Kate Logan looked at a city for the first time in speechless, awestruck silence. The elite of New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington D.C. may have scoffed if they'd seen the scattered tall buildings of Dallas, Texas- but she felt like she'd landed on the moon. She barely paid attention as her horse blindly followed the horse of her father. There was a stable near the outskirts of town for those coming in from the most rural areas, and by the time Dan Bogan had paid a small fee for the care of their animals his nineteen year old daughter was nearly bouncing with excitement. Still, she kept a calm exterior; her father could be a difficult man if she appeared too happy. 

"Alright, girl. You've spent years now training your gun and your mind, and you've graduated from pulling jobs in hick towns to hitting the big time. Now's the time for you to get some honest to goodness experience. Don't worry, you'll probably still be alive tomorrow."

His thin, dry laugh had a bit of a wheeze as it rattled out into the mid-afternoon air between them. They walked together in silence for a while towards the downtown area, eventually reaching a lively area of town. Kate looked up to see a sign saying "Elm Street". Dan removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Kate as other people flowed around them on the sidewalk.

"Well, I've got three jobs for you. Get back here by seven and we'll beat feet out of town. First job is just survival."

With a rare grin, Dan Bogan grabbed the purse of the old lady who'd just passed him and tossed it into the confused arms of his daughter; as he did it, he shouted. 

"Hey officer! That girl just stole this lady's purse!"

The nearby cop glared immediately at Kate, even as the old lady started screaming- and Kate took off. She'd never been to any city before and had no idea where she was going, ducking down side streets and alleys. Once she hit a fence and thought she was toast, but she tossed the purse over it and climbed, ripping her jacket in the process. The shrill whistle of the cop eventually faded, and Kate rested with her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. A whistle behind her caused her to reach for her gun- damn it, she didn't want to shoot a cop- but it was just a homeless guy admiring the view. Kate pointed the gun at him for a moment and glaring before holstering it. Sighing, she reached into her pocket and opened the folded piece of paper. 

- Richards Gun Shop. Ross Ave. Talk the guy into giving you more ammo. You know what kind.

- Hit Post Office on North Ervay. Stick up the clerk and get into safe deposit box 843. He's lying if he says he can't do it.

- Meet me at the stable. I'm riding at seven with or without you.

For a fleeting moment, Kate wondered what life would have been like if she'd had a normal father. Even with her mother dying a few years back... what if she'd had a man who loved her and protected her, instead of honing her into a weapon... but her moment of reflection was interrupted by the sound of the homeless man pissing. Well, time to get to work.

Richards Gun Shop was easy enough to find. A couple passes on the sidewalk only showed a couple people in the store. Some old guy in the back and a young man around her age at the register. Kate leaned against the wall outside, unbuttoning the top of her shirt and fixing her hair. When the old man walked out, she walked in and leaned forward on the counter, alternating between a breathless whisper and voice near tears as she spun a mostly true yarn about an abusive father who mistreated her and, oh goodness, I don't have much money. She walked out five minutes later with a date for dinner that she didn't intend on keeping and two boxes of cartridges, which she dropped into the pockets of her jacket.

She fixed her shirt as she made her way over to North Ervay street. She took her time, looking in some of the windows, theaters, and restaurants. The noise was constant- and the people were crammed together like ants, constantly bumping into each other. It was a slow, meandering trip that eventually brought her to the sidewalk outside the Post Office. She quietly steeled herself before walking inside.

She waited around for a minute until she found a nice looking middle aged man with a mustache. He greeted her with a smile as she explained she needed to access box 845 and he cheerfully led her to the back. The security guard let them pass with a friendly grin that matched the wattage she'd flashed in his direction as soon as they'd made eye contact. Soon, they reached their destination: a quiet hallway with a wall of metal boxes. The post office worker kept chatting until the second Kate stuck her pistol against his spine.

"Listen, buddy. I've had a nice day so far, and I really wouldn't want to kill you- but I will if you make me. Now open up 843- and spare the bullshit about how you can't do it. I've got an inside source here that knows you can, so make it happen. Fast."

He was so stunned that he didn't even speak. He did crane his neck around slightly to see the gun, but after that he moved steadily to get box 843 open. Kate folded the single envelope that was sitting there and stuffed it into her interior jacket pocket. She left the guy in a locked room, taking his keys for safekeeping and, as she exited, yelled to the security guard that he was having a heart attack down there. 

She ran for a couple blocks, ducking down a couple different alleys to avoid potential pursuit, but soon slowed to a brisk walk as she headed back towards the stable. Her father saw her coming and held out his hand silently. She gave him the envelope first, then the bullets. He waited for a moment, glancing up as if he was expecting a pack of police on her tail. When they didn't materialize, he simply gave her a nod.

"Not bad, girl."

And that was just about the best compliment he'd ever given her, until the end.

***

Years later, Kate was thinking about that day as she entered the post office and picked up the single piece of mail waiting for her: the last payment from her sale of the ranch. It'd been the deed to the ranch she recovered that day years ago. Her father probably could have walked into the post office and asked for it without trouble, and he definitely could afford more rounds for their guns. But she suspected that their trip had other motivations- and fortunately, it'd gone well for her.

 As she held the modest check in her hands, she realized that it represented the last trace of her old life. Kate hesitated, thinking of her mother- but after a couple minutes, she cashed the check and walked out into the cool Detroit air as she made her way to the business district.