The Box by Jeremy Brown (ebook reader with built in dictionary TXT) 📗

A typical day would have him in the gym right about now, or at the spa, in the sauna or getting a massage, then getting his hair and beard taken care of. He dyed them both black to hide the flecks of gray creeping in. He liked the look of it, dark and dangerous and Connelly relished giving him endless shit about it.

But Rison could take it and play along. Connelly was clever but not cruel about busting chops, and even though Rison assumed Bruder thought he was a fool for caring so much about his appearance he never mentioned it.

He told himself this stress and third-world existence was temporary, and soon enough he’d be back in Vegas getting his espresso and fresh fruit juice as he left the spa, headed for the pool or the tables based on how things were going.

He glared at the TV and scanner, willing them to provide clarity.

This whole job was his idea, and something had gone horribly wrong.

Connelly threw the turkey hunting parka on over his coveralls and carried the rifle back toward the road.

The parka had a pattern of white and tan and gray strokes to blend in with a variety of cold-weather backdrops.

Connelly looked at his surroundings, then checked the parka, and decided Iowa was solidly within the palette.

He kept to the two-track until the final turn, then stepped off into the woods on the right side and picked his way through the scrub brush and vines, surprised to see some of the stuff still had small green leaves this time of year.

He spotted a deadfall off to his left a bit and went that way. It had a ragged stump as high as his chest and a mess of branches and bent saplings in the crook between the stump and fallen trunk. He looked back toward the two-track, maybe twenty yards away, and liked it.

He was at one corner of a rough square, with the intersection of the road and two-track at the opposite corner. The deadfall would shield him from any traffic coming from the south, back toward town, and the camouflage and underbrush would be enough to hide him from anyone coming from the north, if he could hold still.

Connelly kicked his way into the spot, not caring about noise since the only other living creature he could see was a crow eyeballing him from the branches of a barren tree and sat down in the snow with his back to the stump.

He waited for the cold and wet ground to seep through his clothes, but it didn’t happen.

Impressed by the canvas coveralls, he pulled his balaclava up to keep his face warm and hide the steam from his breath. Then he made sure the AR-15 was on safe and tucked it under the parka so it wouldn’t make a hard black profile and ruin his fine little nest.

Bruder mostly stayed out of the way and listened for trouble while Kershaw checked the remaining explosive charges and got them ready to use as perimeter defenses.

He was finishing with the second one when Bruder had a thought while staring at the duffel bags of money.

“Hold on,” he said.

He dragged one of the bags out and dropped it near the open tailgate, then pulled on another.

Kershaw stepped back, confused.

“I thought we were leaving them loaded.”

“That was assuming we’re driving out of here,” Bruder said.

He made a base layer of bags and stacked them in a tight ring, making a tower as high as his knee. He pointed at the hollow core.

“Put the third charge there.”

Kershaw frowned at him.

Bruder said, “If it comes down to it, the Romanians might care more about getting the money than us. The remote for this charge might be our only way out of here.”

“You think it’ll get to that point?”

Bruder shrugged.

“They responded a lot faster than we expected. There’s no point in having any expectations going forward, just contingencies.”

Kershaw blew air out of puffed cheeks, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, then set the small satchel of explosives in the center of the bags.

Bruder set the rest of the bags on top to tamp the explosion and make sure it destroyed as much of the cash as possible.

They both stepped back and looked at the dome of mismatched bags.

There were twelve of them, each one more than half full of cash.

“How much you think?” Kershaw said.

Bruder reached down and unzipped the closest bag. He could see banded stacks of twenties and fifties, with a few stacks of hundreds peeking out.

He closed the bag and surveyed the pile again, then shook his head.

“No way to tell until we put it through the counters. Might be the fourteen million we’re expecting. Give or take.”

Kershaw gave a low whistle, then held the remote out for Bruder to take.

“I’d never sleep again if I accidentally blew up fourteen million dollars.”

“Give or take,” Bruder said, and took the remote.

Chapter Three

Six Weeks Earlier

“Fourteen million dollars?” Bruder said.

Rison spread his hands, like he couldn’t be held responsible for the shocking amount.

“Give or take.”

He had called Lola and left a message to have Bruder call him, which led to Bruder flying to Vegas the next day.

They were sitting in the shade of a comped cabana at the Mandalay Bay pool. A DJ played music for the people in and around the pool, all of them drinking and yelling and turning red under the early afternoon sun.

Bruder and Rison sat close enough so they wouldn’t have to shout, but there was no chance of anyone listening in.

Bruder took another Corona out of the ice bucket and used the opener hanging from the bucket’s handle to open it.

“In Iowa?”

Rison nodded.

“Iowa.”

Bruder drank some of the beer and stretched his legs out. It was hot inside the cabana, but the ceiling fan kept the air moving and the sun and colors around the pool were pleasant to look at from behind his sunglasses.

He hadn’t worked since the