Chapter Text
Northfield, Minnesota, September 7, 1876
Cole steps onto the porch of the First National Bank behind Frank, Charlie, and Bob. Jim, Clell, and Bill walk quietly behind him while Jesse, irritating as ever, thuds along next to him with his hand at his hip fingering his pistol. Jesse always seems so damn oblivious to his surroundings, it’s a wonder he hasn’t gotten himself killed. “Stop playin’ with your pistol, jackass,” Cole hisses at him. Jesse either ignores him or doesn’t hear him.
As Frank opens the door to the establishment and holds it for a patron, Cole and the others, minus Charlie and Bob, take various positions around the entrance. Although they spread out to minimize suspicion, it’s quite hard to do so in such a large group. As Frank and the other two enter, Jesse almost walks into the pedestrian. The man wheels around and looks Jesse square in the face.
“Afternoon,” Jesse greets him. The man stops dead in his tracks and studies Jesse’s face as Jesse continues to stomp past him. Great. The most recognizable man here just almost knocked over a potential witness. Not like Jesse would refrain from telling everyone on God’s green earth he was here anyway. The man looks back through a window and something between shock and excitement washes over his face and he runs out into the street.
Cole starts towards him to take him down, but before he can make it to him, the man stops and yells, “Get your guns, boys! They’re robbin’ the bank!” Cole curses as the man runs off down the street. Jesse quickly pivots as more curses come from Jim, Clell, and Bill. Jesse’s eyes flash with exhilaration as the other four pull their guns. The street remains strangely quiet for a moment as the five men meet each other in front of the door. Hopefully Frank can make it quick.
A shot whizzes past Cole’s head and slams into the wall next to him. Without a thought, Cole raises his rifle and fires back in the direction of the sound. He turns to Jesse. “Shit. It’s a wash,” he says with irritation.
Jesse nods. “I’mma go grab the horses,” he replies. Cole nods in agreement as Jesse starts for the alleyway across the street. Before he can take more than 5 steps, he and Cole have to duck down as more bullets whiz past their ears. Clell, Jim, and Bill take cover.
Cole opens the bank door and tells the others, “Hurry the hell up and get out!” Then he takes cover behind a couple of crates as Jesse hits the street at a dead sprint. He, Jim, Clell, and Bill can only draw so much fire before shit goes belly-up. Frank needs to move.
Seemingly in response to his thoughts, Cole hears a thud . He looks over and Clell Miller is on the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead. Cole scans the street and sees anger on the faces of his comrades. He then spots a man poking a rifle barrel out of a window above the hardware store across the street. You son of a bitch. He takes aim and fires back with hate in his heart. The bullet misses its target, but does find the window frame, spraying glass and wood splinters in the man’s face. That’ll give him something to think about for a while, at least.
“Is he dead?” Bill asks from behind Cole. Cole looks at Clell’s blood-covered face, then turns to Bill.
“He got shot in the damn head, what the hell do you think?” Cole responds angrily. The gun battle rages more intensely as more townspeople show up to join the melee. Where the hell is that jackass with the damn horses, and what’s taking Frank so damn long? Cole knows he has put too much trust in the James brothers.
Suddenly, a man bolts out from the front door. Jim shoots him in the shoulder with his pistol. The force of the impact throws the man onto his face, sliding to a stop halfway into the street. “That’s it, I’ve had it!” Cole yells at Jim. He stands up as bullets fly around him. He throws the door to the bank open and steps inside.
“Hurry up, dammit, it’s gone t’shit!” Cole yells. “Clell’s dead.” Bob and Charlie hold a couple men at gunpoint on one side of the room while Frank grinds his pistol into a cashier's head on the other.
“Says he can’t open the safe,” Frank shouts over the noise, not taking his eyes off the cashier. For the love of Christ, you had one goddamn job, Frank James.
Jim calls from behind Cole, “Let’s go boys! Jesse’s here with the horses! We need to ride!” Frank scoffs at the teller and shoves his pistol barrel into the man’s skull one more time before hurdling the counter. The teller leans forward against the counter as Charlie and Bob exit the bank. Cole grips the rifle in his left hand with white knuckles.
Just as Frank steps next to him, Cole briefly considers clubbing him over the head, but thinks better of it. Frank nudges him as a quiet prayer comes from the counter. “Snap out of it, let’s get a move on,” Frank tells him.
“One more thing,” Cole responds, gripping the barrel of his rifle in his left hand with white knuckles. He draws his pistol and shoots the teller right in between the eyes. The teller slumps over the counter and slides behind it as the other two bank employees gasp and begin screaming.
“What the hell was that?!” Frank asks in stunned confusion. Cole calmly holsters his sidearm. It was either Frank or the teller. He turns and walks out. Outside, the gang weave between shots and mount their horses quickly.