Chapter 1: Bank Robbery in Progress

“Let them go and drop the guns, now!” Sheriff James’ voice strained with the command.

Of course, neither of the two men holding up the bank listened. Hard to take the orders of an old man seriously, I guess… even if he was aiming at you with a six-shooter.

“We don’t want to hurt nobody, sheriff,” said the bank robber currently pushing the barrel of his revolver against the temple of Granny Fitz. He was using her as a shield and James wouldn’t risk a shot.

Fortunately for Fitz, I wasn’t James.

My right hand tightened up on the grip of my revolver, already cocked and ready to fire. My left hand curled just underneath it for support.

I breathed with a steady and deliberate pace. Like my chest, my gun continually raised and lowered ever so slightly.

The front sight stayed hovering over the masked outlaw, never once swaying to Granny Fitz's trembling figure. I could’ve taken the shot right then, but I needed to make sure of one more factor.

The second robber came shuffling to the front, sack of cash in hand and a gun in the other. He whispered into his partner’s ear and the hostage-taking lowlife nodded his head.

“Don’t do anything rash, boy,” said Sheriff James, unsure of what was about to go down.

“I was going to say the same to you.” The man holding Fitz walked out slowly, still pressing his gun against her head. Right behind him, the second man came out holding the money bag over his shoulder and aiming his gun at me and James. “Now we’ll let her go the moment we get to the edge of town. Follow us, however, and well… you know.”

They were both out in the open now, away from the rest of the potential hostages in the bank. Their only leverage: one Granny Fitz.

Before James could respond, I spoke for the both of us, “You better hope your friend’s aim is good.”

“What–”

I fired a straight shot through his mask, popping through his head clean, blood speckling onto poor Granny Fitz’s face.

With no delay, my thumb pressed down against the hammer and I shifted my aim toward the dead man’s partner. In fear or panic of the quick demise of his friend, the man fired wildly, shaky hands making him miss me and James.

He wouldn’t get another opportunity to make up for his mistake. My second shot sliced through the air and tagged him in the arm, making him drop his weapon.

Before he could grab it, Fitz kicked it to the side and gave him a heel to the face with as much force as a frail old woman could. Surprised her leg didn’t give out then and there. Despite delivering a physical backlash against her assailants, she was still shaking.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The fear never left her eyes.

Sheriff James made his way over and cuffed the sucker. “We’ll take over from here ma’am.”

Holstering my gun, I could hear the people indoors spectating resume their daily tasks and the streets filled back up. Folks still avoided the general area in front of the bank, but, besides that, it was now another normal day in Easy Breeze.

A loud shout from the arrested criminal pulled my attention. “Be easy on the cuffs! My arm’s bleeding, you–”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as another cry came out instead. “Oh, did I tighten them too hard? My bad, son. I get easily distracted sometimes, so pipe down will ya?”

The criminal reluctantly silenced himself, only giving the occasional groan of pain, as we escorted him back to the jailhouse. It would’ve been a nice walk to relax after the situation…if not for the fact that James ordered me to carry the criminal’s dead partner.

“Leave that guy in the wagon over there. The undertaker will take’em,” said Sheriff James, walking back after jailing the live one.

I was eager to be relieved of the burden and did exactly as told. The body made a thump against the wooden cart as I dusted off my shoulder. “Where to now, boss?”

“Well, actually I wanted to talk for a moment.”

“Sure thing. What’d you want to talk about?”

“What was that back there?” He looked at me with a quirked-up brow, annoyance written all over his expression.

“What? The shot?'”

“Yeah, the shot,” he repeated with his arms crossed. “He could’ve shot us. Or worse, he could’ve shot old Granny Fitz in the back of her head.”

I shook my head. “He wasn’t going to. He had his gun aimed at us, and, with me and you prepping to shoot him, his only option in that split moment would’ve been to shoot us.”

“And if he hit?”

Scoffing at the notion, I said, “With one hand and the abrupt death of his pal in his head? He’d have to be real lucky.”

“Sometimes they are,” James quickly responded.

“Not against me, they aren’t.”

“Just because you’re good with a gun don’t mean you have to find every excuse to shoot it,” James said. Pushing a finger to my chest, he continued, “Now make a safer play next time or we might pay a price you’re not willing to pay. Good with a gun or not, it ain’t just your life you’re toying with.”

“Fine, old man.” I groaned. “It won’t happen again.”

Sheriff James’ voice simmered down and the heat of his words left, replaced with a fatherly calm. “Look, son. I’m not saying there aren’t times you’ll have to make a risky play. I’m just saying you shouldn’t make that your only play. You can’t account for every possibility to go the way you want it to. So, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder and continued, “No need to rush when you have the time to wait first.”

After some uneventful hours, the night came in and my day was over. Returning home, I took a bath and put on some clean clothes.

Then, I got to finally settle in my favorite place, my bedroom. No windows to the outside, just walls. It felt more secure and safe that way. Just me and only me.

Getting ready to go to bed, I placed my revolver in a drawer.

It did me good today.

Well, actually… Technically, I did my gun good. It was my hand and aim that gave the iron grace and effectiveness.

Turning to the full-body mirror in the corner of my room, I admired myself.

No one was a better shot than me. No one was more accurate or quick. Someone might be able to shoot a round, but only cause I calculated for it.

Pointing a finger gun at the mirror, I grinned.

Could even my reflection be able to keep up with me?

They wished.