“What the hell do you mean you can’t open the safe till ten o’clock? You work here, don’t you?” Dinkins asked.
“Ye-yes,” the teller stuttered. “But there’s a time lock on the safe. It can’t be opened till ten o’clock.”
Dinkins stepped up to the teller and put the muzzle of his pistol one inch from the teller’s head. “Open the damn safe or I’ll blow your brains out.”
“Please, he’s telling the truth!” Flowers shouted from his position by the wall.
Dinkins looked toward him. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Kurt Flowers. I own this bank.”
“You own it, do you?”
“Yes.”
Dinkins turned his gun toward Flowers. “Then I’m pointin’ my gun at the wrong man. You open the safe.”
“I can’t open the safe. Mr. Martin is telling the truth. There is a time lock on it. Nobody can open it until ten o’clock.”
“Why the hell would you do something like that?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Dinkins?” Sally asked. “It is to keep polecats like you from being able to rob the bank.”
Dinkins saw the money in Sally’s hand, and smiled. “Well now. If I can’t rob the bank, I’ll just rob you. Hand the money over, missy.”
“If you want it, you grub around on the floor for it, like the rat you are.” Surprising Dinkins, Sally threw the money up in the air, one hundred individual, twenty-dollar bills. They fluttered down, scattering all over the floor.
“You bitch!” Dinkins shouted, pulling the trigger.
Tamara screamed as Sally grabbed her stomach where the bullet hit. Blood oozed through her fingers and she staggered back against the wall, then fell.
Suddenly the front door opened and Travis, who didn’t have the bottom half of his face masked, stuck his head in. “Come on quick! Folks heard that shot! We got to get out of here!”
“Open the damn safe!” Dinkins shouted, pointing his pistol toward Flowers and cocking it.
“I told you, I can’t!”
“I don’t believe you!” Dinkins shouted, and he pulled the trigger a second time. Flowers went down with a hole in his temple.
“There’s folks comin’ toward the bank!” Travis shouted. “We gotta go now!”
“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Dinkins ordered.
With the sack of money he’d taken from the teller’s tray, Parnell vaulted back over the teller’s counter.
Hearing the two gunshots, Cal ran out of the mercantile with his pistol in his hand. He saw the men run out of the bank, and leap onto their horses. Someone across the street from the bank fired at the five riders with a shotgun. The charge of double-aught buckshot missed the robbers, but it did hit the front window of the bank, bringing it down with a loud crash. One of the robbers shot back at the man with the shotgun and he went down. The five bank robbers galloped down the street, away from Cal. Cal shot at them, and saw one of the riders tumble from the saddle. None of the other four paid any attention to the one who went down.
Cal fired a second time, but they were out of range, and his shot did nothing but help chase them on, as they sped out of town. There had been several citizens on the street and sidewalks when the shooting erupted, but most watched in openmouthed shock as the men who had just robbed their bank galloped away. Either none of them were armed, or none of them wished to be a hero, for, other than Cal and the one attempt with a shotgun, no one made any effort to stop them.
The route out of town took the outlaws right by the sheriff’s office. At the far end of the street a man stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. A flash of sunlight revealed the star fastened to his vest.
“It’s the sheriff !” Dinkins shouted. He shot at him and the sheriff grabbed his shoulder, then staggered back a step. Dinkins shot a second time, as did the other three who were with him, and the sheriff went down under the fusillade of bullets.
Out of town, the four men pushed their horses hard to put as much distance between them and the town as they could.
“Is anyone comin’ after us?” Dinkins shouted.
Travis, who was bringing up the rear, looked over his shoulder at the receding town. He saw no riders. “No. They ain’t no one mounted. ’Cept for Putnam, we got away clean!” He laughed out loud, whooping into the wind. “We got away clean!”
CHAPTER NINE
Cal ran into the bank with his pistol drawn. The bank teller raised a shotgun to his shoulder and aimed at Cal.
“Mr. Martin, no!” Tamara shouted. “He’s with me!”
Martin lowered the shotgun.
Distracted by the shotgun, Cal had not seen Sally. Looking over toward the wall, he saw her and the bank owner, lying on the floor. “Miss Sally!” Cal moved quickly to her side, then knelt down beside her.
