Mortimer Scofield's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Mortimer crouched in the alley behind the bank at sunset, lockpicks ready in his palm. He'd waited for this moment, rehearsed every second. But when he tested the back door, the handle didn't budge—someone had added a second bolt he'd never seen on the diagram. His chest tightened. The vault map had been wrong, or outdated, or sold to him by a fool. Either way, his perfect plan had a flaw he couldn't fix tonight. He shoved the picks back in his pocket and retreated into the shadows, anger burning hot under his ribs. The gold would have to wait. Two days later, Mortimer decided to scout alternate escape routes out of town. He rode north where the desert trails twisted between rock formations and dry gullies. His horse moved carefully through loose sand and scattered brush. Ahead, something metallic glinted near a cluster of stones. Mortimer dismounted and kicked at the sand with his boot. Rusted iron teeth sprang open—a bear trap, half-buried and waiting. The rust coated every surface, but the spring mechanism still worked perfectly. Someone had planted it here to catch travelers or slow down anyone trying to flee. Mortimer stepped back and studied the trail with fresh eyes. If one trap waited here, others might be hidden along every path he'd counted on using. His carefully mapped exits had turned into hazards he couldn't predict. The bank job needed clear routes in and out, but now even the desert worked against him. He mounted his horse and turned back toward town, the weight of another failure settling across his shoulders like desert dust.