Charm your way in

You push Ritter out of the way and step in front of the barrel of the shotgun.

"Old Bill," you say. "You might gun down a greasy thug like...uh...Motorhead, but are you going to shoot a woman?"

The gun slides back into the darkness and the eyes reappear at the slit. They flick up and down your body. You pose to push your breasts forward and let the tank top ride up to expose a little of your toned abs.

"Very nice, young lady," the man says. "Alright, I'll let you...just you... inside. But it's hitcher rules."

"What's that?" You ask.

Ritter leans over to your ear.

"Cash, grass, or ass," he says.

"Cash?" You say aloud.

"Honey," Old Bill chuckles, "I'm the bank. Cash is guns. Cash is bullets now. So it's down to the other two."

You think about it for a second.

"Alright," you sigh. "We'll work something out."

Old Bill chuckles and you hear the bolt slide open on the door. It opens just wide enough for you to slip inside. It's dark in there and Old Bill prods you in the middle of the back with the shotgun.

"Over there, against the wall," he says.

You obey him and stand with your back to him against the dimly-lit wall. You hear the door lock behind you and then foot steps as Old Bill creeps up behind you.

"Hands up," he says, "I don't mean nothing by this, but I gotta frisk you."

He stands close, his hands businesslike as he pats down your curves and snatches your pistol from its holster. He smells like beer, sweat, and pipe tobacco.

"Okay, little lady," he says. "You can turn around."

You turn around and see that Old Bill is a lanky man in his fifties with a full head of snow-white hair and a short, graying beard and mustache. He peers at you through gold-tinted glasses and gives you a smile that is at once friendly and lecherous.

"So, what's the deal?" He asks, resting the shotgun against his shoulder and tucking the revolver into the waistband of his bluejeans. "Am I gonna throw you back out there on that cute little butt or did you want to work something out?"