@silverf0xes // jack for daniel
There was a reason people didn't rob banks often anymore. Most people weren't smart or patient enough to pull it off properly. Evidently, there was always one God's Perfect Idiot who would go out of their way to be the rule, not the exception.
Two other people, barring the justifiably terrified teller, in the immediate area. Neither in the room, last he checked. His plane for London was leaving in three hours and he intended to be on it, rather than suffering through a pointless siege in a bank.
"Ten years." The gun was just far away enough from the side of his head to catch the filed off serial number. "They add as much as they can, an unregistered firearm adds ten." If you were going to go to the effort of robbing a bank, of all places, it was sheer laziness and stupidity not to plan it out properly.
You brought a registered gun, for which you had a license. You didn't use it. You were prepared to go to prison, for the least amount of time possible. You made sure you could realistically disappear in a world where it was actually incredibly difficult to manage successfully.
Using the jarring moment, he took a quick step backwards. The gun was fired-- of course it was, and the small caliber bullet didn't make it through the plexiglass. It meant he had a second to move, and destabilize the mans ankle; his head following into the counter without Jack having to touch the gun or much else and leave fingerprints behind to be hassled about later.