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by Emmett Dulaney

“You know what I feel like?” she asked as we walked toward the center of town trying our best to conceal our injuries. The answer that immediately popped into my mind was “Bonnie and Clyde” but I didn’t say it as it would have been too simple. Connie was never one for simple and I didn’t want my response to come across as insulting so I took some more time to think about it before answering.

“Unlucky” might have worked but if we were truly unlucky, we never would have seen the other guard and been able to take him out when we did. The unexpected commotion drew too many heroes but you can’t always account for that. With all those eyes and ears we had to abandon the car a couple of blocks back given the safe assumption that all the roads out are now blocked. Eventually, the state police will collapse the perimeter in on itself and search the town but we can rest up until then.

“A woman” was a possibility if that Shania Twain song was stuck in her head but the odds of that were slim. Before most jobs, Connie was prone to psych herself with some old school Joan Jett and soak in the aggression. Someone once said she looked a little like Jett and I could pass for Michael J. Fox in that horrible movie they made together. The person making the suggestion regretted it but if you shoved a gun into my mouth, I would agree with them in the right lighting.

“I don’t know,” I finally had to admit as the town square at last came into view. “What do you feel like?”

“I feel like a kid in a candy store,” she answered.

“Excellent choice,” I replied, knowing that a hostage would put us in an exponentially better position. “Let’s go get us one.”


Emmett Dulaney lives in Anderson, Indiana, and teaches marketing. His work has appeared in Shotgun Honey, Literary Arts Magazine, and Burningword Literary Journal. He has never once been told that he looks anything like Michael J. Fox but secretly wished that someone would.

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