Bystanders
Babjak pulled to the curb and cut the engine. He quickly glanced around the street—empty. In the passenger seat, Rucchio hung limply against his seat belt, mouth open and eyes shut. The stain around the knife in his chest wasn’t getting any larger. Babjak slipped off a glove and felt for a pulse. After half a minute he gave up. Not much chance that Rucchio was faking.
When he’d offered Babjak the money, Rucchio had tapped his right breast pocket. Babjak slid two fingers inside the dead man’s coat, careful not to touch the knife, and pulled out a bundle of hundred dollar bills in a plastic baggie. He counted quickly. There were twenty five of them.
Bonus.