The Pale Collarbones

The paper money made a rustling noise as they were falling to the floor. Each tile of the marble was identical to the next without an identifying marker of any kind. Standing in what could be any part of the cold concrete, I realized my situation.

"What's with the mute?"

The middle-aged man in front of me asked. He was the person who put me in that situation.

"If this isn't enough, I'll give you the rest later," he explained, putting his wallet back into his pocket. "I don't normally bring cash."

I tried to stay calm while thinking about ways to escape. My eyes scanned my surroundings. The wet floor sign boards in the corner were all gone - he must have put them outside to prevent people from coming in before he entered. This sly prick.