Ronnie Sacks had hit a long streak of bad luck -- lost jobs, broken relationships, eviction notices.
But Pingleton Pawn was going to be his savior.
Ronnie had grown up reading pulp westerns and watching every cowboy movie he could find, so he had always known that one job -- the right job -- could be his ace in the hole when times were rough.
Times didn’t get any rougher than this.
And, like his idols from the old west, Ronnie would be a hero for knocking over Pingleton’s. After all, the pawn shop preyed on folks when they were down, and Ronnie would pay them back in spades once he got things turned around.
What he hadn’t counted on was that the store would have working alarms or that the cops would respond so quickly.
And so, grabbing whatever loot he could carry, Ronnie sprinted into the night with sirens and police dogs hot on his heels.
It was his bad luck that tracked him down, though, and Ronnie found himself trapped in a dead-end alley, cops closing in from the front and a brick wall at his back.
Desperate, Ronnie took stock of his bounty from Pingleton’s and asked himself a do-or-die question -- what would a real old west outlaw do?
--
Officer Straily followed Champ into the dark alleyway, weapon drawn and halogen flashlight playing like a portable sun off the slum walls.
When the beam found the end of the line, Champ barked and Straily stopped cold.
A used-up graffiti kit lay on the ground. Paint dribbles grew into splashes near the wall.
There on the bricks was a crude mural of an old train, heading off into a distant mountain range.
From the caboose, Ronnie Sacks winked at Straily and adjusted his cowboy hat.
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