Laundry

Vinnie horsed the duffel bag onto the counter.
He yanked the zipper, displaying the bag’s contents to the proprietor, an elderly Chinese who had been doing his best to ignore the red splotch on the side of the bag. It glistened wetly in the fluorescent light.
The old man handed Vinnie a cardboard stub. “You come back tomollow aftah five, OK?”
The next day, Vinnie came by at 6:30. He handed over his stub and received two cardboard boxes, each packed with fresh, clean Benjamins, profits from legitimate businesses.
Chang smiled. He owned the finest Chinese money laundry in town.