Mortimer Scofield's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Mortimer needed to learn the bank's daily rhythm before he could strike. He pushed through the door of the general store and nodded at the clerk. His boots creaked on the wooden floor as he walked between shelves stacked with canned goods and rope. Near the back wall, he found what he was looking for—a display of tools and supplies. He picked up a small hand mirror with a brass frame and turned it over in his callused hands. This would let him watch the bank from around corners without being spotted. He paid the clerk two coins and slipped the mirror into his coat pocket. Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on the dusty street. Mortimer positioned himself in an alley and angled the mirror to reflect the bank's entrance. The guards shifted their weight and checked their rifles. One yawned. The other spat tobacco juice into the dirt. Mortimer watched and learned their patterns, counting the minutes between each movement. This was how big jobs started—not with guns blazing, but with patience and careful eyes. After dark, Mortimer rode out beyond the town limits where no one would ask questions. He spread his bedroll under a cluster of scrub trees and set up an oil lamp on a flat rock. The flame cast yellow light across the ground as he pulled a practice lock from his saddlebag. His fingers worked the picks, testing tension and listening for pins to click. The vault at the bank would have tumblers three times as complicated, but muscle memory started here. He worked for two hours, opening the lock over and over until his hands knew every movement. Sweat dripped from his beard despite the cool night air. The lamp flickered as wind pushed through the branches above. Mortimer set down his tools and stared at the flame. He'd watched the guards. He'd started training his fingers. Tomorrow he'd need to find out what type of safe the bank used and how thick the walls were. Each step brought him closer to that vault and the gold inside. Each step meant he was learning what he needed to know. He rolled up the bedroll and kicked dirt over the lamp's dying flame. The darkness swallowed him as he headed back toward town, already planning his next move.