Joseph Barker and his gang of four stepped into the bank of Plymothton at twelve-noon, on the button. Masks on, guns already drawn, moving through the space before anyone realized what was going on; the first man who tried to stop them caught the butt of a revolver with his nose and dropped to the ground crying in blood and agony.
There were three women near the attack and they all screamed, alerting the bank manager who ran out from an office to be met with the barrel of a gun. Joseph’s gun. He cleared his throat and smiled beneath the mask, watching the manager’s life flash before his eyes as he thumbed back the hammer on the revolver.