The Box

“Why are you like this?” Tony asked his sister after walking through the door as she tore the cushions off the couch.

“God Damnit Tony!” Tanya says throwing the final pillow at his head. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” he asks blocking the pillow with his hands.

“The money and diamonds you nitwit!” she shouts staring at him with enough rage to make him explode if she could.

“Oh, I’m sorry am I supposed to be able to read your mind now?” He says walking to the coffee table. “What you’ve got is in here.” He punched in 3-8-2-5 into a holographic keyboard.

“Where? This whack ass table?” Tanya asked looking through the glass watching nothing happen.

“No, you overly dramatic narcissist. Nothing about this table says safe, does it? I just unlocked my closet.” He points over his shoulder to the far corner of the room. “Take what’s yours. I trust you remember your combination. I’m going to shower.” Tony walked to his room. “Glad to have you home. But next time don’t destroy my couch, we’re too old for tantrums,” he closes the door behind him.

As she approached the wardrobe-sized safe, Chicago glistened outside the penthouse windows. Hanging slightly ajar the first door welcomed Tanya, “Hello Ms. Jones”. Unimpressed she swung the blast shield away. Eyeing the ten deposit box drawers inside, she found hers and twisted out 7-4-4-8. The case came out completely, click, she opened it quickly, click, a hurricane of fire emanated from the floor below demolishing both of the levels it touched.