Golden Oldies

A snarl in his voice, the man said, “Hand it over.  All you Indians look alike.”

This was no way to get on Charlie’s good side.  His fiancée called him tall, dark, and handsome and said she could pick him out in a crowd.  He asked, “Hand what over, and what’s your name?”

The man shot back an answer.  “I ain’t got no name.  Old Ma Harker says you got my black box, and them gold coins better be in it.  I wants it now!”  He pulled out a pistol from under his blue blazer and waved it about.   “This ain’t no time for a Powwow as you people calls it.”

Hoping Jimmy caught on to his holler, Charlie tried not to look beyond the intruder towards the doorway. He shifted his glance towards the intruder’s shoulders.  Was that Jimmy’s shadow that passed across the window?  All he could do was stall and hope.   “OK, since you’ve got the drop on me, I have no choice but to hand it over.”  A small smile crossed Charlie’s lips.

The front door opened.  Jimmy looked inside.  His lips clenched, he tiptoed inside and across the room.  No creaks in the floor announced his presence.  He paused, right behind the man.  Jimmy inhaled.  With a quick motion, he grabbed the man’s shoulder and spun him around.  At the same time, he drew his fist back and whacked the man square on his jaw.  The man fell to the floor with a thud.  KO’ed.

Charlie shook Jimmy’s hand.  “Looks like we’ve wrapped this one up for Ron and maybe Chrissie and her mom, too.  There could be a reward for closing the black box caper.





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