Banker v. Bank Robber

Note: This installment of "The Duelists" was written by the Clerk, a guest contributor. - The Author

The Banker looks down at his watch, shaking his head. He is not accustomed to downtime- even on his honeymoon he managed to short some stock off on the Polynesians at the resort. A free moment is a wasted moment, he always said. Taking a tape recorder out of his coat pocket, he decided to get back to work on his memoirs.

Mistakes? Sure, I've made them, he mused, pacing around the table. Deals gone bad? Take a look at Poughkeepsie. Mistresses? I've had 'em in spades. Thought I could get away with it. Was I right? Oh baby, I was worst than right- I was wrong. Do it again? You bet your ass I would.

A loud retching is heard in the distance. The Banker pauses the tape.

After a while, you don't even notice the smell, the Banker tells the Bank Robber, wiping away vomit with a neckerchief. You ever lived by a paper mill? Now that's agony.

The Banker looks the Bank Robber up and down.

You're really not at all as I expected. Looks-wise, I mean. You don't look like you could hold up a mirror, let alone a bank.

The Bank Robber nods. He still had on the same t-shirt and jeans he wore to the coffee shop. He had considered dressing up, but ran out of time.

I get that a lot. What most people don't understand is- the industry has changed. It's all done on computers now, really. Just get the account numbers and re-route over the Internet. I'm lucky to do it at all, honestly. Most of the work has been outsourced.

The Banker kicks the dirt gently and looks into the distance, glumly nostalgic. Maybe it's the cremains, he thought, or maybe I'm just getting sappy in my old age. Times have changed? Kid, you're a dinosaur, and that big comet's coming right for you. One minute you're laying dames on a hotel bed covered in fifty dollar bills, and the next you're yesterday's news. Your face is still in the paper, sure, but they're wrapping fish in it.

The Banker turned and walked over to the table. Well, he says to the Bank Robber, time to cash the checks.

Hold on, hold on now, the Bank Robber pleads. I've robbed three banks- does that really qualify me as a bank robber? This isn't all I do, you know. Check my tax returns. I freelance, I play drums. Should I come back later?

They get the pistols and take the field, standing ten paces apart.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.