Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
He was actually taking a broken-down truck from a woman with thirty-nine million dollars in the bank.
I reached into my jeans pocket and took out the metal ring.
“You’ll need to pump the gas pedal twice before you turn it,” I said.
I dropped the keys into his palm.
Arthur closed his fist.
He didn’t say thank you.
He walked over to the driver’s side of my pickup, pulled the handle, and climbed in.
He put the key in the ignition and pumped the gas pedal.
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