Shotgun Charlie by Ralph Compton Page A

had—fixed him with those two yellowed old-man eyes, sharp and piercing despite their age. Grady Haskell entered the bank and the man had looked right at him and Grady knew that the old man had somehow known he was there to rob the place. He couldn’t say how he knew; he just knew. So Grady did what he had always done in such situations—he relied on his instinct to guide him.
    And that little voice inside told him to nip this old dog in the bud right quick. He complied with a fast-pace walk straight to where the old man leaned on the counter, where he’d been glaring Grady down from the second he walked in.
    Grady’s nicotine-yellowed fingers wrapped around the revolver’s grip long enough to heft it aloft. It spun in the air. He grabbed the barrel and in one smooth movement brought the butt to bear on the old man’s left temple. He’d tried to shield the deed from prying eyes, but didn’t much care who saw. The ball had been opened.
    He managed, through his building veil of rage, to give quick thought to whether the others had come in yet. It wouldn’t do to kick up much of a fuss if the boys weren’t in place.
    He glanced toward the big oak-and-glass doors he’d swung on through—looking for all the world like a happy bank customer, a depositor—no, no, make that a man about to make a significant withdrawal—and he spied Mex and Ace coming in, right on time, as he’d told them. And since Simp and Dutchy had come in with him, he felt safe enough about dealing with the old man.
    â€œWhen we get to town,” he’d said, “you all tie your horses out front, close enough that you can walk fast to them once the commotion’s behind us.”
    Other than for the money, he didn’t really care whether they made it to their horses or not. He had told them that as a way to gauge whether they were as dumb as they looked. They hadn’t let him down. Yep, they’d all nodded, we can do that, by gum.
    Grady still couldn’t believe he’d actually found a handful of willing and able-bodied—if not able-minded—men to go along with his plan of robbing the biggest dang bank in all of California. Or at least that was what he told himself it was. Close enough, he figured. It was big and it got regular deliveries and rarely made any shipment south of town.
    And then, to verify his suspicions, he’d bedded down with that woman who’d known all about the comings and goings of the bank, its employees, every buggy or horse that rolled on by the front and back streets, and even the one side street.
    â€œHow come you know so much about the bank?” he’d asked her while he lay there building a quirley, wondering if he’d paid her too much. She hadn’t been all that good, in his estimation. But maybe that was the way it was with these California girls.
    Could be he had to get himself back down South, maybe even all the way back to Tennessee, before he’d find himself a real woman again. Then he remembered those two in Texas the year before and he recalled how they had surprised him at every turn. So he had revised his thinking for the time being.
    â€œI’m a whore,” she’d said, taking his cigarette from him and pulling long on it. He’d almost said something, but he was in a good mood, so he figured he’d let her get away with that business this one time.
    â€œI never wanted to be one and I don’t intend to be one forever. And I have a whole lot of hours in a day when I’m as rested as I’m going to ever be and here I am, sitting right across the side alley from a big ol’ bank. You tell me what you think I’m going to do.” She hadn’t waited for him to respond. Instead she plowed on ahead. “I’m going to up and marry one of those bank men. Or rob the place myself. There’s nothing saying a woman can’t rob a bank, you know.”
    He sighed. Talking