The Man with One Hand

Scraping By

01:15 Local Time

DD slammed on the breaks with a squeal. He leapt from the driver's seat and yanked the rolling garage door shut. The bang of metal on pavement reverberated against the concrete walls.

He cut the engine and sunk back into the bucket seat, glancing at the bag of money in the passenger seat. There was blood on the edge of the bag. Literal blood money.

Never again. I said that last time I worked for him. I said it the time before. When am I going to learn?

DD rubbed his eyes and locked everything up. The bloody paper bag was dumped into a ratty plastic bag and wrapped up for storage in his leather jacket's inside pocket before exiting the garage space. In an hour the cash would be going straight to the gang controlling the section of sprawl he kept his most treasured possession, his car.

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