Novel & Cerita What's In The Briefcase In Pulp Fiction

"In his room, he hides it under the boards below the window." I ease back the knife and glance at Skull. "Go check the room." I toss Pauline aside and she goes to her knees. I walk back to the table and glance at the men. They appear angry. I doubt it's over the fact I threatened to kill Pauline. More likely it's that at least two of the women were in on Fox's stash of money and we weren't. Typical Fox. Too bad I already killed the prick. A few minutes later, Skull comes back carrying a large leather saddlebag. He drops it on the table. I unbuckle it and empty the contents.

“We’re not here to rob you. In fact, quite the opposite.” I narrowed my eyes, confused and more than a little on edge. “Who the hell are you?” He ignored me, glancing at the guys behind him. “Bring me the briefcase.” One of the brutes nodded and stepped forward, dropping a thick black case on the coffee table with a heavy thud. He flicked the latches open with a practiced ease and turned the case around to face me. My breath caught. Money. Stacks upon stacks of it. Bundled tightly with crisp white bands, all green, all real. Hundreds maybe thousands of them. The air smelled suddenly richer. My knees went weak.

The top clasp of the briefcase had sprung open in the transition. He reminded himself that he only needed to buckle it on and be gone. A gentleman would do so. A good protégé would. But he wasn't quite one or the other in that instant. He was one who'd just watched his faith shattered by the person he'd left it with. He was lost. His own hands, as if of their own volition, reached forward and carefully lifted the lid. The briefcase was laid out tidily. A pile of contracts. A passport. A Montblanc pen. And one slender, silver, single picture frame face down, as if its inhabitant was too private to be exposed even in a vacant space.

The guards behind him were still holding on to their guns. “Can I have a look?” I opened the suitcase a bit and closed it back.He nodded. “Auder doesn't work with women” , his tone conveying doubt. “I'm in charge now.” I showed him the name inscribed on the suitcase, and he nodded. “Where's the money?” I blurted, my skin itched with the refusal of spending much time there. The cold gun resting against my bare skin. He stretched his hands, and the guard handed him the briefcase. He zipped down the case and showed me. Stack of new notes, layered like files in a cabinet—neat, orderly, and tightly packed.

He took me to the display board where guns of different types were hung. "That's not all." He said. He took me to the bedroom where in the ground, a hidden safe was. Inside it were two briefcases. One was filled with raw cash. At first glance, there couldn't have been more less ten million dollars inside. "You were on your way to kill a target when you had the accident that almost claimed your life."