The brown haired man awoke excruciating slowly and painfully, straining to
break the seal of crud that had formed overnight between his eyelids.
"Where am I?" He thought to himself as he tried to sit up.
He successfully opened his eyes to the very blurry sight of a run-down motel room. A second wave of dull pain hit him, producing a screaming headache.
Grabbing his head, he extracted himself from the starchy motel sheets, and made his way to what appeared to be the sink.
"Shit!" He cursed as he knocked over an end table. Empty beer and liquor bottles crashed to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Grumbling, he made his way to the sink, where he promptly turned on the faucets and splashed cold water onto his face. He dried himself and looked into the mirror. Something moved on the bed. Quickly, he spun around and laid eyes on the moving lump on the bed.
"Who the hell are you?"
The lump quit moving for a second before a blonde haired head appeared above the sheets.
A woman.
"What?" She asked groggily, rubbing her eyes.
"Why am I in a motel? And who the hell are you?" The man asked, confused.
"Good morning to you, too." She said as she pushed several unruly strands of hair from her face.
The man's brown eyes laid to rest on several articles of clothing scattered all over the stained carpet. Quickly, he snatched up his clothing and began to put them on.
"Do I know you?" He said, busying himself with his belt, "Do I owe you any money?"
The attractive blonde also got up from the bed and began to dress herself.
"You can't remember? You must've really been drunk." She said, sounding slightly angry at his last remark.
"Sorry, can't remember." He said, buttoning up his dark blue shirt.
"Elizabeth. Liz . . . we met at a bar last night."
The man stood there for a while, thinking, before snapping his fingers.
"That's right...I remember now, we played pool, then we had some drinks, and then..." He said, eyeing the bed.
"Yeah..."
An awkward moment prevailed in the dingy motel room before Liz stood up and walked to the mirror. Extracting a brush, she quickly brushed her blonde hair back into a short ponytail. Liz's green eyes then shifted towards the door.
"Listen, I need to get going...can I get a ride?" She asked.
Daniel Richter reached for his leather jacket and found his personal sidearm underneath. The Berretta handgun shone dully before he slipped it into his waistband and covered it with jacket.
"Yeah, come on..." Dan replied.
Elizabeth Blackwell grabbed her coat and followed him through the door. Dan swore as the bright sunlight hit his eyes, worsening his headache.
"You got any aspirin or something? My head's killing me." He asked, shielding his eyes.
"No." Liz said as they walked down the stairs to the motel's oil stained parking lot.
Dan shook his head and continued to his car, parked in the parking lot. He walked across the lot to a 1964 Chevrolet Impala. He slid inside and unlocked the passenger side's door. A moment later, Liz entered and buckled herself in. The muscle car roared to life as he turned the key. Dan depressed the brake pedal and shifted the car into drive, then peeled out as they left the near empty parking lot.
"Where do I drop you off?" He asked, simultaniously driving and lighting a cigarette.
Liz crossed her arms over her ample breasts.
"Zaibatsu Italian Restaurant." She replied.
"No shit? That's where I'm headed." He said, taking a drag on his cigarette." So, what's your business there?"
"I've got a meeting with the owner." She said," You know those are bad for you." Liz continued, pointing to his lit cigarette.
"I don't give a fuck...anyway, what are you, a waitress?" Dan asked as he flicked his cigarette out of the window and onto the busy streets of Liberty City.
"Something like that. Why are you going?" Liz asked, eyeing him curiously.
"I just gotta take care of something. Nothing much else." Dan said as he turned left on 42nd and Pulaski.
Liz sighed and sat without moving as they drove in silence for the rest of the way. After a long drive, which was extended due to traffic, they arrived at their destination in downtown Portland. Liz looked around through the window at the family friendly restaurant. Her first thought was that Portland was an odd place to put a family restaurant. The hookers and drug dealers didn't really add to the appeal. The car rolled to a stop next to the curb. Stepping out of the vehicle, Dan surveyed the small, one-story building with a large sign that read
--Zaibatsu Italian Restaurant: The Best in Liberty City--
Walking up to the large glass door, Liz opened it and was about to enter, when Dan quickly pushed in front of her and went inside. Angrily, she kicked him in the back of the knee.
"Ow! What the hell did you do that for?!" He cried as he stumbled.
"Ladies first." She said, taking the lead once again.
Dan muttered to himself and limped after her to the empty main desk. As they waited, he looked around the restaurant. Families filled the restaurant, eating, drinking and laughing. The air was a mixture of garlic, wine and freshly prepared food.
"Can I help you?" The waiter asked, arriving at the main desk and looking down at his guest book.
"Yes." Liz said quickly," I'm here to meet someone."
"Me too." Dan added.
The waiter looked up from his book and noticed their faces for the first time. His expression changed quickly from friendliness to solemnity.
"Name?" He asked, quietly, as if trying to avoid the ears of the patrons.
"Don Carlos." Both of them said in unison. Surprised, they quickly turned to look at each other, a suspicious look on both of their faces.
The waiter turned around and shouted something very quickly in Italian to the kitchen. The response floated back in a moment later.
"It will be a moment. Please sit and enjoy some complimentary breadsticks." The waiter said as he left his post and hurried into the kitchen.
Dan nodded and turned around, walking to a booth. Liz followed behind him and slid into the bench, opposite him.
"A waitress?" Dan asked, skeptically.
"I didn't say I was." She said, shrugging.
"So what are you really doing here?"
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Liz avoided the question and reached for the breadstick basket.
Before she could grab one, Dan grabbed the basket and slid it away.
"Too bad you won't tell me. I know that not just anyone can get an audience with the Don." He said, rolling a breadstick around in his hand.
"Fine, I'll tell you," She said bluntly, "I kill people for a living."
She waited for the expected response, either a laugh or a look of horror, but noticed that Dan's face was deadpan.
"So . . . you're a hired gun too?" Dan asked as he bit into a breadstick.
Liz shook her head rested her chin on her elbow.
"You kill people for money, don't you?" He asked again.
"I'm not a 'hired gun' like you say. Yeah, I kill for money, but that's where our differences start. You see, I'm a professional. One of the best. You, on the other hand," She said, pointing to him, "are nothing but a lowly thug."
After Liz had finished speaking, Dan burst into a fit of laughing, which, to Liz's distaste, exposed the chewed up remains of a breadstick.
"That's disgusting." She said, turning away.
Dan narrowed his eyes and stuffed another one in his mouth, this time deliberately chewing with his mouth wide open.
"Asshole . . ." She said.
"Bitch . . ." He shot back.
Liz bolted upright.
"What did you just call me?" She asked angrily.
"Should I spell it out for you?"
"I'm gonna kick your ass when we leave this restaurant." Liz said angrily.
"Whoa, since when is there a--we--here? After this, you can call yourself a cab." He said.
"Fine by me. In fact, I'm---" Liz said before she was interrupted by the waiter.
"Excuse me, but Don Carlos wishes to see you now. Both of you."
Liz Blackwell angrily got up and stormed after the waiter, with Dan walking slowly behind her. They passed by the occupied tables and into the kitchen. The place was swarming with cooks, scurrying around preparing fragrant dishes. The waiter led them through the stainless-steel kitchen to a back door blocked by a man that looked like he could be a pro wrestler.
"Guns?" He asked in a surly manner, holding out a wooden tray.
Dan sighed and pulled out his Beretta, ejected the clip and placed both in the tray. Liz did the same with the .45 she carried in her jacket. After a quick search by the guard, he led them through the door.
The office reeked of cigars. As they entered, Dan noticed a trio of armed guards with AK-47's. The room was all polished wood. A large bookcase filled with ornate books decorated a wall, while on the opposite side, black and white pictures were hung, none of which was recognizable to Dan. Placed straight ahead was a large oak desk. Behind it was a fat, bald man whom he quickly identified as Don Carlos.
"Ah, please," Don Carlos said, pointing to two leather chairs." Come, sit!"
"Don Carlos, it's an honor." Dan said, shaking his hand.
"Richter." He said simply, nodding.
Liz also shook his hand.
"My, my. What is such a beautiful woman doing in this line of work?" Don Carlos said, lightly touching his lips to her hand.
Liz smiled and blushed slightly before sitting down in the padded leather seats.
"Would you two like some vino?" Don Carlos asked, looking at the wine bottle he was holding." It's a very good year."
"No thank you." They both responded, the thought of alcohol unpleasing to them.
The Don nodded and poured himself a glass.
"So, Richter and Blackwell...Your reputations precede you." He said, sipping his wine. I have heard many great things about you."
Dan and Liz nodded.
"Let's talk about your particular assignment. If you haven't figured this out yet, you two will be working together." He said, pointing to both of them.
After hearing the Don's declaration, Liz stood up in protest, but quickly sat back down when the guards pointed their rifles at her.
"With all due respect, sir, I cannot work with this . . .this . . .thing!" She said.
"And you think I want to work with an egotistical, nagging bitch!?" Dan shot back.
"What?! How dare you insult me! Listen, you big, stupid jackass!" She yelled, ready to punch him.
"Hey! Calm down." Don Carlos said, waving his hands." I can see that you'll make a great team." He said sarcastically.
Liz sat back in her seat, the red draining from her face.
"So, what would you like us to do?" She asked, frowning at the word 'us'.
The Don extracted something from his desk drawer.
"Are you two familiar with this man?" He asked, sliding a photograph across the desk towards them. Dan picked it up and examined it carefully.
"Jimmy Conway . . ." He said, looking at the black and white picture.
"Let me see." Liz said as Dan handed it to her. She stared at it intently.
"Yeah, Jimmy Conway, he runs a big cocaine ring down in . . .Chinatown, doesn't he?" She asked.
"Exactly. He is the Triad's main supplier. A few weeks ago, one of my informants reported to me that Conway was selling on my turf. Now, this is not good for my business. In fact, I've already lost many of my regular customers, not to mention copious amounts of money." Don Carlos explained.
"So you want us to kill him?" Dan asked.
"To put it bluntly, yes." He said.
Liz crossed her shapely legs and folded her hands in her lap.
"How do you want us to do it? I mean, we can't just walk into Chinatown and kill him. He's got Triad protection." She said.
"And I'm really not in their good graces. As soon as they see me . . .I'm fucked." Dan added.
"I thought of that. Sometime today, Conway will be expecting a delivery of coke. I want you two to steal the truck and deliver it to him. Then, whenever you get the chance, take him out." The Don clarified.
Dan leaned forward in his seat.
"So, where can we find the truck, and where exactly do we find Conway?" He asked.
The Don took another photo out and handed it to Dan. He looked at it and saw a U-HAUL type truck, brown, with a triad insignia on the side.
"Turn it over." Don Carlos instructed.
Dan turned it over and noted the address.
"626 Ferdrove Street." He noted.
"That's the delivery point."
"Where do we find the truck?" Liz spoke up.
The Don downed his wine before he answered.
"That will be a slight problem." He said.
"Problem?"
"Yes, the thing is, the truck never takes the same route twice in a row."
Liz visibly frowned upon hearing that.
"So, how are we going to find it?" She asked.
"I've had my people out looking for it all day. One of them told me that he heard that it was going to cross Union Drive Street."
"That's it? That's all you know about where it's going to be?" Dan asked.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Great . . ." Dan muttered.
Liz sat up and uncrossed her legs.
"Okay, suppose we pull this off...how much money are we talking about?" She asked.
Don Carlos signaled to a guard. The guard grabbed two briefcases from a shelf and gave one to Dan and one to Liz. Dan quickly popped the latches open and laid his eyes on the stacks of hundred dollar bills.
"H-how much is it?" He asked, jaw open.
"Three hundred thousand," The Don replied casually, "This is nothing compared to what I'm losing every day. Do this and you will be at the top of my list for future assignments."
Dan turned his head and saw the look of awe on Liz's face. The guard shut the briefcases and snatched them away. Liz turned to Dan and nodded, a small smile on Dan's face.
"Okay. We'll do it." Dan announced.
Don Carlos laughed deeply and sat back in his chair.
"Good! Good . . ." He said. "By the way, you have a 1964 Impala, black?"
"Yes." Dan said, nodding.
"Here." The Don said as he tossed a set of keys to Dan.
"What are these for?" Dan asked, catching the shining pair of keys.
"Your new car. It'll be parked where your old one was."
"What do you mean -was-?"
"We disposed of it while you were in here."
Inwardly, Dan frowned at the thought of his car being smashed to bits in a car smasher.
"That, my friends, is all the information that I have. Good luck and remember, if you do this for me, you will benefit in many more ways than you can imagine." Don Carlos said, standing up.
They shook hands again as they left the room. They went back through the kitchen and into the restaurant, containing their childish excitement.
"Did you see all of that money!?" Liz asked, excited.
"All three hundred thousand of it." He answered grinning.
Before Dan could take a step towards the door, Liz got in front of him and stopped him.
"What?" he asked.
"If we're going to do this and get our money, then we have to work together. That means no more fighting or arguing." She said.
"Okay." Dan said, offering her his hand.
"All right. Let's do this." Liz Blackwell replied, shaking his hand.
"Where am I?" He thought to himself as he tried to sit up.
He successfully opened his eyes to the very blurry sight of a run-down motel room. A second wave of dull pain hit him, producing a screaming headache.
Grabbing his head, he extracted himself from the starchy motel sheets, and made his way to what appeared to be the sink.
"Shit!" He cursed as he knocked over an end table. Empty beer and liquor bottles crashed to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Grumbling, he made his way to the sink, where he promptly turned on the faucets and splashed cold water onto his face. He dried himself and looked into the mirror. Something moved on the bed. Quickly, he spun around and laid eyes on the moving lump on the bed.
"Who the hell are you?"
The lump quit moving for a second before a blonde haired head appeared above the sheets.
A woman.
"What?" She asked groggily, rubbing her eyes.
"Why am I in a motel? And who the hell are you?" The man asked, confused.
"Good morning to you, too." She said as she pushed several unruly strands of hair from her face.
The man's brown eyes laid to rest on several articles of clothing scattered all over the stained carpet. Quickly, he snatched up his clothing and began to put them on.
"Do I know you?" He said, busying himself with his belt, "Do I owe you any money?"
The attractive blonde also got up from the bed and began to dress herself.
"You can't remember? You must've really been drunk." She said, sounding slightly angry at his last remark.
"Sorry, can't remember." He said, buttoning up his dark blue shirt.
"Elizabeth. Liz . . . we met at a bar last night."
The man stood there for a while, thinking, before snapping his fingers.
"That's right...I remember now, we played pool, then we had some drinks, and then..." He said, eyeing the bed.
"Yeah..."
An awkward moment prevailed in the dingy motel room before Liz stood up and walked to the mirror. Extracting a brush, she quickly brushed her blonde hair back into a short ponytail. Liz's green eyes then shifted towards the door.
"Listen, I need to get going...can I get a ride?" She asked.
Daniel Richter reached for his leather jacket and found his personal sidearm underneath. The Berretta handgun shone dully before he slipped it into his waistband and covered it with jacket.
"Yeah, come on..." Dan replied.
Elizabeth Blackwell grabbed her coat and followed him through the door. Dan swore as the bright sunlight hit his eyes, worsening his headache.
"You got any aspirin or something? My head's killing me." He asked, shielding his eyes.
"No." Liz said as they walked down the stairs to the motel's oil stained parking lot.
Dan shook his head and continued to his car, parked in the parking lot. He walked across the lot to a 1964 Chevrolet Impala. He slid inside and unlocked the passenger side's door. A moment later, Liz entered and buckled herself in. The muscle car roared to life as he turned the key. Dan depressed the brake pedal and shifted the car into drive, then peeled out as they left the near empty parking lot.
"Where do I drop you off?" He asked, simultaniously driving and lighting a cigarette.
Liz crossed her arms over her ample breasts.
"Zaibatsu Italian Restaurant." She replied.
"No shit? That's where I'm headed." He said, taking a drag on his cigarette." So, what's your business there?"
"I've got a meeting with the owner." She said," You know those are bad for you." Liz continued, pointing to his lit cigarette.
"I don't give a fuck...anyway, what are you, a waitress?" Dan asked as he flicked his cigarette out of the window and onto the busy streets of Liberty City.
"Something like that. Why are you going?" Liz asked, eyeing him curiously.
"I just gotta take care of something. Nothing much else." Dan said as he turned left on 42nd and Pulaski.
Liz sighed and sat without moving as they drove in silence for the rest of the way. After a long drive, which was extended due to traffic, they arrived at their destination in downtown Portland. Liz looked around through the window at the family friendly restaurant. Her first thought was that Portland was an odd place to put a family restaurant. The hookers and drug dealers didn't really add to the appeal. The car rolled to a stop next to the curb. Stepping out of the vehicle, Dan surveyed the small, one-story building with a large sign that read
--Zaibatsu Italian Restaurant: The Best in Liberty City--
Walking up to the large glass door, Liz opened it and was about to enter, when Dan quickly pushed in front of her and went inside. Angrily, she kicked him in the back of the knee.
"Ow! What the hell did you do that for?!" He cried as he stumbled.
"Ladies first." She said, taking the lead once again.
Dan muttered to himself and limped after her to the empty main desk. As they waited, he looked around the restaurant. Families filled the restaurant, eating, drinking and laughing. The air was a mixture of garlic, wine and freshly prepared food.
"Can I help you?" The waiter asked, arriving at the main desk and looking down at his guest book.
"Yes." Liz said quickly," I'm here to meet someone."
"Me too." Dan added.
The waiter looked up from his book and noticed their faces for the first time. His expression changed quickly from friendliness to solemnity.
"Name?" He asked, quietly, as if trying to avoid the ears of the patrons.
"Don Carlos." Both of them said in unison. Surprised, they quickly turned to look at each other, a suspicious look on both of their faces.
The waiter turned around and shouted something very quickly in Italian to the kitchen. The response floated back in a moment later.
"It will be a moment. Please sit and enjoy some complimentary breadsticks." The waiter said as he left his post and hurried into the kitchen.
Dan nodded and turned around, walking to a booth. Liz followed behind him and slid into the bench, opposite him.
"A waitress?" Dan asked, skeptically.
"I didn't say I was." She said, shrugging.
"So what are you really doing here?"
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Liz avoided the question and reached for the breadstick basket.
Before she could grab one, Dan grabbed the basket and slid it away.
"Too bad you won't tell me. I know that not just anyone can get an audience with the Don." He said, rolling a breadstick around in his hand.
"Fine, I'll tell you," She said bluntly, "I kill people for a living."
She waited for the expected response, either a laugh or a look of horror, but noticed that Dan's face was deadpan.
"So . . . you're a hired gun too?" Dan asked as he bit into a breadstick.
Liz shook her head rested her chin on her elbow.
"You kill people for money, don't you?" He asked again.
"I'm not a 'hired gun' like you say. Yeah, I kill for money, but that's where our differences start. You see, I'm a professional. One of the best. You, on the other hand," She said, pointing to him, "are nothing but a lowly thug."
After Liz had finished speaking, Dan burst into a fit of laughing, which, to Liz's distaste, exposed the chewed up remains of a breadstick.
"That's disgusting." She said, turning away.
Dan narrowed his eyes and stuffed another one in his mouth, this time deliberately chewing with his mouth wide open.
"Asshole . . ." She said.
"Bitch . . ." He shot back.
Liz bolted upright.
"What did you just call me?" She asked angrily.
"Should I spell it out for you?"
"I'm gonna kick your ass when we leave this restaurant." Liz said angrily.
"Whoa, since when is there a--we--here? After this, you can call yourself a cab." He said.
"Fine by me. In fact, I'm---" Liz said before she was interrupted by the waiter.
"Excuse me, but Don Carlos wishes to see you now. Both of you."
Liz Blackwell angrily got up and stormed after the waiter, with Dan walking slowly behind her. They passed by the occupied tables and into the kitchen. The place was swarming with cooks, scurrying around preparing fragrant dishes. The waiter led them through the stainless-steel kitchen to a back door blocked by a man that looked like he could be a pro wrestler.
"Guns?" He asked in a surly manner, holding out a wooden tray.
Dan sighed and pulled out his Beretta, ejected the clip and placed both in the tray. Liz did the same with the .45 she carried in her jacket. After a quick search by the guard, he led them through the door.
The office reeked of cigars. As they entered, Dan noticed a trio of armed guards with AK-47's. The room was all polished wood. A large bookcase filled with ornate books decorated a wall, while on the opposite side, black and white pictures were hung, none of which was recognizable to Dan. Placed straight ahead was a large oak desk. Behind it was a fat, bald man whom he quickly identified as Don Carlos.
"Ah, please," Don Carlos said, pointing to two leather chairs." Come, sit!"
"Don Carlos, it's an honor." Dan said, shaking his hand.
"Richter." He said simply, nodding.
Liz also shook his hand.
"My, my. What is such a beautiful woman doing in this line of work?" Don Carlos said, lightly touching his lips to her hand.
Liz smiled and blushed slightly before sitting down in the padded leather seats.
"Would you two like some vino?" Don Carlos asked, looking at the wine bottle he was holding." It's a very good year."
"No thank you." They both responded, the thought of alcohol unpleasing to them.
The Don nodded and poured himself a glass.
"So, Richter and Blackwell...Your reputations precede you." He said, sipping his wine. I have heard many great things about you."
Dan and Liz nodded.
"Let's talk about your particular assignment. If you haven't figured this out yet, you two will be working together." He said, pointing to both of them.
After hearing the Don's declaration, Liz stood up in protest, but quickly sat back down when the guards pointed their rifles at her.
"With all due respect, sir, I cannot work with this . . .this . . .thing!" She said.
"And you think I want to work with an egotistical, nagging bitch!?" Dan shot back.
"What?! How dare you insult me! Listen, you big, stupid jackass!" She yelled, ready to punch him.
"Hey! Calm down." Don Carlos said, waving his hands." I can see that you'll make a great team." He said sarcastically.
Liz sat back in her seat, the red draining from her face.
"So, what would you like us to do?" She asked, frowning at the word 'us'.
The Don extracted something from his desk drawer.
"Are you two familiar with this man?" He asked, sliding a photograph across the desk towards them. Dan picked it up and examined it carefully.
"Jimmy Conway . . ." He said, looking at the black and white picture.
"Let me see." Liz said as Dan handed it to her. She stared at it intently.
"Yeah, Jimmy Conway, he runs a big cocaine ring down in . . .Chinatown, doesn't he?" She asked.
"Exactly. He is the Triad's main supplier. A few weeks ago, one of my informants reported to me that Conway was selling on my turf. Now, this is not good for my business. In fact, I've already lost many of my regular customers, not to mention copious amounts of money." Don Carlos explained.
"So you want us to kill him?" Dan asked.
"To put it bluntly, yes." He said.
Liz crossed her shapely legs and folded her hands in her lap.
"How do you want us to do it? I mean, we can't just walk into Chinatown and kill him. He's got Triad protection." She said.
"And I'm really not in their good graces. As soon as they see me . . .I'm fucked." Dan added.
"I thought of that. Sometime today, Conway will be expecting a delivery of coke. I want you two to steal the truck and deliver it to him. Then, whenever you get the chance, take him out." The Don clarified.
Dan leaned forward in his seat.
"So, where can we find the truck, and where exactly do we find Conway?" He asked.
The Don took another photo out and handed it to Dan. He looked at it and saw a U-HAUL type truck, brown, with a triad insignia on the side.
"Turn it over." Don Carlos instructed.
Dan turned it over and noted the address.
"626 Ferdrove Street." He noted.
"That's the delivery point."
"Where do we find the truck?" Liz spoke up.
The Don downed his wine before he answered.
"That will be a slight problem." He said.
"Problem?"
"Yes, the thing is, the truck never takes the same route twice in a row."
Liz visibly frowned upon hearing that.
"So, how are we going to find it?" She asked.
"I've had my people out looking for it all day. One of them told me that he heard that it was going to cross Union Drive Street."
"That's it? That's all you know about where it's going to be?" Dan asked.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Great . . ." Dan muttered.
Liz sat up and uncrossed her legs.
"Okay, suppose we pull this off...how much money are we talking about?" She asked.
Don Carlos signaled to a guard. The guard grabbed two briefcases from a shelf and gave one to Dan and one to Liz. Dan quickly popped the latches open and laid his eyes on the stacks of hundred dollar bills.
"H-how much is it?" He asked, jaw open.
"Three hundred thousand," The Don replied casually, "This is nothing compared to what I'm losing every day. Do this and you will be at the top of my list for future assignments."
Dan turned his head and saw the look of awe on Liz's face. The guard shut the briefcases and snatched them away. Liz turned to Dan and nodded, a small smile on Dan's face.
"Okay. We'll do it." Dan announced.
Don Carlos laughed deeply and sat back in his chair.
"Good! Good . . ." He said. "By the way, you have a 1964 Impala, black?"
"Yes." Dan said, nodding.
"Here." The Don said as he tossed a set of keys to Dan.
"What are these for?" Dan asked, catching the shining pair of keys.
"Your new car. It'll be parked where your old one was."
"What do you mean -was-?"
"We disposed of it while you were in here."
Inwardly, Dan frowned at the thought of his car being smashed to bits in a car smasher.
"That, my friends, is all the information that I have. Good luck and remember, if you do this for me, you will benefit in many more ways than you can imagine." Don Carlos said, standing up.
They shook hands again as they left the room. They went back through the kitchen and into the restaurant, containing their childish excitement.
"Did you see all of that money!?" Liz asked, excited.
"All three hundred thousand of it." He answered grinning.
Before Dan could take a step towards the door, Liz got in front of him and stopped him.
"What?" he asked.
"If we're going to do this and get our money, then we have to work together. That means no more fighting or arguing." She said.
"Okay." Dan said, offering her his hand.
"All right. Let's do this." Liz Blackwell replied, shaking his hand.