The First National Bank of Silver Springs was the fanciest place Reuben had ever seen. All that polished marble and gold trim—he was almost scared to touch anything in case it broke. Which, knowing his luck, it probably would.
Don't mess this up, don't mess this up, don't mess this up.
The front doors burst open and Dante strode in wearing that purple vest, looking every bit the legend from the wanted posters. Reuben's chest swelled with pride. He was part of this. Part of the Mad Rangers.
"Well now, ain't this just the most delightful establishment!" Dante's voice carried through the bank like he was performing on a stage.
So cool. He's so cool.
Reuben tried to slip in behind Cash and T, but his boot caught the edge of the doormat. He stumbled forward, arms windmilling, barely catching himself on a marble column.
Okay, okay, nobody saw that. Act natural.
He fumbled with his bandana, pulling it up over his face. It immediately slipped down to his chin. He yanked it back up.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dante continued with that theatrical bow, "The Golden Bandit and the Mad Rangers request the honor of your cooperation!"
Cash's card exploded into purple smoke. T moved to secure the doors with that scary ex-sheriff efficiency. Reuben stood there for a second, forgetting what he was supposed to do.
Right! Guard the—no wait, watch the—uh, cover the exits? No that's T's job. What was my job again?
"This ain't personal, folks," Dante assured the terrified crowd. Reuben nodded enthusiastically even though nobody was looking at him. He started to move toward his position—whatever that was—and his elbow knocked into a potted plant. It teetered. He grabbed for it. Caught it.
Phew, That was close
"T, how's our timeline?" Dante called.
"Three minutes, Goldstone. Stick to the plan."
Three minutes. I can do three minutes without breaking anything. Probably.
Reuben's gaze swept the room nervously, landing on someone standing by a pillar. They weren't on the ground like everyone else. Just... standing there. Watching.
That's weird. Should I—should I say something? Is that my job?
His feet moved before his brain caught up, carrying him toward the figure with his usual graceless gait. He nearly tripped over his own boots twice. When he reached them, Reuben realized he had no idea what to say. His mind went completely blank.
"Uh. Howdy?" The word came out higher pitched than intended. He cleared his throat, trying to sound intimidating like Dante. "I mean—you should probably, um, y'know, get down? On the floor? Please?" His face heated up under the bandana. "Not that I'm forcin' you or nothin'! Just, uh, it's safer down there. In case of... bullets? Which we ain't gonna shoot! Probably. Well, Cash might if someone tries somethin' stupid but you don't look stupid, you look real smart actually—"
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
Behind him, Cash's laugh echoed through the bank. Reuben's ears burned.
His hand moved to rest on his holster in what he hoped looked menacing. Instead, he missed the holster entirely and his palm slapped his thigh.
"So, uh... you gonna get down or...?"
