Banker's Hours
by Arnie
The Indian made no effort to hide the sound of his footsteps as he followed Gus up the stairs and out onto the step. He wanted to talk to Gus, he needed to. Perhaps now was the time to cut loose.
As he expected, he found Gus on the step, innocently taking the night air. Ignoring the foul smell of Gus' cigarette, Chief sat, and nibbled on his toothpick before making his play.
It was no use. Gus shook the Indian off as a horse shrugs off flies. He was an irritant, but not important.
"Think I'll stretch my legs before we turn in."
He held the man back for a minute. "Gus. Think about it." But he knew it was useless. The bank robber had already made his own plans, and Chief couldn't buy his way into them. He retreated inside until he heard Gus leave, then hurriedly followed him. Chief refused to call himself a tracker, but he would have been ashamed of himself if he hadn't managed to tail Gus to his meeting with the Kraut major.
He listened, his fury rising again. Garrison's death, his team mates' deaths, they were nothing to him. He stuck with them because, for now, he needed them. The time would come when he'd leave them behind. No, what infuriated him was that Gus was planning to kill him too.
The meeting ended, and Gus returned to the funeral director's home ready to play out act two of the farce they were in. Once he and the major's car were gone, Chief rose to his feet, his face bleak but a plan stirring in his mind. It looked as though he was stuck with the Warden and the 'Gorillas' once again.
He sighed, but accepted the situation stoically. He could wait. He was good at waiting.
Finis.
