Free This Side of Jordan by Monte Schulz

to any of Mr. Sinclair’s tellers, you’ll be a jailbird by suppertime. Let me help you write another.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œWait here.” The dwarf straightened up, his head still easily below the floorboards. “I’ve just had the most marvelous idea!”
    He dashed off toward his bedroom.
    â€œHey there!” Alvin called after him. “I got to get along!”
    But the dwarf had already climbed up through the hole and disappeared. Alvin crawled under the house toward Rascal’s bedroom, afraid he was going to be late now to the bank. He heard the dwarf rummaging through his closet, tossing more things about. It occurred to Alvin that the dwarf bore his cross better than anyone he’d ever known in his life. Had anybody else come to visit Rascal beneath the house in the time he’d been locked indoors? Did he have any friends? Alvin promised himself that if he ever came back through Hadleyville again, why, he’d take Rascal out fishing. The poor little fellow had probably never even been in a boat before.
    After a few minutes, the dwarf dropped down through the hole in his bedroom floor, carrying a small black leather doctor’s bag. He took a slip of paper from the pocket of his romper and gave it to the farm boy to read.
    â€œThis is a much grander plan,” Rascal assured him, as he put down the doctor’s bag. He wore a big grin. The note read:

    The dwarf said, “We might’ve asked for more money, but then they’d have to count it out by hand and that could take more time than we’d want. The police station is only four blocks away.”
    Alvin was flabbergasted. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything about his appointment at the bank. Now what was he supposed to do? If the dwarf was right about Chester intending a stick-up, wouldn’t changing the plan now make things even worse? He was scared and confused, and felt his bellyache returning. He coughed again and his eyes watered.
    He told Rascal, “Look, I ain’t asked for your help. What if they got a bank dick? I could get shot in the head.”
    â€œThey do and his name’s Elmer Gleason and he’s only got one eye. He lost the other fighting with Stonewall Jackson at Chancellorsville. If he draws his revolver, just remember to keep to his left.”
    The dwarf laughed.
    Alvin scowled. “That ain’t so funny.”
    â€œNobody’ll shoot you. I promise.”
    The farm boy grew more desperate. “What if my partner ain’t robbing the bank, after all? I’ll look like a damned fool.”
    â€œOh, there’s no mistake, I assure you. I’ve read more accounts of bank robberies than you can shake a stick at and anyone who’d deliberately choose to hand your partner’s note to one of Mr. Sinclair’s tellers, well, I’d have to say he hasn’t got the sense God gave an oyster. Now, tell me this: what sort of motor car did you fellows drive to town?”
    Feeling resigned to the dwarf’s intentions, Alvin said, “It’s a Packard Six. Sort of straw-colored.”
    â€œAll right, listen,” Rascal said, unfastening the latches to the doctor’s bag. He handed it to Alvin so he could see what was inside. “This is what we’ll do.”
    Â 
    Downtown Hadleyville felt quiet in the noon hour. Motor traffic was intermittent. Birds flew noiselessly from treetop to flagpole. Children and mothers sat together picnicking on the summer grass. Dogs chased after fluttering leaves.
    Alvin waited across the street from the bank. A clock tower on the square indicated he still had a few minutes to run off and avoid the necktie party when the dwarf’s plan went on the bum. Chester was inside the bank already, his automobile parked in the alleyway behind Orrey’s jewelry shop. Frenchy told Alvin once that “It ain’t what you got, it’s what you can get away with,” but everyone in the