Shaking, you nod. “It’s in the back.” Carefully, you guide them back through the kitchen, past the staring cooks, and open the cooler.
“This better not be no fuckin’ joke,” the leader says, prodding you with the gun.
“No,” you whisper. “The boss believes in cold cash.” You lead them inside.
You can tell the exact instant that they see it.
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” the leader screams. In terror, he empties his pistol into the dark, fleshy mass.
With supernal speed, it coils around all three of the thugs. As if in a nightmare, you see two of the dark tendrils headed for you.
Do you have the coins?
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