The Train Heist

“Hands in air,” I shouted and shot my pistol into the sky so the passengers would know I was serious.

The spurs in the back of my boots clinked as I started to saunter down the long train hall.

I opened up my bag. I pointed my pistol at the first passenger. He emptied his wallet into the bag.

“And your watch,” I said. He took off his expensive looking watch and put it in the bag.

I pointed my gun at another wealthy passenger and he said, “all my moneys in the bank. I can write you a check.”

“How about you ride with me to the bank when the train stops and withdraw all your cash. That way you can’t cancel your check,” I said.

“I have cashiers checks,” the man said and handed me a stack.

“This’ll do just fine,” I said, smiling as I yanked the checks out of his hand and put them in my bag

I walked to the next passenger.

“Please, sir. I have children,” he pleaded.

“Sorry, write offs are for the poor part of the train. For trying to find a loophole, give me your suit. Your wife’s dress, too,” I shouted.

“Then we won’t have any clothing,” he said.

“That’s the point. And you can keep your undies. Nobody needs to see your dirty bits,” I said and smiled.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He probably really wanted to tell me to go screw myself.

I went to the next passenger.

“Didn’t you rob enough people. Why do you need all these things and all this money?” He asked.

“So I don’t have to take from the poor. It’s the right thing to do,” I said and smiled.

“Well, all my money is in a secret account. You’ll never get it,” the rich man said and laughed.

“We’ll see about that,” I said and forced him to the ground. I tied up his hands.

“I’m going to hold on to you until you have your money transferred and given to me,” I said.

“Ok, ok. I’ll talk to my banker and have it transferred. It’s all yours,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I’m a generous guy. As long as you give me a little less then half, we’re good,” I said, and forced him to walk in front of me as I walked to the next passenger.

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled.

“Money,” I said.

“No,” he declared.

“Jeff, turn over your money. You know you owe it to us. It’s to help everybody. You made enough last year to pay and then some. Now pay,” I said.

“You have no right to do this. It’s my money and this isn’t legal. And how do you know my name?” Jeff asked.

“Meticulous record keeping. And if you don’t like it, you can thank Lincoln. He authorized The Bureau of Internal Revenue to bring you here and collect your income. Get used to it,” I said and flashed my badge.

Jeff cried.