PEKOIT CITY was a quaint little river town. Nestled on the picturesque Blue River and built mostly of wood and rock fronted structures with wood slat sidewalks, the town of two hundred people appeared to have been dragged, whole and intact, through a time tunnel from the country’s wild, wild west period.
The main road through town was brick. Rustic, dark wood benches hunched beneath old-fashioned lights on black poles. A long line of mature trees ran down both sides of the short main street, and vibrant color burst at regular intervals from flower-filled half barrels between the benches.
As Percy drove the minivan into town, their gazes lifted to the enormous banner undulating high above their heads, strung between two of the old fashioned light poles. The shiny, white banner proclaimed
