Page 32 of Duke
I grabbed the dead dude by the ankles, hauled him into the bathroom, and heaved him into the tub, keeping his pistol.
No point in covering the bloodstain on the carpet, so I left that alone. I went into the kitchen, then over to the fridge. It was off, unplugged, and chained and padlocked. Weird, but it served a purpose. The padlock was biometric, like all the other important locks in this place—I couldn’t put a fancy lock on the front door, and there wasn’t a point anyway, because even if they got in, they weren’t leaving with anything valuable. I put my thumb to the pad, which flashed green, and the hasp popped open. Inside the fridge, instead of shelving and food, there were six black duffel bags stacked on top of each other, each containing stacks of cash.
Yeah, I had a bank account, but I only kept enough in there to pay bills and look legit to anyone who might go sniffing after me. My real bank was kept here, in this fridge, which wasn’t a normal fridge. Old school, heavy as fuck, lead insulated, solid steel, and just about indestructible. Even if this entire building burned down, my cash stash would survive.
I snagged one of the bags, unzipped it just to appreciate the stacks of green, and then re-zipped it. Closed and locked the fridge, hoping against hope that if this place got raided by the boys in blue they wouldn’t think to check the strange, out of place, heavily locked refrigerator. But that was a faint hope, especially if they got a look at my weapons collection.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. “Dan? I heard—I heard...it sounded like gunshots, and—”
Old Bruce, doing his job, damn him.
I cracked open the door. “Had the TV on too loud, buddy. Nothing to worry about.”
He tried to peer past me. “You sure? It sounded like—”
“New surround sound system,” I explained. “Didn’t realize how loud it was, I guess.”
Bruce eyed me suspiciously. “Well, all right. Keep it down, yeah? I had a couple complaints.” His expression knowing, then. “The complaints mentioned some screaming, too.”
I winked at him. “Yeah, well, you know how it is.”
He snorted. “Not so much anymore, unfortunately.” He grinned at me, then, and ambled away. “Just keep it down, Dan.”
“You got it,” I said, and closed the door.
I carried the duffel bag into the bedroom, where Temple was wandering from case to case, examining my guns.
She picked up the stuffed tiger and examined it. “This seems oddly sentimental for a guy like you, Duke.”
I took it from her, a little brusquely, and shoved it into the duffel bag. “It was a foster brother’s. Good kid.” I fingered the button eye. “Leukemia. Didn’t make it.”
Temple didn’t comment, but I saw her realizing that I might be more than just a hard-ass fuckboy commando. Like, hey, I might just have real feelings in me, somewhere. Weird, right?
I grabbed the HK and stuffed it into the duffel and transferred all the magazines I had in my pockets, which lightened things considerably. I added an extra pair of Berettas and extra mags for those, and fuck it, may as well toss in a flashbang or two—you never knew when those would come in handy.
I hefted the bag, testing the weight of it, and decided I’d better call it good.
Temple was staring at me. “Um.”
I stared back. “What?”
“You have an actual duffel bag full of cash?”
I shrugged. “I have several. Why? Is that weird?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Yes. Most people…oh I don’t know…use banks?”
I snorted. “Fuck the banks. Banks are bullshit. I don’t trust any institution, let alone ones who handle other people’s money for profit. My money is my money, and I don’t want to have to deal with asshole bankers to get at it. Plus, there’s just something satisfying about a bag full of hundos, know what I mean? Also, who’s gonna rob me?”
She bobbled her head side to side. “I see your point.” A sarcastic eye roll then. “Do you have a stack of fake passports too?”
“Holy shit! I can’t believe I almost forgot those!” I dropped the bag and pointed at her. “Good call, Fancy.”
I left the door open and ducked across the hall and into the bathroom, lifted the lid off the toilet and fished out the triple-bagged, sealed, and waterproof bundle of IDs, went back into the bedroom, shaking excess water off the bundle before wiping it dry on the front of my shorts.
Temple had three fingertips pressed against her forehead, staring at me in disbelief. “That was sarcasm, actually.”
I laughed. “Yeah, well, a high-end fake passport is expensive as fuck and hard as hell to get hold of, so I ain’t about to leave these here for the cops to find. The guns, my cash, I can deal with the loss. It’s gonna hurt, but I can deal. My fakes? Oh hell no. Cost me several hundred grand and a bunch of favors to procure these, and they’re always useful.”