Interrupted by a boomin' entrance

Earlier

The slow ticking of the grandfather clock echoed throughout the building that was the first National Bank of Gold Springs. A carefully crafted stone counter and iron bars separated the back half of the building from the front. A lone figure, currently reading a book, sat at the counter as the banks’ vault door laid behind him and a smaller second floor above where their office was.

Archibald Dietrich had his head propped up by his hand, eyes slowly reading the latest novel he had acquired. There wasn’t much business this morning, but since taking over the bank, the long-suffering manager took what little moments of peace he could take, especially when the next bank robbery could be in the next hour.

Licking his fingers, the red squirrel turned the page and continued his reading.

“Mr. Dietrich. Mr. Dietrich.”

Glancing left, Archibald looked to where the chipper voice came from. Standing across from him with her arms crossed behind her back, his assistant, dressed in a blouse and pants, had a smile grace her lips.

“Just letting you know ah was goin’ on my break.” The opossum girl said.

“Ja, Ja, go.” He waved her off as he returned to his book. “Just be back in die hour, Frau Gracie.”

The opossum nodded and went to leave. Opening the gated door she took a step out-

*RING*

Only to stop mid-step. A foul odor caused her to gag as she stepped back and slammed the door shut. Archibald scrunched his nose as he looked up. Loud, lumbering footsteps sounded throughout the building as a large shadow covered them both. Gracie shook in fright as she covered her nose. Archibald barely reacted a bored look etched on his face as he frowned, glancing at the clock.

‘Hmph, usually sie come around in die afternoon.’

Present

The deputy thought for a moment, numerous questions came into her mind. She didn’t know if she should be forward or subtle in her questioning. Biting the metaphorical bullet, she picked one.

“Well, ah I guess for starters; How’d you get started as an artist?”

Thinking for a moment, Rory opened his mouth to respond…

*BOOOMMMM!!!*

A loud, thunderous noise shook both the saloon and its patrons. Glasses and bottles rattled about, some even crashing and breaking on the ground. The two foxes held on to the bar counter until the shaking calmed down and stopped. Slowly, they opened their eyes and looked about.

“What in da world was dat?” Rory whispered.

Deputy April though, her eyes widened as she jumped out of her seat. Touching her waist, she had forgotten she left her sidearm at the office. Cursing her carelessness, she looked back at the counter and the moose behind.

“Frank!” She shouted at him. “Hand me Ol’ Faithful!”

The bartender nodded and dipped down a little. Grabbing something from under the counter, he stood to his full height and tossed towards the deputy. The patrons saw April catch a Winchester rifle, cock the hammer, and head towards the doors. The artist started to stand up.

“Ms. Briggs, are ye sure-”

“STAY HERE!” Rory froze as the deputy snapped at him. Taking a deep breath, April addressed the now growing nervous patrons. “Everyone, stay in here and lock the doors behind me. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Giving a brief smile, she rushed out of the Silver Spur. Following orders, two patrons soon slid two large doors beside the entrance shut and lowered a large board to bar it. As all those gathered chatted quietly among themselves, one person had a different reaction. Sitting back in his seat, Rory slowly turned back to the counter and looked up.

“Franklin.” Slightly startled, the bar owner looked down into the neutral expression of the newest resident. “Be honest. What are our dear deputy’s chances?”

If Frank was honest, being a bartender, he would say he had developed a knack for reading people’s hidden intentions. A useful skill for when a patron needed a stiff drink or an ear to hear their woes. But when he looked into those half-lidded eyes, he couldn’t read anything. In fact, the longer he investigated them, he felt as if…something else was sitting there and looking at him.

It shook him to his core.

Shaking his head briefly, he looked up at the closed doors.

“Can’t rightly tell? April ain’t like Texas, but that don’t mean she’s no pushover. If it’s just some two-bit crooks or a no-named thug, then ain’t nothing to worry about.”

“And if it isn’t?” Rory’s dull tone cut deep.

Frank frowned deeply. “…If it’s one of the heavy hitters or a complete unknown, ah don’t know. The sheriff has her own issues, but she always bounces back regardless. Deputy April though. *sigh* All we can do is hope she’ll be alright.”

Rory looked at the moose for a good moment before slowly looking back at the barred doors. No one, either not noticing or not looking, noticed the look the Irish fox gave.

Or the glow from his green eyes.