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17: Beatrice

"Do you have any cash, Trey?" My voice was wobbling as the taxi sped off into traffic, swerving as if we were mid-chase and we were trying to lose a tail. 

"Cash? No. Well, maybe," his voice sounded unsure. "Maybe like a hundred bucks. What do you need cash for? You're loaded," Trey said as he glanced nervously out the rearview window as we sped through traffic toward our destination.

"I only have my phone, which means I'll have to use my e-wallet. We need cash for the hotel," I gasped out as I groaned from the pain the last half an hour of effort had brought. The pain meds that my last cab driver had gotten for me had kicked in and it had taken the edge off, but the dull ache was ever present, reminding me that I had been shot.

"Why do we need to use cash for the hotel?" Trey asked, completely oblivious to

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