(You can read part I (here)

I sank back deep in my seat as our flight lifted off for Seattle. I caught myself off and on, reaching just below my lapel to feel the slight bulge of money sewn into my shirt hem. Was that a sign of nerves, I wondered? I mean, no matter how many times I reach up to feel them, they are still going to be there, dumbass.

My instructions ran through my head several times. I had to leave them all behind, of course; I could not be caught with them on my person. All that remained of my initial instruction packet was a small letter-sized envelope that was sealed and, according to the instructions, was several hundred dollars and some phone numbers to call in the event of an emergency.

If it weren’t for my responsibility for the cash, I would have thrown the envelope away because there was no way I was going to call those numbers. Oh sure, yeah, they wanted me to call those numbers and beg for help because I was alllllll phukt up and needed heeeeelp. I wouldn’t give anyone the smug satisfaction.