“Check your account,” the man said, slipping the parcel into a satchel he wore under a heavy coat.

“Will do.”

You with me, man?

The answer came in the form of a disembodied voice, ringing against my inner ear. Riding shotgun. Money’s in. They got riders too.

Take you this long to figure that out? Hell I pay you for?

“Good enough,” I said, scratching my nose. The exchange hadn’t taken more than a second, and the two gunmen lowered their weapons (snub-barrel smg’s; short and deadly) a hair. “Be seeing you guys.”

With that, I took two quick steps back, then ducked around a corner of the narrow alley, walking swift through the darkness.

That went well, came the voice again.

Yeah. Not all jobs turn to shit. Sometimes things go smooth. They were jumpy, though. Any idea what we were transporting?

First rule: Never ask.

Well, yeah, I thought, a frown putting a deep dent in my high. Ask you again, though. Any idea what it was?

You don’t want to know, Benny.