Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

            Listening to the sound of Leroy's retreating footsteps, I consider my options on what I want to do next.  These two houses will need to be retired from all future operations, and I want to destroy the supply of drugs next door.  My presence here needs to be a painful one that will make an impression on the goons higher up the drug trade pay scale.  I have full faith in my ability to take out the remaining two men next door, and I don't think I'll have too many problems coming up with a creative way to dispose of the drugs (A simple fire in an empty and supposed-to-be-abandoned house should prevent the place from being used in the future and destroy their supply.).  But what about the cash that they have stored here?  What do I do with that?

            My first thought is to just burn it, also.  Drug money is tainted money, and I have no desire to interact with it.  But at the same time, money is money.  And money is something I am desperately running low on right now.  A healthy influx of cash would help me fund my own efforts until I get caught (And most likely killed.   But at least I'll be doing something positive until then.  Better to die making a difference in the world rather than live in obscurity.), and I can put it to good use against these people.

            Plus, if I decide later that the money is too morally tainted to use, then I can always just burn it and move on.  But it will be awfully hard to do this the other way around.   If I burn it first, then I can’t really change my mind later.

            That last argument helps me make up my mind (A mind that is getting increasingly clouded and hard to reign in.  Something is definitely "off".), and I begin moving to track down the stash of cash located somewhere in this dilapidated house.

            The search is a surprisingly short one (Apparently battling against drug-addled idiots has its benefits.) as my nose leads me straight to the bills arranged in mountainous piles on the kitchen table (I wasn't exactly sure what scent I was tracking, but once I isolated the ripe stench of sweat-infused cloth it became considerably easier.  Used money has a very distinct - and nauseating - smell.).  The piles of thin, green rectangles arranged on the broken-down wooden kitchen table are impressive.  I must have caught them at just the right time.  At least judging from the amount of money on the table, I am hoping this is a large amount for them to have.  If this mountain of bills is the result of only a small day in the business, then I might be up against a bigger enterprise than I thought.

            Many of the bills are taped together in small bundles (Not the fancy 'marked' white tape that you see at banks denoting how much is in a stack, though.  These guys were going low-class with just masking tape.  Crude, but effective.) so that should make those piles easier to transport, but not all of them are so carefully bundled.  The vast majority of the bills are just loose and piled. 

            "Well, that's annoying," I say quietly to the table containing my sudden monetary windfall.  "How am I supposed to get all of that out of here?"

            Scooping it up in my arms and just running off with it seems a bit awkward, so I'm going to need something to carry it in.  A quick scan of the kitchen doesn't come up with much aside from a few grease-stained carryout bags from local fast food joints (Drugs and  unhealthy eating habits?  Raise your hand if you're surprised.) and a mostly filled garbage bag pushed into the corner of the room.

            The fast food bags could be plausible, but they don't look like they'll carry much without spilling.  Plus their paper doesn't look very strong, and with my luck they'll just tear open as I'm running home.  The garbage bag could work, but I'd prefer to avoid emptying it of its contents if at all possible (Something tells me my heightened senses would go haywire as soon as they came into contact with anything in that charcoal-colored sack of filth.).