[s2e6] Hold What You Got Online

"We used to be able to dictate the terms," the old man muttered.

"He didn't leave," Miller corrected him. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound pouch. He didn’t open it. He just set it on the ledger with a dull thud . "He just got traded."

Holloway finally looked down at the pouch. He knew what was in it. It was the payout from the three-ton haul they’d run across the state line two nights ago—the one where the tires were screaming and the engine block was glowing cherry red in the dark. It was supposed to be the money that cleared the books. "You're short," Holloway stated. [S2E6] Hold What You Got

"I'm exactly what the ticket said." Miller leaned back, his synthetic jacket crinkling. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired a night of sleep fixes, but the kind that gets down into the marrow and stays there. "You want to hold what you got, Holloway? Then you stop looking at what you lost. This is the pile. This is the whole damn stack. You either lock it in the floor safe or you let the wind take it. I'm done holding the bag."

"The boy didn't come back," Holloway said, his voice sounding like gravel being turned with a spade. He didn't look at Miller. He looked at the window, where the rain was just starting to turn the red clay outside into a slick, impassable soup. "Left his truck. Left his tools. Left the bay door unlocked." "We used to be able to dictate the

"To the bank. To the state. To whoever's buying up the bottom half of this county this week. Does it matter?"

He didn't wait for a reply. He pushed through the screen door, letting it slap twice against the frame. Outside, the air smelled of ozone, wet iron, and diesel. Miller popped the collar of his jacket and walked out into the deluge, leaving the old man alone with a pouch of dirty cash and a garage full of dead men's tools. He didn’t open it

Miller didn’t care about the history. He only cared about the grease-stained ledger sitting on the desk between them.