What Was in the Bag

He fell asleep around two in the afternoon, finally, his head against the window. The bag had slid into the footwell. I am not proud of what I did at the next red light. I unzipped it two inches with one hand, eyes on him, and what I saw inside was not pills and not clothes. It was banded cash and a passport that was not in his name, and underneath those, the cold dull shape of something I did not want to name.