The Chase Read Free

model 1902 Colt .38 caliber automatic from his boot, struck the woman on the nape of the neck with the barrel, watching with detachment as she slowly folded to the wooden floor. It happened so suddenly and silently that the owner of the bank did not see or hear anything from his office.
    Then the drunken miner suddenly turned bank robber leaped sprightfully over the counter, entered the owner’s office, and put the gun barrel to his head. “Resist and you’ll be shot dead,” he said in a low but forbidding tone. “Now, call the teller into your office.”
    The bald, fat, shocked bank owner looked at him with brown eyes widened with fright. Without argument, he called out, “Roy, come in here.”
    â€œBe right there, Mr. Castle,” Roy called out from inside the vault.
    â€œTell him to leave the vault open,” said the bank robber quietly, with a sharp edge to his voice.
    â€œRoy, don’t close the vault door,” Castle complied as ordered, his eyes crossing as they focused on the gun pressing against his forehead.
    Roy stepped from the vault, a ledger under one arm. He couldn’t see the unconscious woman lying under the counter. Suspecting nothing, he entered Castle’s office and abruptly stiffened when he saw the robber holding a gun to his boss’s head. The robber pulled the gun barrel away from Castle’s head and motioned with the muzzle toward the vault.
    â€œBoth of you,” he said calmly, “into the vault.”
    There was no thought of resistance. Castle rose from his desk and led the way into the vault while the robber stepped quickly to the window to check the street for anyone heading for the bank. Except for a few women shopping and a passing beer wagon, the street was quiet.
    The interior of the vault was well lit, with an Edison brass lamp hanging from the steel ceiling. Except for the chest containing the gold, stacks of bills, mostly the payroll for the mining companies, covered the shelves. The robber threw the gunnysack at the teller.
    â€œOkay, Roy, fill it with all the greenbacks you have.”
    Roy did as he was told. With trembling hands, he began sweeping the piles of bills of various denominations into the sack. By the time he was finished, the sack was stretched to the limit of its burlap fibers and seemed to be the size of a well-filled laundry bag.
    â€œNow, lay down on the floor,” ordered the robber.
    Castle and Roy, believing the robber was now about to make his getaway, stretched out flat on the floor, with their hands stretched over their heads. The robber pulled a heavy woolen scarf from one of his pockets and wrapped it around the muzzle of his automatic. Then he systematically shot both men in the head. It sounded more like two loud thumps than the sharp crack of gunfire. Without another second’s hesitation, he heaved the sack over one shoulder and walked from the vault without looking back.
    Unfortunately, he wasn’t finished. The woman under the counter moaned and tried to rise to her elbows. With utter indifference, he leaned down, lowered the gun, and shot her in the head like he had the bank owner and teller. There was no remorse, not the slightest hint of emotion. He didn’t care whether any of them left families behind. He had murdered three defenseless people in cold blood with as little interest as he might have shown stepping on a column of ants.
    He paused to search for one of the shell casings he thought he’d heard fall to the floor from inside the scarf wrapped around the gun but could not find it. He gave up and walked casually from the bank, noting with satisfaction that no one had heard the muted gunshots.
    With the gunnysack bulging with cash slung over his shoulder, the man walked through the alley running behind the bank. Stepping into a small alcove under a stairway where he would not be seen, he took off the grimy clothes, removed the gray wig and beard, and threw everything