Quintessentially Quilly

Nessa of, The Chrysalis Stage, hosts a weekly writing theme called Tales on Tuesday.

The idea is to tell a short, short (500 words or less) story based on the week’s theme. To provide us inspiration, each theme will be the title of a TV show. This week’s theme is from “The Invisible Man,” the 1897 novel by H. G. Wells that spawned several movies and a television series or three. If you wish to join Tuesday Tales, please visit Nessa for the list of upcoming themes, and remember, your story does not have to relate to the series.

Jasper shuffled forward leaning  heavily on his walker.   “Hurry up, old man!”  The weasel-faced man leveled his gun in Jasper’s face.  “I outta just blow you away.  You’re no good for nothing and your family would probably thank me.”

“Leave it!”  The big blond man running the heist yelled.  “Git over here and tie up this security guard.”

There were three robbers.  Weasel face, the Boss Man, and an even bigger guy that seemed to have more muscle than brains.  Muscles had the security guard pinned to the floor.  Boss Man had his gun trained on the small mob of customers and bank clerks he’d herded behind the counter and ordered to sit on the floor.  Weasel-face pressed the barrel of his pistol into Jasper’s forehead.

“Hurry up!”  Boss Man snarled. “Leave the crip alone!”

“Yeah, you ain’t worth wasting no bullet on no ways, gimp.”   Weasel-face sneered at Jasper.  He stepped back, tucked his gun into waste band of his jeans, then turned and bound the hands of both the security guard and the bank manager, Robert Carlington.

Muscles lifted Carlington to his feet and shoved him toward the vault door.  “The combination!” Boss Man snapped.

Rita Marlowe, one of the tellers, shifted away from the group.  Her eyes were on the red emergency button below the bank counter about five feet to her right. She rocked back and forth to cover her sideways movement, and tried to look terror stricken, which in truth she was.

Robert Carlington smirked and gave the Boss Man five numbers.  “But they won’t do you any good,” he added. “It takes two combinations to open the safe and I only have one.”

“Who has the other?”  Boss Man demanded.

“My assistant manager.  He’s out to lunch and won’t be back for an hour.”

“Arrrgh!”  Boss Man bellowed.  He swung.  His blow lifted Carlington from his feet and slammed him into Weasel-face.  They both hit the floor.  Rita lunged for the red button and slammed her hand against it.  Red lights flashed, a siren wailed, and the security doors slammed closed in front of the vault, trapping boss man behind them.

Muscles lifted his gun and spun toward Rita.  Jasper’s walker bounced off the back of his head.  The big man hit the floor.  Jasper picked up Muscles’ gun and trained it on Weasel-face.  “Give me a reason,” he said.  Weasel-face didn’t move.

The police arrived in short order and carted the would-be robbers off to jail.  Sheriff Malcom and his deputies questioned the witnesses.  “Jasper,” Sheriff Malcom said, “tell me again why you weren’t behind the counter with everyone else. ”

Jasper shrugged.  “I was moving so slow I just hadn’t gotten there yet, and those fellas thought I was harmless.”

Sheriff Malcolm laughed.

“He does look pretty harmless,” one of the deputies muttered.

The Sheriff corrected him. “Jasper Sullivan was a Special Ops commander in Viet Nam, boy.  He won’t be harmless until about 5 days after they throw the last shovel full of dirt on his grave.”

Jasper, seemingly unaware of the exchange, picked up the walker, folded it closed, then offered it to Rita.  “The misses told me your Mom was wanting one of these for your grandma.  Where Pa is now he won’t be needing it anymore.”  Then Jasper gave her a wink, tipped his hat at the deputy, and walked out of the bank with a bounce in his step.