flipped through it, and extended it to the man. 'Do you want to count 'em all?'
'Damn, that's a lot of bills. Why didn't you use thousand-dollar bills?'
'Because they don't exist.'
'Sure they do.'
'No, actually, they don't.'
The man grabbed the stack of bills from Donald, flipped through it, and handed it back. 'Is that the twenty million?'
'No. Twenty million dollars would be two hundred thousand bills, which is unlikely to fit in this suitcase. This is two million. You get the rest when I see Stanley.' Donald replaced the stack, one of six that was entirely made up of hundreds, and closed the suitcase.
'That wasn't the deal.'
'The deal was vague.'
The man seemed to be thinking about whether it might be worth it to just take the two million and run, so Donald spoke up. 'You take me to get Stanley, and then the three of us can go to where the rest of the money is hidden.'
'How do I know there aren't cops there?'
'If a cop shows up, you can shoot me.'
The man considered that. 'Fair enough.'
'Should I ride with you, or just follow you?'
'You can ride in my trunk.'
Donald sighed. 'All right. Let's go.'
Donald looked horrified as Tom shoved him into the room. 'My God, Stanley, what did they do to you?'
'Shot me in the head, sawed my arm off, let rats nibble on me…but at least there was no mental torture.'
'Glad to see you've kept your sense of humor.'
'Enough talk,' said Tom. 'Hugh, get the corpse guy up and let's get them out to the car. Mandigan, you're going to help carry.'
'Stop shoving,' said Stanley.
'I'm not shoving, I'm being jostled. It's not my fault he can't drive.'
The trunk was not built for two, even with Stanley taking up less room thanks to his missing arm. Donald had protested the arrangement, but the gun that Tom pressed against his nose had apparently convinced him that the discomfort was worth it.
'Were you awake when they did it?' Donald asked.
'Did what?'
'What do you think? Cut off your arm.'
'Sort of. The bullet is still in my brain. It makes me go kinda loopy at times. You took good care of my arm, right?'
'I'm using it as a lamp.'
'Were you always this funny?'
'No. I'm just trying to distract myself from the idea that they might open the trunk and riddle us with bullet holes. Ooops, didn't work.'
'Ha ha.'
'Your arm is in my refrigerator. It looks about as bad as it did before it came off.'
'So why'd you come to get me?'
'Extra fame.'
'No, really.'
'Extra fame.'
'No bond of friendship?'
'Nah. I always thought that you were kind of a jerk, to be honest.'
'I tried not to be, and look where it got me.'
'At least you'll only be able to flip people off half as often.'
'Yeah, there's that.'
'Don't worry, Stanley. We'll be okay. I've got a plan.'
'Good plan or shitty plan?'
'Shitty plan, but that's better than no plan. I've got a gun.'
'You mean the one that fell out when you got in the trunk?'
Stanley couldn't see Donald, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't wearing a smile.
'Are you serious?'
'Yeah.'
'Damn.'
'Yeah.'
'I take it you don't have the rest of the money?'
'I didn't have the money they think they've already got. There's not anywhere close to two million in that suitcase. But I've got a sniper ready and waiting.'
'What if they check the money?'
'They won't.'
'I dunno, that seems like something they might be inclined to do.'
Stanley still couldn't see Donald's expression, but he was pretty sure it continued to not be a smile. 'Well, I hadn't intended to be riding in a trunk. I figured I could keep them from going through the money if I were actively talking to them.'
'So we're screwed.'
'No. They won't be pawing through a suitcase filled with money while they're driving and somebody could see.'
'Are you sure?'
'I'm sixty percent sure.'
The car turned, slowed, and stopped.
'We've only been driving for fifteen minutes or so,' said Donald. 'It should've taken us half an hour.'
'Maybe they stopped for a potty break.'
'Okay, I have a really bad feeling about this all of a sudden,' said Donald, his voice panicked.
'Do you want to use me as a shield if they start shooting?'
'No, seriously, I don't think this is good. Aw, Christ. What the hell was I thinking?'
The lid of the trunk opened. Tom had his gun pointed at them, and did not look happy.
'Get out,' he said. 'Slowly.'
Stanley suddenly felt like he was going to vomit. Fear had a lot to do with it, but it was something more. His skin was starting to itch and burn.
Donald climbed out of the trunk and glanced around. 'This isn't where I told you to-'
The gunshot cut him off. Donald dropped to the ground.
'Shit!' cried Stanley, pushing himself tightly against the back of the trunk as if that would protect him.
'Think you can screw me over?' said Tom, looking down. Stanley couldn't see Donald's body, but he assumed that it was in poor shape. Tom fired twice more, and then pointed the gun at Stanley. 'Get out.'
The itching and burning was almost unbearable. He tried to push himself up…and then his arm gave way, folding underneath him.
He let out a squeal.
