The Briefcase In Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

"Come on. Let me show you what I actually brought back for Maureen." He reached into his duffel, pulling out a heavy, matte-silver briefcase secured with a reinforced dual-combination lock. Dropping it onto a nearby side table, his fingers spun the brass dials with practiced ease. With a soft pneumatic hiss, the heavy latches popped open, revealing custom-cut black foam fitted with several gleaming pieces of hardware. Michael leaned in, his expression instantly freezing into speechlessness. Beside him, Ethan let out an audible gasp.

“My daughter is very fine, thank you.” With a click of his finger, his man dropped a closed briefcase on the table. Chu opened it himself and showed me the dollar bills. I waved Lucas over. He dropped our suitcase, opened it, and showed Chu the cocaine wrapped in a transparent bag. We exchanged the briefcase. Lucas carried it over to our men behind to have the money counted. “I was surprised when my men informed me that you’ll be present for today’s exchange,” Chun said, trying to engage me in a conversation as my men counted the money.

Aware that Dolf was right and realizing he wouldn't be able to change Jenny's mind, Alexander left the room. Jenny, with a blank expression, raised her hands as if to question what had just happened. Dolf looked down, thrusting his hands into his pockets with a slight shrug. He suspected Alexander's plan but before he could offer reassurance, Alexander returned with a metal briefcase. He tossed it onto Jenny's bed and, after entering the correct code, opened it to reveal a matching set of .45 ACP M1911 baller handguns in matte black. He handed one to each of Jenny's hands.

His chest tightened suddenly, and his hands were shaking badly now, worse than before, that it took him three tries to get the briefcase open, the latches clicking loudly in the silence. Click. His fingers slipped. “Fuck.” He swallowed hard and tried again. Click. The second latch opened, and Noah inhaled sharply, then slowly lifted the lid, and froze, because what was staring at him from the inside of the briefcase was not two million dollars' worth of drugs, not even money or a gun, but a single textbook: Ross Business Ethics. There was nothing else in there, just a fucking textbook.

she said, pulling her firearm away before leaning beside Harvey. “I wouldn’t have shown my gun if you did! “How much do you want the money exchanged?” “All of it.” Harvey smiled. He had a million dollars in his briefcase. A stack of chips was sent to him soon after. He casually shoved two chips into the woman’s cleavage. The woman started chuckling as her stern expression dissipated. After all, it did not matter how scrawny-looking Harvey was. A man who knew how to play by the rules was clearly not ordinary, nor would he be a cop.

Flashy gets you dead. I grabbed the black shirt. Crisp. Buttoned it slow. Fitted black blazer over it. No chain. No watch. Just clean. Slid the tight leather gloves into my coat pocket. Walked to the back room. A drawer waited. I opened it. Gun. Wrapped in velvet. Small. Black. Full of quiet promise. I picked it up. Checked the clip. One bullet. “One bullet. One man,” I said. The brown duffel sat on the floor. I grabbed it, felt the weight of the bills inside. Heavy. Final favor to a man who lived in the shadows longer than most lived at all.

We continued and when another man saw us, Agent4 Blue was quick enough to act and hit his vital points and the man didn't have the chance to yell. I gave Blue a thumbs up at that. We continued and easily got to the private room where all the money was produced, a pile of it. With the briefcase I was holding, I quickly got a lot of fake money and piled it inside. As I clicked it shut, there was a sound of a gun clicking and pointed at my head. "Hands up." I look at Blue beside me who was calmly raising his hands and motioned for me to do the same. I did as he told and slowly dropped the briefcase.

If this man were to attack me now, I would not even be able to lift a finger to defend myself. But then, the moment passed, and the dark look disappeared from his eyes. A small smile took its place—nothing but a tiny lifting of his lips, however—and Ricardo turned to a guard who stood behind him. Gesturing to the guard, the guard raised the briefcase in his hand and clicked it open. My heart raced as I saw several hundred thousand dollars in the briefcase, alongside what looked like a Glock and a revolver gun. Ricardo dug underneath all of that and brought out a stack of cards. Pulling one out, he stretched it towards me.

He was also the one who brought these people who wanted me dead here. I raised my hand and smashed my fist into the frame. The glass shattered upon impact. Blood trickled down my fingers, staining our intertwined hands on the painting red. Expressionless, I tore the canvas open to reveal the secret compartment behind it. There was a dusty metal box in that secret compartment. I opened the metal box, revealing a Glock 19, three fully loaded magazines, a bloodstained folding pocketknife, and a miniature improvised explosive device. At the very bottom of the metal box lay a yellowed photo.

I waved at him and returned to the room. I started searching for the briefcase. It’s a leather case. Dammit. Where is it? I opened all the cabinets. Nothing. I searched inside the comfort room. Nothing. Think Phoenix! My eyes roamed inside the suite. Where will he put it? “In two minutes I will be off the mic. Ready the car.” I said and started throwing the pillows off the bed. I lifted the mattress and there I saw the leather case. I opened it and I saw bundles of one hundred dollars. I closed it again and opened my black bag. I wore the bulletproof vest and my mask.