Money Bags

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Money bags...

littered the back seat of the black Studebaker. There must have been a dozen, from what I could tell. I crouched down beside the car and tried the passenger door handle. It was unlocked.

The Tailor was inside the convenience store. He was holding another bag, like the ones in the back seat. From behind the counter, the store owner took two huge stacks of money, and handed them to the Tailor. There was a look of frustration on the goons ugly mug. He stuffed the two stacks of greenbacks into the sack, then held out an empty hand.

He wanted more.

The owner shook his head. Either he didn't have it, or he wasn't gonna give it. Neither of those were a good thing. Judging by the firm, jutting set of his chin, I'd say it was the latter. He had decided to take a stand. It was a dumb move. Admirable, but dumb. It was the kind of thing you did when you were read to buy the farm. However, the owner didn't look edgy.

See, a man can only be pushed so far. He can only give so much. Only willing to let so much be taken from him, before he is forced to take a stand. Seems like the convenience store owner had decided it was time.

The Tailor glared. When the owner didn't budge, the Tailor shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and turned towards the door.

Yep, it was bad. Most thugs would have broken something, taken something, trashed the place. The fact that the Tailor simply walked out the door meant that someone, probably the Suit, had him on a short leash. No, the owner would get what was coming, and it would be something very unpleasant.

The Tailor crossed the lot to the black Studebaker, opened the door and tossed the sack over the seat. From what he could tell, there was nothing in the back...

Except a dozen money bags.

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