One hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Sterling. Sitting on her dresser, in tight little wads of cash. One hundred and eighty thousand pounds is a lot of money. Hell, before today, one thousand was the absolute maximum I had seen in any one place at one time, and that was in the hands of Stu, the dealer, and he was just flashing it around to show off. One hundred eighty thousand? It damn near crowded everything else off the dresser. And she was just, what, going to leave it there?

"Where's this from?" I asked.

"You know where it's from."

I paused for a moment. Because I did know. Stu. Or one of Stu's friends. And when he found out, or when they found out, they were going to take a ball-peen hammer to her skull, or mete out some other punishment fittingly medieval.

"You're just going to leave it out like that?"

"Why not? I like how it looks. Last night, I spread it out over the bed and slept on it."

Bunched up wads of twenty pound notes. Tied in little rubber bands. One hundred and eighty of them. I had to get away from this bitch, or the dealers were going to think I was in on it. I had to get away. Far away.

But not before I knicked about five or six of those fuckers. Or ten. More like a hundred. Hell, I was staying. For now.


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Gone Awry over 13 years ago

Very good. I hope that woman doesn't get murdered

rtperson (joined almost 14 years ago)

3 favorites

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