hard, especially on pavement. Horse were still too rare and valuable after so many of them had been eaten in the early years. The highway dropped down to the river bridge almost immediately after leaving the downtown area, and Terry took advantage of the slope to build up speed for the climb back out on the far side of the river. He whipped past the old Woodbury Highway at over thirty miles per hour and cranked the pedals like crazy. His effort paid off as he only dropped a gear or two on the short climb. Up on top, he regained his speed, shifting up a gear, and cruised down the flat pavement heading north.
    It was almost too easy. The only obstacles were numerous horse droppings scattered on the road. He found that they were mostly on the edge of the road, like there was a cultural memory of when cars ruled the highways, and everyone else stayed out of the way. He rode down the middle, just right of the centerline, but he was just guessing where the line might be. Painted lane lines were as extinct as green metal road signs.
    Luckily, the county had put out some wooden signs with carved letters on the highway, so Blanton Chapel road was easy to identify, even without his map. He was making good time and didn’t want to stop to dig out the map. Then he thought twice and pulled off anyway. He lifted his weapons out of the tote and pulled his belt out of the loops in one quick yank. He wore his old knife on his right hip, and wanted to wear the new one in the same spot, but he thought maybe his gun should be on the right hip. He wasn’t sure, since he had never carried a handgun before. He was hoping Bill had some training lined up for him. In the end, he strapped both gun and knife to his right hip, with the knife towards the back. He placed his old knife in the tote and snapped the lid shut.
    When he started pedaling again, the gun holster was pressing on his leg, and slapping him on the down stroke. He decided that was a bad idea and got off the bike again. He pulled his belt out of the right side loops and moved everything back by one loop. Now the knife was just right of the center of his butt, and the gun was way back on his hip. This would take some thought, but he didn’t have time for it at the moment. He pedaled away again, and found