Darkness, the recurring theme of this traumatic evening. I’d
had a gun and a knife pointed at me, I’d been hit in the head with an unknown
weapon, and I’d been tied up and thrown in a trunk. I had also been drugged but
that was of my own choosing so that didn’t count. The meth coursing through my
system was probably the only reason I wasn’t sleeping soundly during the ride
to terminus mysterious.
At least it wasn’t a bumpy ride, I mean as far as trunks go,
this one was quite roomy. The three shovels had me concerned, I mean where the
hell would we be going that they would have enough time to dig a fucking grave,
we’re in Rochester, MN not the fucking desert. And why would they kill me?
Maybe this was just a scare tactic; something to make it look like they were
serious. I believed them.
We drove for twenty minutes or so at highway speed and
started to slow down. I had done enough drug dealing and driving to recognize
that we were probably in one of the smaller towns surrounding the big city.
There was a series of turns followed by a gradual incline of what I assumed was
a driveway. A bump. Another. Then the car shifted gears to park and the engine
was turned off. I heard the distinct noise of an automatic garage door being
shut, followed by some muffled words. They were probably saying something about
letting me go with all of my belongings and forgetting the whole thing. Or something
like that.
The trunk opened and I was expecting a gun or a grenade or a
packet of anthrax to be thrust in my face, but it was just Dumpy, this time
with a shirt. I thought it was funny how he looked like a computer programmer
now versus a gun-toting racist just a short while ago. It’s amazing what a
little cotton can do. Dumpy said, “Alright, you can get out.” He offered no
assistance and I had a difficult time with my hands tied behind my back.
Everything seemed to get in the way of every part of my body trying to maneuver
myself out of the cargo hold, but I finally made my way out. He turned me and
pushed me toward a door that lead into a house.
It was just a regular house. Actually it was a really big,
beautiful, modern home. The only things that seemed off were the closed blinds
and a tied-up, naked, bleeding man now standing in the kitchen. Dumpy untied my
wrists and motioned toward the sink before saying, “You can clean yourself up a
little. If you make any attempt to escape, you will regret it.” Fair enough. I
nodded and grabbed a few paper towels and tried to soak up the blood on my head
but it had already dried. Add water, repeat.
I looked around for an obvious escape route just in case
some miracle occurred and I found an opportune moment, but all I saw was
Goggles looking at me. He cocked his head, “Don’t even think about it. You’ll
never make it out of here. Come put your clothes on and have a seat.” I
obliged, as if I had a choice.
I dressed myself which I do almost every day. I felt around
for my wallet, a pound of meth, but they were nowhere to be found. I heard a
light thud on the coffee table in the center of the room. “Hey! There’s my
meth!” I try to have a sense of humor everywhere I go. For the first time the
driver spoke, “For now, let’s call it “our” meth.” He smiled and pointed to a
chair in which I believed he wanted me to sit.
Driver was a pretty normal looking guy compared to the other
two. Goggles, as it turned out was a fairly dainty little man with rotten teeth
and a crooked smile that framed them perfectly. He wore a tattered wife-beater
and had veiny sinuous muscles that flexed frantically with his every sudden
jerky move. His eyed darted around constantly and one of his eyes seemed to
always be catching up to the other. Driver on the other hand appeared to be
well groomed. If I had to guess, which I did, I would say that this was his
house, and his family was gone for the night, probably in some hotel while
business was attended to. His hair was neatly coiffed, skin toned, and he wore a
shirt with no holes or dirt. He also had all of his teeth.
Driver recited his words internally before speaking, “First
I want you to know that we have no problem with you. We actually chose you
because you are known for being a little bolder than some of the tweakers out
there-- a risk-taker. Sorry about the head, Mike can get a little carried away
when he gets a kidnapping job.” Mike was surely an alias for Goggles. Driver
continued, “We didn’t put you through all of this for a pound of meth.
Actually, we have no intention of taking anything from you at all. If you are
cooperative, and we believe that you will follow the instructions we give you
tonight, you will get to leave with everything you had on you when you left
King’s place. I’ll get right to the point; we need you to steal your boss’s
supply money.” They wanted me to steal from the most dangerous man I had ever
met before tonight. And it looked like I didn’t have a choice.
Okay, folks….. Here’s the scoop. This and the previous two
posts have been entirely a work of fiction created by me. I wanted to give it a
shot since I had never tried anything like it. I had a lot of fun writing it,
and I felt like I could have gone on and on. I would really like to hear from
you and what you thought about it. Did I put you there with me? Did it seem
like it could have been real based on what I had written so far? Did I go too
far? Did you catch on that I was making this up? Please, I welcome all
comments. Also, would you keep reading it if I kept going, now knowing that it’s
all fantasy?
Thanks for reading!
