The Strip Outlaw

Friend? What friend? There were only the two of them in the bank. If the robber talked this crazy, Jones felt he was lucky to only lose the money. A sickly smile spreading across his face, he sat down in the chair as he’d been told, his head resting in shaky hands. He didn’t hear the back door open but when his courage rose enough for him to look up. A gasp left his lips. There, sitting on the floor wagging his tail, was the meanest looking dog he’d ever seen. The bared teeth didn’t match the wagging tail at all. Smooth coated with large brown spots dotting the white coat, his medium size did nothing to alleviate the intensity of those yellow eyes. The ears stood erect and at this moment he looked as big as a cougar to banker Jones. Who would believe him when he said a dog helped rob the bank? They’d think he was crazy, or worse, a coward for not kicking the dog away and going to get help. A tentative movement on his part brought a low growl and tensing of muscles from the dog. Bile rose in Jones’ throat, and he froze, defeated. It was almost funny, but he sure didn’t feel any mirth, especially when the sight of that pistol barrel came back into his memory. You couldn’t really call it armed robbery since the man hadn’t made the slightest move toward the gun, but it was robbery nonetheless.