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The two most recent inmates of the Lemonville County Jail were Modestus Modentrum and Mister Award, men who occupied the opposite ends of the spectrum of criminality, respectively. These two men also comprised half of the jail’s population, as only four cells existed in total. Mister Award crossed his lanky arms and turned to face away from the flirtatious red-haired outlaw in the neighboring cell.
“So what’re you in for?” Modestus suggestively asked.
“I said I’m not talking to you!” Mister Award snapped back, his voice cracking.
“Hey! Can y’all be quiet? You’re givin’ me a headache,” the man guarding the front door of the tiny shed said sternly. His glasses and bolo tie gleamed in the scorching afternoon sun, and the shining badge on his lapel read “Sheriff Sargasso.” He’d just dragged the two of them in with varying degrees of kicking, screaming, and blubbering on their part, and was looking forward to the end of his shift. His eyes settled at the flat horizon and his mind wandered, certain that those dingalings couldn’t break their way out of a paper bag, let alone two inch iron bars.
“Aw cmon, why are you actin’ like that?” Modestus whined softly, draping his arms across the bars and attempting to look over to the other cell.
“You got me arrested, that’s why!” Mister Award replied, in a similarly hushed, but exasperated tone.
“What’s a little criminal record between two good pals huh?”
“For the last time, I’m not your pal!”
“Boys, boys, enough,” a new voice entered from a shadowy corner of the third cell. A woman dressed to the nines in a hot pink western fringe jacket and boots to match tilted her head up, revealing from beneath her similarly pink Stetson a wry smile and dark tinted glasses. It was the infamous Madame Cashmoney, doing time for embezzlement, larceny, bribery, fraud, forgery, racketeering, and jaywalking. She had a record a mile long and getting longer. Modestus and Mister Award stopped cold as she stood up from her bench and approached the bars.
“Judgin’ by the looks of you two, I’m guessin’ this is your first rodeo.”
“Ain’t mine Madame!” Modestus piped up. “I’ve had a few stays in the big house m’self.”
“And what about you, city slicker?” she said, pointing a red-nailed finger at Mister Award.
“W-well, I,” he replied, voice wobbling like a baby deer learning to walk and his hunched shoulders poking through his white linen suit. “I was just passin’ through town ma’am and next thing I know I’m in the middle of a holdup and I’m gettin’ dragged here ‘cause they thought I was with him!”
“You‘n I will be out in no time Mister Award, I’ve been in the clink a couple times and they couldn’t keep me in for long,” Modestus said with a cocky grin and a wink for good measure.
“Oh bless your heart Texas Red,” Madame Cashmoney tutted, “but Sargasso is the best in the business. Ain’t nobody more stalwart than him, I can tell you that. I’ve seen him refuse a thousand bribes and a thousand more.”
Modestus was barely listening to her, starting to reach his hands through the bars and towards the ring of keys dangling from Sheriff Sargasso’s belt.
“He didn’t budge at any of my goons or lackeys, and in fact,” she said, raising her voice to grab his attention, “I once saw him break a fella’s hand for tryin’ to nab his keys.”
Sheriff Sargasso turned his head and glanced the little bandit’s hand grasping for his belt loop, his steely gaze enough to send him right to the back of his cell. Sweat collected on his brow from the fear and the heat, dripping down onto his dusty leather vest. He knew he was in quite a jam, but giving up this easy would mean he wouldn’t get a chance to impress Mister Award. If he could help break him out, he’d fall for his mischievous charm and cleverness for certain. All he had to do was think. As he watched a single red ant scuttle across the floor, he remembered the little wire lockpick he’d stowed in his vest pocket, and an idea started to form in his mind. Unfortunately his brain only got to a half-turn on the gears before he was interrupted.
“Ohhh… today is the day! I can feel it, today will be the day!” a raspy, rugged voice piped from the fourth cell.
“You’ve gone and slept through the day again Weirdant,” Cashmoney said, calling over to his cell. “You missed our guests coming in.”
“Guests y’say?” a man in a tattered ranger’s outfit shambled to the bars, thin as a rail with a frantic look in his eye. “How long are you stayin’? Can’t be as long as me, I’ve lost track.”
“Actually, he never really said how long we’d be in here?” Modestus replied.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. That ain’t how he usually does it. Anyways, today’s the day I get out! After all these years I get out. I’ve done my time for what I did and it’s time for me to go free!”
“He does this every day, he’s not getting out,” Cashmoney whispered. “He ain’t ever gettin’ out for what he did.”
“W-what did he do?” Mister Award timidly asked, looking bewildered.
“Say, you there, with the red hair and the silly hat,” Weirdant growled, pointing at Modestus. “Whatcha fumblin’ with there?”
Modestus froze, having gotten caught in the midst of his sneaky escape with the pick in his hands. His game, a poorly thought out one that had the most likely outcome of him getting shoved right back into the cell by Sargasso, was up.
“Gonna try to escape all by yourself huh? Good luck with that, I’ve seen Sargasso chase a man down 20 miles in the desert and still have the spark to break his knees.”
“God, what’s wrong with the people here?” Mister Award mumbled to himself, head in his hands.
“That man was me. Then he brought me back here on account of my crimes.”
“ What crimes?” Mister Award asked in exasperation, a question that fell on deaf ears.
“None of us are gettin’ out unless we can keep Sargasso from chasing us down. Now I have an idea, but I need y’all’s help. Beanpole, I need the stale slice of bread on your meal tray. Rusty, I need your pick. Moneybags... I don’t need anything, you’ve been a great pal here in the slammer, your ride’s free.”
“Much obliged Ranger Weirdant.”
“So what’ll it be fellas?”
The jail fell silent, each inmate considering their prospects. Modestus didn’t relish the thought of getting his knees broken. Mister Award figured it would take a while before his tour manager figured out he was missing. Madame Cashmoney thought about where her partner Dr. Loudstone had buried the money. He stood up and grabbed the slice of bread from the rusty meal tray beside him, and slid it to Ranger Weirdant’s cell. He snickered gleefully as he crushed it up in his hands.
“And you?” he grinned, staring Modestus down.
Mod felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his head, the trembling hand holding the lockpick growing too slick to handle it. He stuck his hand through the bars and gently tossed the pick, watching it arc in slow motion over the stone floor before gracefully, and silently, landing in the ex-ranger’s palm. He began to maniacally guffaw, secreting away a handful of crushed bread in his pockets. Modestus’s heart sank as he realized he’d just given over his only prospect of freedom to a guy that was about to break them out with a handful of breadcrumbs, and he buried his face in his hands. Weirdant picked his cell door open, and took in a deep breath.
“THE LITTLE GUY IS TRYING TO BREAK OUT AGAIN!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Sheriff Sargasso didn’t need to be told twice before he stormed in, only to be faced with Ranger Weirdant standing triumphantly outside of his cell for the first time in years. His face paled.
“ Sayonara Sheriff Sargasso!” he hollered as he whipped the breadcrumbs from his pocket and flung them into his face, except it wasn’t just breadcrumbs. It was also fire ants.
The sheriff screamed as the fire ants bit his face and eyes, with Ranger Weirdant running full sprint out of the door and cackling with frightful glee. Modestus saw his chance and swiped the keys from his belt through the bars before Sargasso ran after the mad ranger. It was no time before he had broken himself and Mister Award out from their cells, following through with releasing Madame Cashmoney.
“I believe I owe a debt to you gentlemen. You both get your names struck from my hitlist.”
“Thank you very much Madame,” Modestus said, courteously tipping his hat.
“Why were we on it to begin with…” Mister Award muttered.
“Until we meet again, fellow desperados,” she said, leaving the tiny jail with a flourish of her loud fringed jacket, grabbing a shovel that was leaning on the side of the shed before walking off into the sunset.
--
Sheriff Sargasso huffed through the desert, brushing the last of the fire ants from his sweat-soaked shirt. Weirdant was nowhere to be seen, run off into the dusty wastes without a single trace. As he straightened out his back and prepared for a shameful walk back to the jail, he realized his belt felt lighter. His keys were missing, and…
“Oh gosh-a-livin’! My wallet too?” he shouted to the empty desert, kicking the dirt.