Veil

17

Andre lingered in the woods behind a plain two-story house, and waited.

He checked his watch. Four o’clock. He’ll be here soon. He opened the briefcase leaning against his leg. Two hundred thousand dollars in crisp counterfeit bills stared back. He closed the case and lit a cigarette.

Two Winstons later, a black Ford Crown Victoria parked in the driveway, and the driver ran inside. Andre put the third smoke back in the pack, checked the area for nosey neighbors, and quickly strode to the back door. Two knocks and the door snatched open. “You’re late comrade.”

“It couldn’t be helped. Come inside.”

Inside, the house looked less impressive than outside.

“You should move up in the world comrade. You’ve certainly earned enough.”

“In due time. Extravagance draws attention I don’t need.” Andre understood, and admired the host’s restraint. “Here’s the money.” He tossed the briefcase and made himself a drink. “Count it if you like.”

“No need. I trust you,” his host said. “And here’s the information you requested.”

He handed Andre a thick folder. The Russian tucked it under his arm and drained his glass.

“Aren’t you going to check it?”

“I trust you too comrade,” said Andre, smiling. “Without trust, what do we have?” They laughed. He hugged his host and left. Back in the woods, he lit another Winston, and hummed a Russian tune.