Artful Escape: A Western Flash Fiction Story

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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The Price of Passage: A Western Flash Fiction Story

Now this was the kind of life Billy Stokes had always imagined for himself.

All during those hardscrabble years working with Daddy at this ranch or that … and later, when Daddy was dead and Billy was on his own ...

All he needed was a break.

That break came when he caught on with the Morton Company and met Petey Smith.

Petey was a rough character, and none too smart, but he had a head for the no-good. Didn’t take long for the two of them to start talking, and scheming.

The way Billy and Petey figured it, a well-placed stick of dynamite would close off the mine and leave them with a month’s worth of gold they could cart away at their leisure.

It was a shame all the other miners had to die, but it was a price the two men were willing to pay.

‘Course, Petey hadn’t counted on Billy double-crossing him -- a second well-laid charge made the booty Billy’s alone.

Not that it hadn’t bothered Billy’s conscience.

Indeed, Petey always insisted on splashing his face with toilet water -- in case he found true love in the mines, Billy supposed -- and the stench had haunted Billy’s dreams for months.

Billy shook his head loose of those memories now and took in the grand ballroom of the Queen Francesca, the first luxury ship to make the passage from Butler Bay up to Thorntown on the regular.

The pretty lady on his arm leaned in, her sweet smell fluttering his heart.

Billy smiled -- such were the spoils of wealth and the distance of 20 years.

Then, a tug on his arm.

A long-forgotten odor mixing with his lady’s.

An offer from a familiar, if aging, face.

“Care for a drink, sir?” Petey Smith, tray in hand, sneered at Billy.

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