Blood Money

Maya had never seen a million dollars. She certainly had never seen two.

The bag was packed tight with bricks of hundred-dollar bills. It smelled of ink and old basement air.

"Two million," Dario said, his voice gaining a frantic edge. "Cash. Untraceable."

Maya stared at it. It was grotesque. It was mesmerizing. That bag was her mother’s medical bills paid a thousand times over. It was a house with insulation. It was art school. It was a life where she didn't have to count pennies at the grocery store.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"The Moretti family," Dario said. "My employers. They were moving it to an offshore account. I intercepted the courier."

"You stole from the mob?" Maya laughed, a high, hysterical sound. "Dario, you're a dead man."

"Not if we disappear," he said. He reached out, his bloody hand grabbing hers. "Maya, listen to me. This money... it's for us. We can go to Mexico. I know a guy in Baja. We can buy a place on the beach. No snow. No winter. Just sun."

"Us?" Maya pulled her hand away. "There is no 'us,' Dario. You left."

"I came back!"

"You came back because you were shot!"

"I came back because I have the means to save you now!" Dario shouted, then winced, clutching his side. "Look at you, Maya. Look at your hands. They're chapped raw. You look tired. You look like you're drowning in this town. Let me save you."

Maya looked at her hands. He was right. She was drowning. She was twenty-eight years old and she felt fifty. The poverty was a slow-motion car crash she couldn't escape.

She looked at the money. Mexico. Sun. Warmth.

"They'll come for it," she said softly.

"They don't know where I am," Dario lied. She caught the flicker in his eyes, but she wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him. "I switched cars three times. I tossed my phone. We just need to wait out the storm. Tomorrow night, we drive south."

"I need antibiotics," Maya said suddenly. "The wound... it's going to fester. I have some at the trailer. Leftover from Mom."

"Is it safe?"

"The roads are bad, but the plow trucks won't be out until morning. I can make it."

Dario zipped up the bag. "Be careful. If you see anything... black SUVs, out-of-state plates... you turn around."

"I know the back roads," Maya said. "I'll be back in an hour."

She turned to leave.

"Maya," Dario called out.

She stopped in the doorway.

"I missed you," he said.

Maya didn't answer. She couldn't. Because she missed him too, and that terrified her more than the gun.