Bishop thought he’d seen it all in his twenty-three years as a hitman, but he’d been wrong. This job was plain nuts, but the money was good so he"d taken it just the same.
Mooney, the stocky dumb-looking sheriff, slid the open case toward him.
“This is half,” Mooney said. “Half now, half after, like we agreed.”
Bishop pulled out a tied stack of bills and fanned through them with his thumb.
“You gonna actually count it?” Mooney asked.
“No,” Bishop said as he put the stack of bills back in their proper spot inside the case. “I’ve got an eye for counting Benjamins. Everything looks square.”
The redheaded waitress, name-tagged Julie, approached their table and refilled their mugs with piping hot coffee. Over the rising steam she met Bishop’s gaze.
“I just want to say thank you,” she sai
