"Okay, whatever." She said, adjusting her fur coat like she wasn't standing in a cold, empty room with a man who looked like he had crawled straight out of hell. "Just count the money and let me go. I don't have all day."
He stared at her.
Then, suddenly, he laughed. It wasn't humor, it was madness, barely held together by whatever remained of his shattered mind.
"What the hell is so funny?"
"You really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what? That you're some dramatic weirdo who takes his job way too seriously? Jesus, I don't care. Just sign whatever papers I need and let me out of here."
"You walked in here thinking you could just take the money and go." Ferucci shook his head.
"Well, yeah. That was the deal. I pack the bags, you sign off on it, and I get the hell out of here. Simple."
"Simple?"
Then, in a single motion, he reached inside his jacket and placed a gun on the table.
