I walked away from my sorry-looking welcome party, still heading for the bank. I stopped just outside, leaned up against the light post and lit a cigarette. I looked around at the small flux of people darting in and out of buildings up and down the street, the sun doing it’s best to creep past the brim of my hat. The heat was unbearable. It reminded me of the days of my youth, running with the Saudis and Brits out in the desert. Just thinking about it is usually enough to get my lips to crack. I spat on the ground; I now had a powerful thirst. I crushed the cigarette underneath my boot and turned to walk into the bank.

1931 wasn’t exactly the best year to begin a new relationship with a bank, I knew that. There was a line in front of me. I don’t usually mind waiting. The business for those ahead of me concluded without much to note, and when I stepped up to the take my turn the pretty little blond girl behind the counter smiled. I doffed my hat and returned it with a grin of my own.

Leaning my shoulder up to the glass, I said, “Say now, miss, I was wondering if you might be able to help me with a problem.”

Her back was to me as I said this, and I heard “Oh? Is it a loan you’ll be needing?” She turned, “Because I’m sorry sir, but the bank is in no posi---” Her voice halted abruptly as leaped over the desk and pushed her up against the wall.

I leaned in close to her and whispered, “Don’t. Scream. I’m not gonna hurt you.” She whimpered. With my other hand, I pulled out my butterfly. I held it to her throat and whispered, “Do I have your full attention, miss?” She nodded.

I grinned, “Good. Here’s how you’re going to help me. I know that somewhere in this bank there’s at least a million bucks. Now, I only want part of that---I’m just looking for a measly hundred grand…you think you can find that for me?” She nodded.

“I’m glad. Cuz if you can’t…. well, that pretty little smile of yours isn’t going to be pretty for very much longer.” She whimpered and tears began to stream down her face. I released her from my weight, but, before she could get all the way past me, I grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

“This is a taste of what will happen if I don’t get that money.” I sliced a nice long gash into her left cheek with my knife. She squealed like a stuck pig.

“You bastard!” she screamed, scurrying away in tears. I gave a little chuckle; so dramatic. Then, shit! I forgot!

“Miss…” I called after her, “I’d also like a cool glass of water.”

Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing outside of the bank refreshed and fifty Andrew Jacksons heavier. I started walking toward the airstrip. I was never keen on flying, but I was even less keen on spending a single moment more in that fucking desert. No, I was ready to go home.

Detroit, here I come.