John stood in front of the mirror, examining the wound. The subcutaneous armor and bullet hole stitching were completed, and there was a faint pain. The newly treated area had a slight color difference.
"Great job, Doc. Thanks, the anesthetic's got my head spinning. Help me ease these symptoms; I've still got a truckload of spoils to deal with."
The armored car was parked at the storage center, like leaving a funds card on a park bench.
Barry said there's no rush, nothing will happen no matter how long it's left, but John was in a hurry for the new shop's opening. Mr. Vito's retirement party was coming up, needed to quickly handle this trouble.
Ryan crossed his legs, his eyelids drooping, his bald head reflecting in the dimly lit basement, looking at him with a gaze that seemed to say the world and himself had decayed to death.
