Greg handed his revolver to Peter, then reached into the trunk and removed the briefcase full of bills.
He knew he’d been double-crossed when he felt the gun against his kidney.
“Put that case back.”
He did as he was told.
“Give me the keys and get in the trunk.”
Again, Greg complied.
As Peter closed the trunk, he whispered, “Happy Holidays, asshole.”
Greg fumbled around and found his tool box. He retrieved the nine-millimeter semi-automatic that his wife had given him for Christmas. He knew Peter would drive someplace secluded and dark. That would make things much easier.