THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #24
WARNING: NEIL'S INTO COMPUTERS AND TYPOS...
“There,” the agent said with a little flourish. He pointed to the screen, and like moths to a flame, the bikers leaned in.
“Ten million dollars?” Big Burley said.
“Ten million?” another chimed in with something akin to a hoot.
“I’ll give you a cut if you help me get rid of the trash.”
Big Burley looked away from the screen. “The trash?” I’m not kidding when when I say like that the guy looked like he’d become a toddler again.
The agent pointed to the window. “The guys in the van?”
“Oh right.” Big Burley straightened up and gave a little cough to clear his throat. “But no cut.”
“No cut. We get all of it.”
Mr. DEA shook his head slowly. “Look, I know you’ve got all the power right now, but if I give you that money, it’s… well, I’m screwed.”
“You should’ve thought about that before dealing with trash. And you lied to us. You said the money was gone a couple minutes ago. And now this?!” the pointed a meaty finger at the screen. “I’d say ten mill pays for your lie.”
Mr. DEA didn’t look so DEA now.
“Fine. But it’s not like I can go to an ATM and pull out some cash.”
“I don’t care,” Big Burley said, poking Mr. DEA in the chest. “You’ve got five minutes. And don’t try any funny business.”
“I’m no comedian,” said Mr. DEA. I would’ve liked him if I wasn’t in such deep crap.
Big Burley and one of his companions stayed while the others filed downstairs.
Mr. DEA had only clicked a couple of buttons when a loud BOOM sounded from outside and the bikers went to the window. Mr. DEA kept clicking away, but looked my way and threw me a wink.
Your soon-to-be hermit,
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