The Original Survivors Bluechip Kindle Edition
“This is a really big deal, Ed. As in a million plus, you see?” Ben asked.
“Sure,” Ed said. “I get it. Well, you mean a million plus as in more than a million dollars?” he asked.
Ben laughed. “Yeah, more than a million, Ed: These guys, well, I don’t know these guys. They’re really just hired flunkies. Pick up the stuff; drive it from point A to point B, that kind of thing. They’re probably not professionals. So we’ll have to make up for that by maintaining our own professional standards, Ed. We’ll just be cold: Aloof, removed. No laughing if they crack a joke. No small talk at all.” He handed Ed one of the flat black 9 mm guns. The one he had shoved under the front seat.
Ed looked it over. “Grips broken?” he asked. He fingered the tape that wound around them.
“No,” Ben told him. “That’s friction tape, stops them from getting prints… Most of the time at least. It’s what I call a throw away gun. Cheap, doctored up with tape in case I do have to toss it and I don’t have time to wipe it. Ground down serial number. Here’s a spare clip.” He handed him a clip. “The one in that gun is full, and there’s one in the chamber. I do that by putting one in the chamber then ejecting the clip and replacing that one in the clip. Then put the clip back in. Sometimes an extra bullet can mean a lot. All you need to do is flick off the safety, aim and shoot… You got that, Ed?” Ben asked.
“Yeah… Yeah… I do,” Ed agreed. He looked nervous. “Do you think we’ll have to shoot, Ben?”
“Sometimes… You can shoot, right?” Ben asked. He knew he owned a 9 mm and that he had taken a weapons class in Syracuse a few years back. He had carried a sidearm and had, had to train on a rifle when he was in the service. He had checked all of that out. He also knew he was a poor shot. Myopic, and even with his thick glasses his depth perception, which was critical to accuracy, was bad.
“Sure, sure, it’s just been a while,” Ed said.
“Just make sure you don’t shoot me, or yourself,” Ben said.
They were at the lookout in the park standing near the trunk of the car waiting for the other car. It could be a few minutes, maybe as much as an hour, Ben thought.
Ed nodded. “I won’t,” he said, unsmiling.
Ben had no idea what to expect. He knew what they were driving, but he had no idea how far out they were, all Tommy had told him was the make and model, a big silver-blue Toyota, and their names. They had picked up the stuff in Brownsville earlier that morning, and they were on the way. He popped the trunk lid and snapped open the catches on the big brown suitcase. Neat rows of bills: All hundreds. Ed whistled.
Ben removed one of the stacks, set it aside and closed the case. “Your pay,” Ben told him.
“How much is that?” Ed asked. His eyes were a little bugged out. He’d never seen that much money anywhere. Not even in gangster movies, which were his favorite kinds of flicks. It was a lot of money.
“Eighty thousand dollars per stack,” Ben told him.
“You’re kidding? I’m making eighty thousand dollars for this deal?” he asked.
Ben smiled and nodded. “I told you it was big.”
“Yeah,” Ed smiled. His mind was thinking about all the things he could buy with eighty thousand dollars.
Ben’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, looked at the caller ID window and turned to Ed. “It’s my boss, I’ll have to take it,” he said. He walked away leaving Ed to his thoughts and answered the phone…
Amazon Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1549541110
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