[ WP ] A man brings a gun to a bank . Do anything you please onwards .

`` Can you put this into a safety deposit box?'' 
 
 That was the first thing he said after my standard greeting. He then produced what can only be called the most sad piece of beautiful equipment I've ever seen. An old ivory handled Smith & Wesson.45. 
 Beat up, dinged, chips missing from the ivory, obviously well used, but not well cared for. 
 
 `` We sure can sir.'' Comes my chipper reply `` We have modest fees on out safety boxes starting from-'' 
 
 `` Oh, you ca n't just store it for me?'' Interrupts the sad looking old man. 
 
 I look at him, as if for the first time, His shoulder cut, white hair hanging, just this side of bedraggled. His jean jacket, patched, and maybe a little sooty. Blue eyes faded into grey with age. 
 
 `` Sorry sir, we have no free storage policy, but we do have a long term deposit plan for very little.'' 
 
 `` I suppose I could manage that then, y'see this is supposed to be a family heirloom, but I've got no one to give it to yet.'' 
 
 Not being very interested in talk of heirlooms, or other conversations that might make the day drag longer than it has, I respond with a short `` Well, that's really too bad. But we can store it for quite some time, If you'll look over these figures,'' and I turn to print out the policy sheets for storage containers. 
 
 `` Yeah'' His raspy voice comes from across the counter `` it is too bad.'' 
 
 `` Hmm?'' I quip, oblivious to the look in his eyes. 
 
 `` It's really too bad I have n't found anyone yet. This little beauty has helped me out of my share of scrapes. Though it did n't help my mother, when Pa got too drunk one night.'' 
 
 Shocked into conversation by this dark piece of reality I start and look at the man again. Something in my face must have conveyed something to him because he smiled a tired old smile, the one with no real happiness in it. 
 
 `` Do n't worry yourself about that though, that was a long time back now.'' 
 
 `` I'm sorry, even still sir.'' 
 
 He shakes his head and asks for the security sheets and a box small enough for the piece. I dig them up, and wait for the printer to finish with the sheets. As I wait, back turned to the man, I hear him asking my co-workers something. I ca n't make out what over the noise of the printer, and other customers, but it could n't have been too important, or he would have waited for me to come back, I figure. 
 
 I return with his sheets and the box. `` Alright sir, Here's your box, and the information on the security sheets. Anything else I can do for you?'' 
 
 `` Well, you could tell me your name. I like knowing who I'm dealing with when I talk to them.'' 
 
 Officially we're not supposed to give out last names, but I figure I've given exemplary service, and he's older, so it could n't hurt. 
 
 `` Darcy. Darcy McKormick, sir.'' 
 
 `` Thanks, I'll need a few minutes to look these over.'' He smiles that tired smile again, and shuffles over to the lounge area with one of our complimentary pens. 
 
 I handle a few other customers in the next 45 minutes before he stands up again, box all sealed up, under his arm, and turns to me. Currently I was n't helping anyone so I wave him over. He shuffles over to the counter again. `` Is there anything I could help you with sir?'' I ask, hoping he'll send my manager a nice review for me. `` Questions I could answer?'' 
 
 `` No, I understand now. If you could put this into one of those XK8 boxes you have in the back, I'll pay for the storage.'' He indicates our lowest price safety box, and I nod. `` I'll get right on that, sir. How are we paying? Do you have an account with us?'' 
 
 He laughs and says `` No, nothing of the sort, I'll pay in cash,'' and pulls out a small wad of wrinkled old bills. I recognize some from their colours, faded from brown to grey-brown, and red to a strange reddish orange. He counts out the requisite bills, and waves as he stumps his way over to the door. I put the cash in the drawer and move to take the box to the back, but his motions stop me. Standing at the door, he watches me move, and a sad smile crosses his eyes. Then he is gone. Out into the fading light. I put the box in the safety deposit and think nothing of his strange last seconds in the door. Less than an hour later we close up for the night. 
 
 Months later a notice comes through the office mail. I should report to the VPs office. Not sure of what it could be, I swiftly make the dozen steps to the office. Closing the door and sitting down, I wonder what could require a meeting. Promotion? Probably not. Maybe a commendation, or it could be someone has complained. It only takes a moment though for the VP to put down her phone, and turn to me. 
 
 
 `` Darce,'' of course she uses my dreaded short form `` You know about our policy on family members right?'' 
 
 `` Uh, Yeah, I suppose I do...'' I all but mutter, thinking back on it. Never having family to use the policy has caused it to become somewhat obscure to me. 
 
 `` I see. Maybe you can explain, then, why there is a Mr McKormick with a full priced safety box here? Seems he was entered by you.'' 
 
 Thinking back I reply `` I do n't remember, definitely no relation of mine, though.'' 
 
 `` Hmmm,'' she says, `` Well at least that's good. Says here that the box is yours now, though.'' She slides a sheet over the desktop to me. 
 
 I look down and read `` The last Will and Testament of Franklin McKormick.'' Amongst the legalese, it says the safety box is mine, right enough. `` Oh.'' is all I can think of. 
 
 `` Well, it seems pretty cut and dried. You know all about our policies regarding transfers and such, correct? If you'll get that transferred to your account as soon as possible.'' She turns to her computer screen, obviously done with the conversation. 
 
 I leave, and return to my wicket, but my curiosity overcomes me, and I head past it and go to the safety box room. Unlocking'my' container, and removing the box, I open it and find a short note inside. 
 
 `` Kid, like I said, this kept me out of a few scrapes, and I've got no one else to give it to. You might be able to keep yourself safe with it now, Like I did, all those years ago. Do n't wind up like me though. Find someone who will give you someone to hand this down to.'' 
 
 I'm touched, and I lift my new gun from it's box, and check the chambers. Rolled up and stuck in one is the small flyer to a gun repair shop, and scribbled on the back are the words `` she deserves to be pretty'' 
 
 I smile, tuck the gun back into the box, and head back to work thinking, `` Indeed she does.''
