me at all. I am still alive, bendahos !”
Coles shot the ATM one more time, then ran with his surviving partner to their waiting car. Already they were itching from ravenous attack fleas jumping from the money packs, and sand mites burrowing into their skin. Angry bees swarmed after their car from a vent on the ATM. Coles quickly reached into the bag of money to assess his take, pulling out a live meowing kitten. The cute fellow exploded with ink. Fighting crime just went green.
* * * * *
Sheriff McCoy tracked Coles with the GPS device hidden in the money. Enraged by the carnage from the car bomb, he tore into the evidence locker and grabbed Blue-Claw’s anti-gravity device. He climbed to the top of the courthouse clock tower, pointing the staff in the direction of the fleeing bank robbers. “You dirt bags are an abomination!” shouted Sheriff McCoy. A lightning bolt arched across New Phoenix, zapping Coles’ car, followed by a dust tornado tossing the car high into the sky. Thousands of dollars and genetically engineered dust mites rained down on the city.
The free money from Heaven went viral on the Galactic Database. Proof bad weeds live longer, Coles was arrested unharmed after thrown from his car. He was featured on America’s Most Wanted as the unluckiest criminal in America, struck twice by a tornado in two days while fleeing the cops.
* * * * *
A corrections officer escorted inmate Coles to his cell. To Coles’ surprise, his new cellmate was a spider. The cell smelled of earwig. “Oh, hell, no,” protested Coles defiantly. “I don’t bunk with bugs. I don’t roll that way!”
“Shut up,” ordered the corrections officer, giving Coles a shove. “There’s no other room.”
“You don’t recognize me?” hissed Blue-Claw. “I’m your boss.”
“Blue-Claw? Sorry, you spiders all look alike in orange.”
“ You spiders? ”
“Bugs, whatever. Guard! Let me out of here!”
“Relax,” said Blue-Claw calmly. “It’s a new day. We need to work together to survive and get out of here.”
“What happened to my unemployment insurance benefits?” griped Coles indignantly. “You ripped me off. Where’s my free stuff?”
“I have a plan to escape.”
“There is no escape from the New Phoenix Hilton.”
“What about this?” asked Blue-Claw, handing Coles a paper flier announcing a ‘guards against the inmates’ football game. “What do you know of football?”
“This is for the annual Guards versus Felons game,” answered Coles. “So?”
“It says that any team that defeats the guards gets pardoned by the sheriff.”
“It also says that if we lose, we get five more years. No thanks to that. The guards always win.”
“You’re afraid of five more years?” argued Blue-Claw. “We’re facing the death penalty.”
“That’s another problem. If you read the fine print, I’m sure we’re not eligible for release. Not according to my public defender.”
“Oh, well then, it must be true. Public defenders are never wrong. What do you know about football?”
“How hard can it be? You can teach me.”
“Back in the day, I could kick field goals,” bragged Coles optimistically. “Bubba Jones Junior is the player coach. There is no practice. We just show up in pads game day, and play.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, then you die in prison.”
* * * * *
Bubba Jones Junior was connected. He ran the jail housing units. Even in custody, he wore gold chains around his neck, a reminder of his dad. Blue-Claw and Coles boldly introduced themselves.
“Spiders can’t play football,” scoffed Jones. “Everyone knows that. You spiders can’t take a hit.”
“I once ran for six hundred yards in one game,” boasted Blue-Claw. “I’m a player. I’m bad-ass. I be bad.”
“Who’d you play for?” asked Jones doubtfully.
“Capital City Dragons of the AFL – Arthropodan Football League.”
“Damn, we got ourselves a