In Your Arms

“Not now, Marcus, please. I need to think. Go to a hotel near the airport.”

“Did you kill those men?”

“Yes, Marcus, I killed them. Now, please just let me think for a minute.”

“Why, Yvonne? Why did you kill them?”

“They would have killed me and you too!” Yvonne yelled. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”

“It has something to do with that box, doesn’t it? What have you got me mixed up in?”

“I don’t know, Marcus. I really just don’t know what this is all about.” Yvonne took a deep breath. “Please, Marcus, I’ll tell you everything as soon as we get settled.”

Marcus looked in the rearview mirror again. “Well, it doesn’t look like the police or anybody is following us.” He said, not really sure if he said it to reassure Yvonne or himself.

“This isn’t a movie, Marcus. The police aren’t on our tail.”

He looked at the bag at Yvonne’s feet. She had just killed two men over that bag. Marcus said nothing else as he drove to the Hilton near the airport. As they entered the

hotel Yvonne stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asked.

“Do you have cash?”

“No. I was going to put it on my credit card.”

“No. Let’s go to an ATM.”

“There’s one.” Marcus said, pointing at the ATM in the lobby.

“No. They can track your credit card transactions. Go to a bank; and not one close to here either.”

They left the Hilton and got back in the car. Marcus drove past three bank ATM machines before stopping at a Bank of America. With cash in hand, they returned to the Hilton. Once they got in the room, Marcus went straight to the mini bar. He poured a drink and downed it. He poured another drink.

“I’d like one too, if it’s not too much trouble.” Yvonne lay down on the bed and Marcus brought her a drink. “Thank you, Marcus. And thank you for my rose. It was sweet of you.”

Marcus lit a cigarette and sat down on the bed. “You’re welcome. It’s not every day I give a woman a rose right before she kills somebody.” Marcus posted an uneasy smiled. Yvonne let out a little laugh. “What’s going on, Yvonne?”

“Give me a drag of your cigarette.” Marcus handed Yvonne his cigarette and she inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke.

“I’m a courier, Marcus. Those men were assassins sent to kill me and recover the contents of that bag. There’s a hundred thousand dollars and some papers in there. I don’t know what’s on the papers. It’s in some language, I don’t know which. I think that just about covers it.”

“A courier?”

“I travel to different places and pick up things from one person and deliver them to another.”

“I know what a courier is, Yvonne. Why do you do it? Is it excitement?”

“No, I do it for money.”

“Money?”

“Yes, Marcus, for money. Isn’t that why most people do things?”

“I know that. But you’ve got money.”

“I’m broke, Marcus.”