Handsome Harry Read Online Free PDF

on the shamelessness of young girls today. When she hung the clothes on the outdoor line, she’d work with her back to the garage, and each time she bent to get another piece of laundry from the basket the shorts rode up high and snug on that perfect little bottom and I’d feel my dick take a deep breath. She always knew I was watching—I knew she did because she’d never even glance toward my window. On the days when she did housecleaning she’d wear one of Earl’s old shirts that was so big on her the tails reached almost to her knees and I had to wonder if shewas wearing shorts underneath or just her underpants. She’d always leave the top buttons of the shirt undone, and whenever I’d hear the screen door screech open I’d go to the window and watch as she leaned over the porch rail and shook out the dust mop. The shirt would bag wide open and even at that distance I’d catch glimpses of her small round tits. As she damn well knew I would.
    She was sixteen going on thirty is what she was.
    One laundry day she didn’t show up. When I casually remarked on it to Earl that evening he said she had quit school and taken a fulltime job as a waitress in a café.
     
    M y list had seven banks on it. We discussed the pros and cons of all of them and narrowed the possibilities down one by one and ended up choosing the Mid-State Bank in Marion. It seemed to be doing good business and stood right at the edge of town for an easy getaway. The road out of town went winding through woods and came to intersecting highways not more than two miles beyond the city limits. If anybody came after us and didn’t have us in sight before we hit the intersecting roads, they wouldn’t know for sure which way we’d gone. On top of that, the police force didn’t look like much, and its cars were Model Ts. Whatever car we stole for the job would outrun them easily if they came after us.
    Earl gave his boss at the lumberyard a song and dance about having to appear in traffic court in Anderson on the Friday we were going to pull the heist. On the morning of the big day, I swiped a Lincoln from the south side of town. Earl followed me in his car to Anderson, where we left the Maxwell parked near the edge of town.
    We got to Marion a few minutes before noon. It was sunny and windless and chilly enough so that people’s breath showed like thin smoke. There was a scattering of cars parked at an angle, nose to the curb in front of the bank, and we found a spot close to the building. There wasn’t a cop car in sight. We’d picked the noon hour for thejob because most people, including the cops, would be having dinner, and street traffic would be at its lightest.
    We wore dark glasses and pulled our hat brims low. Even if they saw our faces, nobody in that town knew who we were. All they could do was describe us, and most descriptions fit so many people they’re fairly useless. We checked our pieces and slipped them back into our waistbands, then grinned at each other and I said Let’s do it.
    We went in and pulled our guns and Earl took a position next to the door. In a voice as commanding as if he’d done this a dozen times before, he shouted All right, people, this is a stickup! Stand fast!
    He was tickled pink later when I said he’d sounded so scary I almost put my hands up—just like some of the customers did, although nobody’d told them to do it.
    There were only six or seven citizens in the place, all of them staring at us with their mouths open, including a woman who was wearing what looked like a pot of flowers on her head and stood at the only open window at the teller’s cage. Three guys were waiting in line behind her. They all backed away as I came up and told the woman Pardon me, lady, I’m cutting the line.
    She moved aside and I stepped to the window. The teller was a skinny guy wearing horn-rims and a red visor. I took a folded pillowcase from my coat and shook it open and slid it across the counter through the bars