William walks alone across the bridge. He carries a cheap duffle bag stuffed with fifty thousand in cash. Small bills only. Just like the anonymous voice on the other end of the phone told him.
There was a laundry list of other requirements, but he stopped listening once he found out they had his only kid.
William keeps his head up, eyes forward. He ignores the shimmering reflection of the full moon on river below.
He reaches the end, drops the nylon bag. Keeps one hand on his cell, places the other on his gun.
He was ready. Were they?
The Weekday One Hundred 