Jacobi scanned the area surrounding the work table. He'd been told that there was a loose floor tile hiding what he was here for. The details were sketchy beyond that. The floor was a patchwork of mismatched tiles. Ryan was nothing if not cheap and had probably bought a mix of boxes at some closeout sale and done the work himself.
He holstered the forty-five and got down on his hands and knees. Close up he could actually see that the quality of the work itself was good. The floor was level and each square flush with its' neighbors. There was one at the corner, near the workbench's front left leg, that was raised just a few millimeters. It was the sole white one with off white at each compass point. Jacobi chuckled a bit and reached into the pocket of his windbreaker, pulling out his pearl handled switchblade. It clicked open and he used it merely to test the edges to see how easily it would come open. No sense in using such a fine tool for so gross a purpose as a pry bar.
Though raised, the square did not unseat easily. He put the knife away and stood. Surely there was something that he could put to good use. A small toolbox peaked out from a shelf that ran the length of the room at head height. It sat amongst a collection of vases. He eased it down and opened it. The meager collection of tools did include a stout hammer. Three sharp raps to the middle of the square fractured it into more than a dozen small pieces. Carefully, he moved each fragment to an adjacent tile slowly revealing a six inch square hole, one foot deep. A black steel box filled it with only a hairsbreadth on any given side.
Jacobi grabbed it by its handle and pulled it free. This was it, no doubt. It matched the measurements he was given and was every bit as heavy as he was told it would be. He didn't know what was inside it and in truth had no desire to know. He was being paid handsomely to do what he was told and no more. He rested the box on the bench and dusted off his pants, straightening the fabric in the process. Jacobi prided himself on being an immaculate dresser. The running clothes he wore were detestable and he couldn’t wait to burn them, but just because one had to dress like a slob to blend in didn't mean that he needed to be dirty.
The strongbox had a small square in centered on one long side, an inch under the crack that ran around its perimeter. He rested his thumb against it in a moment of weakness. As he suspected it did nothing, not even emitting a noise. He took it by the handle in his left hand and pulled the pistol with his right. It was time to collect the other part of the package.
