It was a perfect day, but Allen found himself sitting glumly in a diner in the seedy part of Sherwood Park. He was wearing his best shirt, which happened to be bright red, but it turned out that wearing such a color was a mistake. Especially since the gangster Robin Hood had taken over the neighborhood, and everyone knew that a jaunty, forest green were the colors of his crew.
But Allen hadn't thought about any of this, until a giant with dyed green hair and a wiry man with dark shades came in, both wearing leather jackets and green sneakers. Everyone in the bar had moved aside for them, but Allen was so caught up in his own misery that he hadn't even noticed the newcomers--that is, until they sat directly across from him in the booth.
"What are you doin' here, wearing a shirt like that?" the tall man said.
"This is Robin Hood's turf, which makes this Robin Hood's diner, which means you're wearing the wrong colors, kid," said the wiry man.
"Come along, short stuff," the giant said. "You've gotta pay the color tax to the boss himself."
Allen wished to just be left alone, but he knew better than to go against the giant, who had to be Lieutenant "Little John" Little or the wiry man, whose name was Nick and who (in spite of his appearance) was just a teenager.
When they got to Robin Hood's hideout, which was one specific warehouse in an entire neighborhood of abandoned warehouses--like trying to find one specific tree in a vast forest, Allen learned that the elusive Robin Hood was not at all what he was expecting. The man in question was walking the floor of the warehouse, supervising while forty-or-so men and teenagers boxed each other, and he was unremarkable in size or bulk, so he blended in with his foot soldiers.
He had medium-length chestnut brown hair, that probably would have curled a bit had he not put so much product in it. It was combed back to reveal a handsome, elfin face. His bright green eyes somehow signaled mischief and intelligence. He had a spray of freckles across his nose, and charmingly crooked teeth clamped around a wooden toothpick. He, too, wore a leather jacket, but his was a dark forest-green rather than black. He wove through the sparring pairs of men and approached his lieutenant.
"Well, well, Johnny boy. What have we here?" he said with a smile, startling Allen with his British accent.
"He's wearin' red," Little John said, as if that explained it all.
But Robin Hood just shrugged. "What's your name?"
"Allen A. Dale," the man stammered nervously.
"Well, have you got any money for my men and me? I'd be obliged to let you go," the gangster said as he took a seat on an overturned wooden crate.
"No money," Allen said quickly. Too quickly, apparently, as Robin Hood just raised a dark brow and nodded at Nick. The teen grabbed Allen and searched his pockets. He pulled out a gold ring triumphantly and tossed it to Robin Hood.
"Allen, why have you hidden such a treasure from me?" said the gangster, and his tone was charming and airy, but there was an edge of danger laced beneath it that made Allen swallow thickly. All the men had stopped sparring and were now listening to the conversation.
Allen decided it was best to simply tell the truth. "It's a wedding ring, and it was for my girlfriend. I was planning to ask her to marry me but her father told her that we had to break up. I just got back from trying to propose anyway, but her dad answered the door and said that he'd arranged for her to marry his business partner today."
At some point Robin Hood had begun to fidget with a butterfly knife, as if he just needed to have something in his hands. As Allen looked at Robin's impassive expression, he found it easier and easier to just open up to the man. He continued, "And he's a rich guy with three houses and a retirement fund, and I'm just in med school, with three roommates and thousands of dollars worth of debt. She probably would have said 'no' anyway."
Robin Hood regarded him for a moment. Then he stood up and whispered something to Little John before turning back to Allen.
"This may surprise you, gents," he said loudly to the room. "But Robin Hood..." he said, pausing to point the blade at Allen, who paled slightly. "...is a romantic at heart." His men chuckled as he put the knife away and approached Allen slowly, before suddenly clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"I'll get your lady back," he said grandly. Then he sat back down on his crate and fixed Allen with a sly glare. "But I don't work for free."
Allen's stare darted back and forth between the faces of Robin Hood's men and Robin Hood himself. Then he thought about his love, and hardened his stare. He thought he saw surprise in the gangster's eyes.
"I'll be your doctor. I know you can't go to the hospital for some of the injuries you and your crew...acquire...on accident, I'm sure," he said.
Robin Hood just smirked.
"I'll work for you," Allen vowed. "Just please, get her back."
Robin Hood stood and grinned at his crew. He stood and reached into one of the sealed crates behind him, and to Allen's surprise, pulled out an huge Thompson sub-machine gun.
"Merry Men!" Robin Hood called, leaping on to the crate that he had been sitting on just moments before. "Load up," he said, just as Allen was about to reconsider. The other men began to produce various weapons: hand guns, knives of all sizes, bats with nails. One man even had a garrote.
Robin Hood grinned and and replaced his soggy toothpick with a fresh one.
"We're going to a wedding," he declared, and the Merry Men cheered.