Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
“Trouble doesn’t ask.” She handed back the receipt.
Her pen tapped twice.
“I can’t help you if you lie to me.
Keep that where I can see it if I come back.”
“When?”
“That’s the point of a surprise.” She stopped at the door.
“If you’re poking at a bank box, do it legally.”
She left the door open a hand’s width.