It's Wild 

He walked slowly and purposefully across the cracked, desert floor, the small silver bells that he had attached to his boots jangling with each step.  He kept a flat, almost aggressive expression and stared straight at the building in front of him.  Tumbleweeds and hot sand blew past him across the hot desert ground.  He could almost hear a coyote howling in the distance, a high, pitiful cry, and he imagined it was for him.  He reached the door and stuck his right hand into his pocket.  He felt the gun in its proper place and took hold of it.  He pressed his left hand on the door, took a deep breath to ready himself, and swung the door open.  It clanged loudly against the wall, and he let off a warning shot, spraying the back wall.  He swung the little gun around his finger and chuckled to himself.  

"This is a hold up!" he bellowed in his best western accent.  "Get on the floor  and nobody gets hurt!"  As they all dropped to the floor, he began walking again.  He reached up onto the counter for the jar that housed the loot.

The door swung open again and he spun around on his heels, letting off two shots into the woman's chest.  

"Henry James Morton!  How many times do I have to tell you?  No water guns in the house!  No cookies before dinner!  And cut it out with all the cowboy crap!  You're getting too old for this."

And it all faded.  The bar stools and wooden tables, the red and white checkered tablecloths, the small piano in the corner, and the dirty glasses on the counter disappeared.  The people blended with the floor and he was back in his kitchen, his hand on the cookie jar, his mother glaring at him in the doorway.  

"Fine!" he yelled, and stormed past her, pushing her out the way.  And as he rounded the corner, out of sight, he turned around and gave her one more squirt, hitting her square in the back of the head.  He would always have the last word. 

Born and raised in New Mexico, Henry spent most of his childhood alone.  He could often be found at home, locked in his room, his nose buried deep in an encyclopedia, learning about what happened to catch his interest that day, often having to do with the Wild West.  Something about it caught his attention; the shoot-outs and showdowns, the holdups, the outlaws and their stories.  The whole idea had been so romanticized-- hiding out from the sheriff, just you and your horse out in the Wild West, surviving on your wits and the food you scrounged up.  The perfect life for any adventurous kid.  By twelve, he could tell you anything you ever wanted to know about any outlaw of the Wild West:  Edward Smith, Butch Cassidy, Harry Longabaugh, and Jesse James.  The way they planned their break ins and escapes, their stories.  And though he knew that what they did was wrong, he was fascinated.  And yet, he had disdain for them.  They were smart enough to be able to steal and commit numerous crimes, but didn't know enough to keep themselves unknown.  They all became famous for their crimes and could never lead normal lives.  If he were a criminal, he would never get caught.

As Henry grew over, so did his interest in robberies.  He spent his nights in the libraries, browsing the shelves, looking for anything to do with heists.  Bent over piles of books under the dim light of a small, green lamp, he would sit for hours studying the elaborate schemes of thieves.  What went right, what went wrong, what would he have done differently?

As he progressed into his late teens and early twenties, he helped pay his way through college by helping out at the police station, solving crimes.  And it's not that he was very observant, or necessarily creative.  But having studied crimes for almost his entire childhood, the criminals became predictable.  He had an easy time figuring out where they would make mistakes and what to look for, where they would run, where they would stash the money.  He was good at it and, eventually, he would pull off the perfect crime.  This was simply training

At forty-two, Henry was unremarkable.  There was nothing out of the ordinary, or in the least bit strange, to distinguish him from the next man.  Day after day, he wore the same black suit, white button-down shirt and matching tie.  His name tag pinned neatly across the left side of his jacket.  He kept his thick brown hair combed neatly, parted slightly on the right side of his head.  He was always neatly shaved and smelled faintly of cologne.  He fit the part of an accountant perfectly.  After graduating college with a degree in economics, he had decided to go to business school.   

After leaving New Mexico, Henry had moved north to Detroit where he got a job at a small bank.   Five years later, he had been promoted to branch manager.

"I've got it all planned out."

"Excellent.  How's it going to go down?"

"Friday morning.  I get to work at 8:00 to open and get everything ready.  I check all the security systems and make sure everything's in good order.  I'll turn the systems off and disconnect the phone lines while I'm still alone."

"And then I'll come?"

"No! Not yet.  I open at 8:30.  Come at 10:00.  We need witnesses to see a robbery.  Just makes sure not to touch anybody.  If it falls through, a dead body would make things much worse."

"Okay.  So I'll just come in, stage the holdup, get the money and leave?"

"Exactly.  That's all you have to do.  I'll take care of the rest.  I'll meet you in the car on 37th and Parker.  We'll head to the docks and escape across the border."

"Perfect.  I'll see you then.  Pleasure doing business with you."

"Yeah," he grumbled.

The lights flickered on and off in the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling before they went out.  They were followed quickly by the other overhead lights, the clocks stopped, and it was dark.  A shriek sounded from among the crowd.  Seconds later, the emergency lights came on, filling the room with a murky glow.  Everything was illuminated so that only outlines were visible.  

And then there was a crash as the doors swung open and a hooded figure entered the room, crossing calmly with a gun held out in front of him.  "All right, everybody," he cried.  "As long as everybody cooperates with me, nobody will get hurt.  Now get on the ground."  As they fell, the man approached the teller.  "Now, you're going to go into the vault, take this bag, and fill it with as many hundreds as it will fit.  You got that?"  He calmly handed a duffel bag over the counter. 

The teller, pale and shaking with fear, nodded and quickly scurried off towards the vault.  He scanned the room, looking for any signs of movements, cell phones, anything that could give him trouble.  Nothing.  It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.  He kept a tight grip on his gun.  

The teller came out of the vault, still quivering.  "He-he-he-here you go, s-s-s-sir," he stuttered, handing the bag, bulging with money, back to the dark man.

            "Well, thank you.  That wasn't so bad now, was it?"  He paused.  And then he continued.  "Who's the manager around here?" he questioned.

            Henry, who had been hiding behind his desk this whole time, sat up and shook himself off.  He was prepared for a situation like this.  He shook himself off, got ready, and stood up.  "I'm right here," he squeaked.  He sounded weak and scared.

The man approached him.  "Now that I have the money with me, I'm ready to go.  No one dead, nothing broken.  I did as I promised.  Now, I just need to know that you'll continue to cooperate.  I'm not going to stop you from calling the cops; you're just going to have to wait a half hour before you do.  I'm not the only one in on this.  I've got more men, who will be keeping an eye on this building until then.  And if, for any reason, they think that somebody called the cops, there won't be any more bank to protect."

Henry nodded in understanding.

"Looks like we have an understanding, then.  It's been a pleasure doing business with you."  And with that, he turned and walked calmly out of the bank.  When he reached the door, he pulled of his mask turned left down the block.

Henry immediately picked up the phone; most of the time, these people were bluffing.  There was a good chance that he had just been lied to.  But only a blank silence came through the receiver.  "Shit.  Phone's out," he explained to the customers around him.  "Mr. Leonard!" he called.

"Yes, sir.  What is it?  What do you need?"

"I need you to stay here and watch the bank.  It's very important.  I'm going after him."  

"You sure about that?" he questioned.  "He seemed very serious.  There are people watching."

"He's bluffing.  I'm going after him.  To see where he goes.  We'll catch him later."  Before he could get a response, he took  off out of the building, onto the sidewalk, and down the street after the man.

After a few blocks, Henry reached 27th and tucked into a dark alley where he found a black rusty, beat up car.  The car turned on as he swung the door open and jumped inside.  

"Ready to go, Henry?"  asked the hooded man.

"You bet.  Now for the hard part.  Let's go, " he demanded.

As the two men made their way down to the docks,  Henry couldn't help but worry.  They had completed the easy part, getting the money.  Now he just had to stay hidden and out of public life.  

The car careened around the corner and into the parking lot.  A wooden pier stretched out far into the ocean.  Henry and the man finished up in the car, took the bag of money and a bag of food-- enough to last one man four or five days out at sea.  They quickly loaded the boat and secured everything to the sides before head out to sea.  It would be a long trip before they reached Canada.

After a few hours, the shore finally disappeared and they chugged along the calm surface of Lake Michigan, they motor whirring loudly behind them.  Henry reached into his bag and grabbed the cool metal metal of his pistol.  

"I wish I didn't have to do this, but I can't risk anything, you know?   Everything has to go perfectly and I don't want to have to worry.  Nothing personal, you know?"

"What?" asked the hooded man as he turned around to face Henry.

Henry raised the gun and fired two shots into the mans chest.  He fell backwards and collapsed into the lake.  And as the man sunk into the dark depths, Henry finally saw his dream come true.  The perfect heist.