Follow the exploits of two outlaws as they navigate a partnership fraught with danger while attempting the heist of their lives.

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   Jeremiah set the book aside, and wiped a sleeve across his aching eyes. They’d been doing little but waiting here for days now, looking for an angle on their current job. It was enough to put a man out.

   Luckily, his partner, Jess, had achieved some success on her side of the operation. If he’d correctly interpreted the scrawl left on last night’s dinner napkin, then Jess would be returning to the hideout any time, and with her a key. One that could smooth this whole operation like a fresh layer of mud.

   Jeremiah leaned through the window and spat out dirt, with a touch of saliva to it. He really hated the desert. Sand in his eyes, mouth, nose, and every other god forsaken place. He’d been born in this desert, and he’d been trying to find a way out ever since.

   The floor creaked beneath him, as he leaned back in the rocker, tilted his hat to leave one eye gazing out the window, and settled in for a good doze. His left hand twitched, moving almost imperceptibly closer to the revolver on his hip. With a grunt Jeremiah wiggled about until he was fully comfortable, the old rocking chair barely holding together under his weight.

   Just as he’d finally sunken into the right kind of sleep the downstairs door made deafening sound; slamming open and rebounding off of the wall. That’d be Jess. Jeremiah settled even deeper into the chair, stretching its tolerance to the limit. A muffled yell followed by a meaty thud echoed up the staircase. A cruel smile stretched across his otherwise serene face. That’d be the key.

   A thin, fancy dressed fellow marched, stiff legged, up the stairs, and into the room where Jeremiah was keeping an eye out. A bag covered his head. A top hat, worse for wear, was resting precariously atop that.

   “Can he talk, or did you knock all his teeth out like the last one?”

   “That last one didn’t know a thing worth hearing, and plenty that wasn’t. I did the world a favor.”

   The voice addressing him was an incomprehensible blend of soft feathers and indomitable will. The voice was coming from a short woman standing behind the hatted fellow. She was holding a shotgun to his back in a relaxed, but somehow eager manner. Jeremiah always found Jess to be a creature of paradox. She’d even taught him that word, and what it meant. Which was a good example, because she was always harping on about how he needed to learn things for himself. She might be cruel and distant, but she was a good teacher.

   “So, that means yes?”

   “Find out for yourself.” Jess gave the man a rough shove with the shotgun, sending him toppling to the floor. He fell clumsily, typical. Of course, Jeremiah figured that might have something to do with how Jess had tied the man’s hands.

   “You got a name fancy man?”