Apparently done fiddling with his watch, Butch approaches the counter--but around the side, closer to where the Pinkerton man is.
Well, he doesn’t really have much choice. He doesn’t quite trust Mr. Ferguson to handle the tellers and an armed guard all at the same time--it takes practice, bank-robbing does, and Butch has had that practice.
So here he goes, all aw-shucks small-town-boy charm.
“Say, fancy meeting you here,” he grins as he leans against the counter. “I haven’t seen you since--gee, that picnic at my cousin Maisie’s. You still courting that girl--uh, what was her name again? Ruthie?”
He says it so convincingly, he almost believes it himself.
no subject
Well, he doesn’t really have much choice. He doesn’t quite trust Mr. Ferguson to handle the tellers and an armed guard all at the same time--it takes practice, bank-robbing does, and Butch has had that practice.
So here he goes, all aw-shucks small-town-boy charm.
“Say, fancy meeting you here,” he grins as he leans against the counter. “I haven’t seen you since--gee, that picnic at my cousin Maisie’s. You still courting that girl--uh, what was her name again? Ruthie?”
He says it so convincingly, he almost believes it himself.