“Oh.” Samantha closed the oversized bank bag just as quickly as she’d opened it.
Raymond turned from the bloody body splayed across the white sofa with its mouth agape and a stiffly wadded up hundred dollar bill protruding from its jugular. “What is it?”
Making a face, Samantha opened the bag again, and pulled something out, pinched between her gloved index finger and thumb. “A bag of toes.” She bit her lips together for a moment, contemplating the bag. “Eleven of them.” She looked in the bag. “And rest is quarters. Hundreds of them. Covered in coke. Or anthrax.”
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