THE LAST GUNSLINGER: "Opal Adler"

Failed Story Idea from like 2009... the idea was to tell the story of this guy who believed he was the last gunslinger during the 1930s... The story is told from other peoples perspectives.

The clock showed a quarter 'til four. Not too much longer. In just a few short hours, Wilber will be here to pick me up. He's such a nice, considerate man, I got right lucky landing him. My older sister, Ruby, thought he was a bit of a crumb, but if she knew how he pitched woo... she'd know he was a real swell fella. Just thinking about his tender lips and-

"Opal! Are you even paying attention? How can you take dictation if you are daydreaming. Now if I wasn't so compassionate of a boss, I might have a mind to let you go for such behaviour. Do not forget that idle hands are the Devil's playground. Now, where was I, Miss Adler? Ah yes... And as the mortgage rates are increas..."

All I ever do is take dictation... write his words down... never get to write any thing I want to say down... its like I'm just another machine in the factory, another cog in the clocktower... and the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not looking... like I'm a piece of meat and he's a starved man. What kind of just God would put such beasts in charge, while the good men like Wilber, are left in the streets living working class lives. All men like Mr. Robertson seem to do is dehumanize everyone around them. And why? Because they are big investment bankers? I shouldn't complain too much though, Ruby actually does work in a factory, she is a cog, and in the end, what's the difference? She puts labels onto jars of preserves, I type at over a hundred words a minute.

"... so in the interest of keeping our business relationship strong, I recommend we inv..."

And just as Ruby absent-mindedly can label those jars without even any thought given to it, without any use of her brain in the endeavour, I just allow his words to enter my ears and flow straight to the typewriter, which generally isn't a problem, but at times, I do tend to float away. That's natural to do right? Especially when ones job is simply to write other people's words, while being ogled by doggy twits.

"Yours truly, Mister Robert Patterson, Esquire. Now did you get all that dear? Good. Well post mark it for Mr Hubbox at the Denver Office, the delivery boy can pick it up in the morning. When you're done with that, come back to my office, I have one more thing I need to speak to you about."

"But Mister Patterson, I'm supposed to get off work, my beau is probably outside waiting for me right now."

"Miss Adler, I do not pay you to talk back to me."

"But everybody else is leaving alre-"

"I don't care about everybody else. Will you lock the front door and flip the closed sign on the door before you return to my office."

 I can't believe how much I gritted my teeth when I spoke my reply of, "Yes, sir", but I grinned and bared it, but there was no way I was going to lock myself in with that animal. So instead I only flipped the sign and only pretended to lock the door. It was only the two of us left inside the Molina Bank and Trust. As I entered his office, he was behind his desk, his voice sounded hard boiled.

"Miss Adler, I know you have places you want to go, but I also know how money is in short supply for you, and I thought you'd like to know of a few ways you can earn a bonus, would that interest you?"

"Yes Mister Patterson, since Papa died, moneys been awfully tight. What can I do for a bonus?"

"Why don't you come over here and I'll tell you, I really need to keep this on the hush hush, so I only feel comfortable whispering it in your ear."

"Okay..." I approached him, and leaned in presenting my ear to his whiskered mouth.

"See... it's kinda like this..." he began to whisper, I could hear the sound of a zipper, and before I could react, one of his strong arms grabbed me and was fumbling with the buttons to my blouse. I didn't know what to do but scream, and just as I was about to let out a hoot, his other hand came slamming down.


Where am I... What am... No! My mouth had been duct taped shut, my arms tied up behind my back with some article of clothing, I can't quite tell which, and Mister Patterson is plundering me. I think he was getting close to being done by the time I regained consciousness, when suddenly he stopped. My head was spinning too much to realize why, but inside I hoped it had been Wilber come to look for me. Hopefully he'd find me in here tied up on Mister Patterson's desk. Mister Patterson pulled out, making me feel as vacant and as soulless as the way he treated me, he pulled up his pants and then he ventured out of his office to check on a sound he had thought he heard. Moments later I heard a blast. It had to have been a gun.

Wilber! Oh what a chivalrous soul he has! But where is he? Why is he taking so long to come save me? Then suddenly, I heard steps approaching the office. The doorway wasn't well lit, I couldn't quite make out who it was, at first I still thought it was Wilbur. And when the stranger took over for Mister Patterson, it didn't feel like rape at all, it felt like he was Lancelot here to save me from some vile dragon. Me and Wilbur had only made whoopie a handful of times, but he seemed so much stronger this time, and finally, with one hand squeezing tightly above my hip, and the other on my bosom, he finished, it couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 minutes, but I felt overjoyed.

Finally, he unbound me. I turned to kiss him, but his back was already to me. He seemed taller than usual now that I could see him better. But before I could figure things out, he was out of the office and walking out the front door with a big bag in his left hand, a revolver in his right. I stumbled after him, but halfway to the door, I not only realized I was nude, but also that the safe boxes were wide open on the floor. The bank always keeps 200,000 dollar reserve in them, the only person with access was Mister Patterson... who had a key, and now all of those safe boxes were empty.

I rushed to the window as I heard another gunshot. A man on a horse was riding off, Wilber was lying in the street. Blood pooled around him. Who the hell robs banks on horseback? I feel so used... so helpless... so guilty! I didn't care about modesty any-more, nude and bruised or not, I had to go to my Wilbur. I had to.