| General Fiction posted January 4, 2020 | Chapters: |
Prologue -1- 2... 
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Peril finds work to be a bit time consuming.
A chapter in the book The Pitches
First Job
by Bill Schott
Peril Pitch had been out of prison less than a year before he found the straight and narrow life boring.
Having been set up with a job clearing tables and washing dishes at Gary's Greasy Spoon, it wasn't more than a few days before the owner, Gary Krant, was made to understand that Peril would be paid double and not actually work.
While Gary wiped down tables, Peril sat on a bus stop bench studying the routine at the Baytown Bank and Trust. He had heard from a fellow confinee at the state prison that deliveries of money occurred on Tuesdays. He now witnessed that operation and verified that there were only two money handlers. The driver would lock the cab of the security vehicle and assist in the movement of money bags to and from the bank.
After a brief study of the procedure, Peril jumped up from the bench and trotted across to the back of the truck. The lunch bag in his hand was ripped open to reveal a .38 caliber revolver which Peril jabbed into the neck, behind and below the right ear, of one of the guards, whose hands held two weighty money bags.
"Drop the bags in the baby carriage!" he said, removing the pistol in a swift arc from the guard's neck to pointing at a carriage being pushed along by a three-year-old boy, and back to the man's neck.
The guard responded immediately and walked along with the gunman to the waiting pram. He noted that the young boy pushing the buggy was wearing a tee-shirt and shorts that were at least a size too small. The child's face was dirty and his hair disheveled.
Peril spun the guard around and placed the barrel of the gun in the man's face.
"What color would you say my hair is, dude?"
Looking at Peril's red hair he answered, "Black."
"Was I right-handed or left-handed?" he quizzed, as his right hand pressed the pistol into the sweating guard's throat.
"Left," the guard answered.
"Last question for the prize, dude. Was I alone?"
"Yes, sir," said the guard.
Peril smiled, released the guard, and ran to the carriage. He picked up the boy and quickly pushed the buggy down the sidewalk and into the next alley.
Back at the apartment, Peril laid the cash from the bags out on the bed.
"Ten thousand dollars, Pez. Earned in less than a two minutes. Jobs are for suckers. Remember that."
Pez smiled and repeated the line, "Dobs aw fo tuckers!"
Peril smiled with pride. "You're going to go far, kid."
Peril Pitch had been out of prison less than a year before he found the straight and narrow life boring.
Having been set up with a job clearing tables and washing dishes at Gary's Greasy Spoon, it wasn't more than a few days before the owner, Gary Krant, was made to understand that Peril would be paid double and not actually work.
While Gary wiped down tables, Peril sat on a bus stop bench studying the routine at the Baytown Bank and Trust. He had heard from a fellow confinee at the state prison that deliveries of money occurred on Tuesdays. He now witnessed that operation and verified that there were only two money handlers. The driver would lock the cab of the security vehicle and assist in the movement of money bags to and from the bank.
After a brief study of the procedure, Peril jumped up from the bench and trotted across to the back of the truck. The lunch bag in his hand was ripped open to reveal a .38 caliber revolver which Peril jabbed into the neck, behind and below the right ear, of one of the guards, whose hands held two weighty money bags.
"Drop the bags in the baby carriage!" he said, removing the pistol in a swift arc from the guard's neck to pointing at a carriage being pushed along by a three-year-old boy, and back to the man's neck.
The guard responded immediately and walked along with the gunman to the waiting pram. He noted that the young boy pushing the buggy was wearing a tee-shirt and shorts that were at least a size too small. The child's face was dirty and his hair disheveled.
Peril spun the guard around and placed the barrel of the gun in the man's face.
"What color would you say my hair is, dude?"
Looking at Peril's red hair he answered, "Black."
"Was I right-handed or left-handed?" he quizzed, as his right hand pressed the pistol into the sweating guard's throat.
"Left," the guard answered.
"Last question for the prize, dude. Was I alone?"
"Yes, sir," said the guard.
Peril smiled, released the guard, and ran to the carriage. He picked up the boy and quickly pushed the buggy down the sidewalk and into the next alley.
Back at the apartment, Peril laid the cash from the bags out on the bed.
"Ten thousand dollars, Pez. Earned in less than a two minutes. Jobs are for suckers. Remember that."
Pez smiled and repeated the line, "Dobs aw fo tuckers!"
Peril smiled with pride. "You're going to go far, kid."
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Thanks to VMarguarite for use of the art.
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