1The Graveyard shift
Summary: "Anyone can rob a bank, we've all done it. You're gonna hang for it Kid, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing . Die and come work with us. The pay's crap but the benefits not bad, and while you may not love the job, you'll love the feel. So what do you say, kid? Hang and die, or hang and live."
Chapter One: Nothing special
The plan was simple. They always were.
The Bank opened at 10 A.M. It was a simple three story building with a simple steel vault and a simple locking mechanism. The security was simple, all the tellers were armed, bars on all windows, two men outside the vault and two men in the vault. It was simple, just like always. That was how I liked it, black and white, nothing's complex and nothing gets complicated. And out here we all know, when something gets complicated, things get messy and somebody's gonna die.
it was a small town, so it was a small bank. Nothing special, it had a sign that read "Bank" and was painted a faded green color. People passed by, people went in, people went out. Just like any other building in any other place.
Across the dirt road was your typical general store. It was old and family owned, just like all the others. People passed by, people went in, people went out. It was just the same as across the street, general store or bank, both were nothing. The saloon down the road, the jail close by, even the mayors office a little ways away. People passed by, people went in, people went out. day in and day out, same thing.
This whole town was nothing, and all others were just the same. And the people that passed by, went in, or came out, were really nothing as well. they might have their stories, but that's all they are, just stories. It was supposed to be the wild west,, but the occasional shoot out and thievery didn't make it wild, just slightly riskier than other places, if even that.
The plan was simple. And that was just how the outlaw shoplifting from the convenience store liked it. It was simple, and it was easy.
Well that was about to be over.
The outlaw exited the store and walked straight across. He looked nothing special, just an older youth of maybe 19. He wore an off-white long sleeve button up with the collar undone and an old leather vest rested on top of it. He wore a leather belt but no holster and his spurs were old and rusting. His hat was like all others before, old and worn. Dirty black hair stuck out under the hat, a torn red bandana around his neck like a noose and to complete the look, his eyes were a deep blue. Scruffy around the beard and everywhere else, that was the plain and simple truth.
There was nothing special about this kid. All he was about to do was what dozens before him had tried. Some failed, some didn't. It was that simple to this kid. After all, what would you expect from a kid.
He crossed the road and neared the building. People pass by, people walk in, and people walk out. Nothing special, nothing unique, and nothing at all.
"Alright." He muttered under his breath, no longer able to hold in a grin. It was always like this, and it always worked out perfectly.
Til he walked into bank where several others were holding it up instead. "This is a hold up, everyone to the side!" A large man shouted as he uncovered a rifle and otehrs did the same.
The bystanders couldn't get to the side fast enough, and within seconds the main area was cleared. The robbers each had a gun pointed at a teller each and the boss, a large man with a grizzly beard and dirt covered clothes, grinned. To him it was all falling together. 'well than, lets-"
"Get out." A voice demanded, and it was easy to see who it was.
With his back to the door, the kid simply stood there.
"What you say?" The Boss inquired, his hairy face scrunched into a frown.
"I said get out."
"Hey! I'm the one in charge here." The leader bellowed. "We've got the guns, so we call the shots."
"Yeah, but." The kid began before drawing a hunting knife from it's sheath. "I've got this."
It was a joke. That was all the criminals could get out of it. After all, how could a scrawny young one with little more than a butter knife be anything but. "Ah that's rich kid. But didn't your daddy ever tell ya not to bring a knife to a gun fight?" The man laughed, hardly believing he'd been so blessed to witness one boy's stupidity. The money could wait, this kid was too much fun.
"Yeah, the boss's right. What are you? Stupid?" One lackey sniggered with his impressive IQ of 83.
He made his move. He pushed off the ground and in an instance, his knife was spinning through the air and his others were being drawn. He was upon two of them before they had a clue of what was going on. The third lackey, Mr. genius IQ, slumped against the wall, his head nailed to it.
The boss instinctively raised his gun, turned, and fired. The buck shots torn through the wall as something else torn through the man's gut. The man's last moments were spent, looking down at the long, strange blade wielded by the punk who defied him. Hew as still alive though, even if only for a few more moments.
"Didn't your daddy ever tell you not to bring a gun to a knife fight?" the Kid asked with a smirk before withdrawing his blade, slashing through the mans side. Some bystanders shrieked as the man's blood spilled and his body fell with a solid thud.
"Well now that your all dead." Their killer began as he wiped his blood covered Ninjato on the large man's body. "Give me all the money you've got!" He declared, the now-clean blade pointed at Bank teller #3 and other hand poised to throw yet another hidden knife. The man gasped in shock and the Kid smirked. "What? You didn't think I did that out of the kindness of my heart do ya?"
"Course not." A voice piped up as it's owner pistol whipped the youth, knocking him to the ground and out cold. "That's not your style, kid."
Jail. Nothing new. It had a door, it had walls, and it wasn't a very clean place.
But that was where our mystery kid sat, back slumped against the cold wall. It was a pitiful sight really, but what do you expect from someone who's been pistol whipped, thrown into a jail carriage, and later thrown against the iron bars of a cell.
"Damn, don't this bite." He groaned as he shuffled a deck of cards. His hat was upside down in front of him to act as a pot for the cards he threw. After growing bored of that he put away the cards, put on his hat, and drew his trusty harmonica. "Haven't played you in a while."
But before he could even finish warming up, the door outside the cell creaked open and light flooded the room. "Evening." A voice called as a man walked through the door.
The man stood 6 foot 4", but his black top hat made him that much taller. He wasn't buff, but had a strong presence to him. His hair and beard was black and his face was thin and his eyes deep. He wore no coat, but a buttoned up vest with a white long sleeve shirt under that and a gold star on his breast. Along with black pants and black boots, this man made quite a figure, complete with a black eye patch over his left eye and his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms. A leather gun-belt rest on his hip, a silver revolver in that.
The kid instantly shot his feet at this man's entrance. He didn't look violent, but the worse ones rarely were.
"Please son, do not rise on my account." The man spoke again, his voice soft yet somehow stern and commanding. "I'm merely a humble sheriff now."
The kid wasn't sure what to say. "Well than, did you come to watch me die?"
"In a way, yes." The man nodded before removing his hat. On the top of it was a strange chalk drawn star with weird symbols about it. "My name is Mr. Coal, and I've come here to make you an offer."
An eyebrow was raised. "You mean a pardon?"
He shook his head before looking strait at him. "No my boy, tomorrow you will die. Hanged for countless robberies and murders by your hand."
The kid snorted. "Well than don't even waste your breath. If I'm gonna die well than there's really no point in anything is there?"
"There's always a point. And since I came all the way over here I'd recommend you listen." Soft voice or not, the outlaw knew he'd better listen.
"Fine pops, what's the offer?"
"Good boy." he grinned slightly. "I am a sheriff for the United States government. I hunt and capture, and occasionally kill, outlaws and fugitives."
"Wait, so you want me to help you caught other outlaws?"
He shook his head. "These are not like any outlaws you know. They're a whole different breed. And such a plague requires a... different way of handling them." He paused. "I know you, better than you think. We've been watching you."
The kid's interest piped. "You have no name. No family, nothing in the world. Your care about nothing yet you view everything as nothing." Another pause. "Even yourself. The world is nothing, and your nothing. Am I correct?"
He stayed still at first, but slowly nodded. "Yes, sir."
Mr. coal walked closer. "Can you die with that?"
"What?"
"I said can you die with that? With being nothing, no one." His voice raised and the boy instinctively readied himself. "When you hang tomorrow will you hang as nothing more than a slightly above average bank robber, not even one of the greats. You will hang as nothing." The room seemed to grow dim. "It's easy to live as nothing, but to die as nothing... you might as well have never been born."
His nerve was gone. Something about this man, what he said and how he said it, took that away. He could just feel the rope around his throat and the realization his entire life was nothing.
"Can you die with that?" He asked again.
He said nothing but everything else said no.
Mr. Coal sighed. "Anyone can rob a bank, we've all done it. You're nothing for doing so, and your gonna hang tomorrow for it. You will die either way. Die and be buried, or die and work for us. You might hate what we do, but when you die, you'll die knowing you weren't nothing, that your life wasn't a waste." The man lowered his head and put his hat back upon it. "Hang and die, or hang and live." His head raised and his face seemed like stone.
Not even eight hours later, John Smith hung by the gallows. A short drop and a few moments of struggling for air, than he went limp and he was over. Few hours later he was buried, and around midnight, a boy with a man in a black top hat boarded a train. When asked his name, the young man's reply was simple. "Just call me Kidd."
People pass by, people go, people go out. John Smith went in, but he doubted Kidd was gonna be going out.
Author's note: I know this started kind of slow, but the set-up always is, so don't worry, it will pick up.
This is my first story on Fictionpress and I know the grammar is far from perfect, so please excuse that. I really do hope you like the beginning.