Duffel Bags & Drugs
“Henry, where did this come from?” Gwen asked as we unloaded the luggage from the back of the Jeep. “This bag wasn’t here when we left home.”
“Oh!” I said remembering the bright floral patterned bag, “I got that from a guy in Des Moines.”
“We didn’t stop anywhere you could buy things, Henry.”
“He asked if I wanted it at a rest stop, and would you just look at it? It’s beautiful.” I said pulling a bag from the back seat.
“There’s stuff in the bag?” Gwen said pulling it out and setting it on the curb, “Did you know this guy?”
“I’m telling you, the guy was a complete stranger, just walked up and gave me the bag,” I said shrugging.
“Did you open it?”
“Why would I open it? I don’t need anything in it.” I replied.
“Henry, this is how people get killed,” Gwen said feeling the contents of the bag through the outside. “Especially people like us…”
“It’s fine,” I said walking over to the bag and pulling the zipper. Gwen jumped back, shielding her face. I watched as ten blocks of something fell out of the bag. “That’s weird…”
Gwen uncovered her eyes, “You dumb son-of-a-bitch. Do you know what that is?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t say it was weird, would I?”
“You’ve got at least fifteen blocks of heroin in there,” Gwen said, “Someone is definitely looking for it…”
I rummaged around in the bag for a moment, feeling something small, hard, and plastic. “I’ve got something,” I said pulling a black box out of the bag. “It’s got a little light on it.”
“Mother fucker,” Gwen muttered as the sound of tires screeching came from a few blocks away. “I’ll get the guns, you talk to them…”
“Can I keep the bag though?” I asked, “It really is pretty.”
“Henry, I’m getting close to shooting you myself…” she said as she cocked her pistol.