The Owl's Prize

In the distance there is a light. It’s not all that bright at the moment, but it’s fast approaching as it grows in size on the dark horizon. It’s a clear night, and though the dense forest of trees should obscure some sight, the lack of clouds paints the road with the glow of the overhanging full moon.

He looks on down the valley road at the target up ahead; a single beam of light separating into two as it gets closer into his range of visibility. He squints hard to make sense of what might be behind it, to see if his tip was as good as he hoped. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. He feels his muscles slowly relax as not another pair of headlights appears over the incline in the road behind the first. A single carrier, just like the tip said. Good, but it doesn’t stop his doubts from plowing ahead to the forefront of his mind.

He isn’t sure what is happening to him. He hasn’t had an inkling of cold feet since he was a teenager committing petty thefts in drug stores. It bothers him profusely, throwing off the cool demeanor he had garnered over his thirty-ish years of being a professional criminal. Maybe it’s because during his last job he had a similar nervous pit stuck in his stomach. Maybe it’s because his last job went sideways due to bad information. Or maybe it’s because during his last job he barely escaped with his life and his body fully intact. In this line of work, at his age, you’re either dead, running, or comfortably retired, where the majority of which fall into the former categories. Maybe it’s a sign that he should finally leave it all behind, cash in his winnings, and exit the high roller’s room before he gambles it all away. The funny thing about highwaymen though, just like bad gamblers, neither of them ever seem to know when to quit. They both just keep on going, forever chasing that final score.

He had already committed. For better or worse, he is going to hit this truck.

There isn’t a need for this to be so worrisome. At least, that’s what he tells himself. And in reality, his plan is technically sound. They set it up themselves, driving in a horribly indefensible position. On either side of the road, gigantic maples grow to the heavens, made only larger to passersby by a three-foot rise in the earth that slopes downward to the border of the highway. It leaves no room for a fast escape, especially when you barricade the exit with your Dodge Roadster.

He awaits the arrival of the truck, slowly making its way down the highway, behind a fallen sugar maple log on the natural high ground provided for him. He faces the passenger’s side, planning to pull a gun on him, and disarming both him and the driver. From there he will get them to exit the cab, eventually making their way to the carriage where it will be hopefully unlocked without incident, ending the night with a getaway by moonlight with a king’s ransom. He is unsure if he will have to eventually kill the two guards on duty, but he will if he must. In this line of work, you don’t usually care too much about that sort of thing. Killing is just merely business.

As he chambers his 1911 and checks his spare bullets, he is startled by a magnificent HOOT not a few feet behind him. All of his fears return as he rapidly turns around and points his gun at the barn owl perched atop the dead stump his log once belonged to. It’s a magnificent bird, finding the one spot where the moon’s reflection could pierce through the thick fall foliage. He can see its white front and the beginning of its brown back crowning its head and wings. They sit there staring at each other for what he feels like are eons, as he fights the urge from his fears to let loose a bullet. That’s not a smart move with the truck so close to the target destination. He lets out a long breath as he lowers his gun to his side and starts to smile. Owls are a sign of bad luck, and most criminals, who are a superstitious bunch, would call off the job right then and there. But not him, though. No, what he sees in its vacant eyes is a reflection of himself; a predator searching for its unsuspecting prize in the night. They were one and the same. He could just feel it.

He hears the rattling of the armored truck amplify in the distance, and turns around to check how close it is. It’s approaching at a crawl now as it sees the car, trying to investigate its presence. Show time. As he looks back around for the owl, he sees no trace of his nocturnal fellow, except for a single tail feather that it left behind. He scans the dark forest, and wishes it good luck on its hunt, as his has just begun.

He peeks over his cover, being careful not to give himself away. He can’t see much, but the armored truck is now stagnant in the road. He closes his eyes and readies himself.

In one elegant bound, with his gun in his right hand and his left acting as a brace, he vaults over the log. His coat spreads out like dark brown wings as he flies down over the banking, landing on his feet with magnificent grace. He lifts his gun to the passenger window, but is confused when he sees no passenger. The driver sits in the cab alone with his hands raised in surrender. The plan has already started to fall apart. But this might be a good thing. At least now he will only need to deal with one guard.

He shifts around to the driver’s side, making sure to keep his gun trained on him the entire time.

“Alright, I think you know what I want. How about you peacefully get out of the truck now, so your buddies don’t have to drag your corpse out later?”

The guard nods his head and complies, carefully exiting the cab of the truck. He grabs a hold of the guard and forces him to face the side of the truck, and frisks him. He is surprised when he finds he is unarmed, and is ultimately confused by the company’s tactics. One unarmed guard with no escort in the middle of some valley back road? He isn’t sure if they are just naive or they couldn’t get the extra security, but something doesn’t quite feel right. He shakes it off as he tries to keep focus on the task at hand

“Get moving.”

He shoves him forward towards the back of the truck, his gun, like a talon, sticking the guard directly between his shoulder blades. They turn the corner around the truck and get to the back. A giant steel padlock stands between him and a lifetime’s worth of cash. But as the guard is about to reach for the padlock, he stops for a moment, as if to second guess his movement, and turns his head towards his assailant.

“You know, I told them that I wouldn’t be enough to fend off Roy Williams by myself, and I guess my consolation prize for being right is a gun to my back.” He is speaking in a loud voice. Roy doesn’t fully notice as the pit in his stomach starts to reform.

“Are you trying to give me another reason to kill you?” The Guard stood calmly, his hands steady on the lock, and his eyes focused on Roy.

“No, of course not. I’m sorry if I startled you, but I had a feeling you would come. The stunt you pulled a year ago in Saratoga made it seem as though you were moving Eastward. ‘22 wasn’t that long ago, and lips aren’t naturally sealed around here. Felt that the whispers would find your ears eventually, but nobody wanted to listen to ole’ Sam, though.” He cranes his neck in, wondering if that blown job really did leave that much of an obvious trail.

“You figured all that out, huh?” The guard looks back towards the door. There’s a pause and a tensing of his shoulders. After a moment he relaxes them and starts to unlock the massive padlock.

“I would have recognized you anyway. Wild Williams: the last of the western highwaymen. Like it or not, you have the face of a living legend, and hopefully the last of a dying era.” Roy isn’t liking what he’s hearing, and he can feel the pit well up from his stomach to his chest, but he can’t stop what he has already put into motion. As he opens the door, something catches Roy’s eye. The moonlight, which has now been allowed to peer into the crevice between the door and the truck, strikes a shine off of the tip of a black loafer.

His body tenses as he realizes what is happening. He raises his gun and gets a single shot off that lances into the back of the guard, but he is unable to dodge the barrage of gunfire that’s flying from the three officers that stand where the promised riches should have been.

In his arrogance, he did not see the obvious trap that laid before him. But by nature, he acted on it, hoping his luck would come through for him once again. What a fool he was.

As he lays choking in a pool of his own blood, he sees the officers flock and circle around him, watching his life slowly drain from his eyes. And in between them all, as he looks on in the night sky, he sees a little speck of darkness in the brightness of the moon. In his final moments, he forms a smile at the silhouette of the owl flying high above his head and feels its gaze piercing him back.

I see you have found your prize.