Mile Marker 528

I told Frank to kill Elly and pick me up at mile marker 528.

"It's Christmas," he said.

"I know," I said, "it couldn't be helped." He didn't argue. I was impressed until I realized my phone was dead.

My leg had bled a big red spot in the snow. My face was on every screen from Scranton to Oswego so sitting on a goddamned Japanese Flag was not the business. I'd pray to the Gods of point spreads and high cards but the good that had ever done me was here in the duffle Elly had switched out somewhere between lock 2 and lock 3. The duffle bag was bespoke, meant to hold our worst and best-case scenarios over Niagara Falls if need be. US Currency is one gram per bill, regardless of denomination. We didn't know how the Buffet Man kept his ducats, but if it was all in 20's, we were looking at 60,000 to get the recompensary 1.2 million clams. Elly had a second bag made to carry 1200 kilos of white confetti. Talk about prepared. Maybe Frank wasn't gonna make it.

I heard the car before I saw it. Going slow on the packed snow like bubble wrap. One door opened. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. I gotta hide but all I got is paper white as snow where the money should be. I couldn't believe my luck.