Drowning in Cash

You couldn't blame Michael for feeling suspect of Sasha. Hanging around on the streets with a fat wad of cash was rather unusual. It looked like more money than he ever had in his own wallet, and that only had him think of one thing – drug money. This curious fellow looked a little ill though. Perhaps he wasn't a drug dealer, but a poor junkie. It was Michael's duty to serve and protect people, even if it meant from themselves.

A motorcycle stopped along the curb of the busy city streets. He was always more comfortable on a bike than in a car, but the traffic warranted a little more mobility when downtown. The policeman didn't act in haste – he didn't want to be perceived as a danger to Sasha. However, it was a quick enough assumption for the junkie to make that Michael Kennedy was about to talk to him.

Michael had his sunglasses on, hiding his scanning eyes while his mouth presented the 'Officer Friendly' smile. “Good afternoon sir,” he addressed the citizen. It'd be unfair to accuse him right off the bat of anything, but interrogation could easily be disguised as polite conversation, “I'd be careful with showing off so much money downtown. You never know when an unsavory folk might want at it,” Mike's accent immediately betrayed him as an American.

Oh, great. He had a bit of a lip to him too. Michael avoided the reflexive urge to sock him across the face (cops don't do that) and simply grimaced. “It's downtown. If there's a speeder, they won't get far.”

He noticed that Sasha didn't seem to have a bag on him or anything. If Michael did ask to search, he'd have to frisk Sasha to find anything. Probably not the best idea without more probable cause than a big wad of money.

Still, he could at least get Sasha to move along. “Do you have any business standing around here, or are you loitering?”

Michael couldn't help avoiding a sigh. Evidently Sasha wasn't about to try and act a little nicer, let alone explain a little more clearly just why he was flashing around big wad of cash. Michael turned his glance to the nearest clock, very much aware that this was arguably the worst place in the district to check the time. He grimaced.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much reason to waste his time with the man. He was still on duty, and Sasha wasn't suspicious enough to warrant a prompt arrest. Tentatively Michael answered, “That's all. Have a nice day, sir.”

Without a word, he walked back to his motorcycle and drove back on the road. He took a left at the first intersection... but eventually took another left, and another. Mike wanted to be absolutely sure Sasha wasn't getting into trouble, and he was buying these nonspecific goods after all.

Uncanny how Sasha managed to leave the store right as Michael passed by again. Even with the food and toilet paper supposed to settle suspicions with the cop, he was still largely unconvinced. The worst of it was when Sasha said hello. Mocking Mike, naturally.

“I forgot to ask, how much money do you have there?”

As it turned out, Michael remembered that there was a certain limit to how much money you could have on you without any good reason. If it was entirely too much, any officer was free to seize the assets until the owner coughed up its purpose. Exactly the kind of law to catch someone like Sasha off their feet.

“Perhaps I can count it for you,” Michael challenged, a small grin flashing on his face. There was certainly more than a few hundred dollars on Sasha's possession, even with the groceries. It was a shame the man didn't seem to own a vehicle. Michael would have happily waited until he could search the car and avoid all this awkward business.

“Please put down your groceries, sir. Please count your money,” Michael was absolutely certain Sasha was up to something. Maybe not drugs, but probably drugs. Sasha was awfully jittery and defensive.