There was always this tiny voice in the back of Arthur's head when it felt that he was doing something he shouldn't. It was usually reserved for social interactions that he hated immensely. When Arthur heard the voice, it was generally quiet and non-intrusive. Right now, it was neither. Every sense Arthur possessed was tingling, his inner voice screaming at him to leave NOW!!!!
Arthur hadn't made the reputation that he had by walking away from a situation. As well as he should have, considering the number of times it ended in either the hospital or jail. Arthur didn't feel as if this situation was going to end in either place. His sense of foreboding left Arthur with the unmistakable feeling that this was going to end with someone going to the morgue.
With this sense of foreboding, Arthur pulled his pistol from his holster and checked the chambers. It wasn't a large gun, simply a police issue Smith & Wesson .38 caliber. It had belonged to Arthur's grandfather, a police detective and had served him well. Arthur had never had to fire it outside of a firing range, but he did know how to fire it. Pulling his coat tight, and checking his phone, Arthur also scanned the hallway. It was long and narrow and poorly light. Every other light was out it seemed, and the ones lit had dims bulbs or just flickered in and out. The hallway ended in a heavy metal door about 100 feet from where Arthur was standing. There was only one door. Therefore, only one way for the assignment to have gone. Arthur was positive it was a trap, the men outside had given that away. But why Arthur had no clue about. And he felt he HAD to know at this point.
Approaching the door as quietly as he could, Arthur strained to hear sounds on the other side. Something that would give him some inkling of what was going on. The only sounds Arthur could make out, besides his own quiet breathing, was the faint echoes of thunder and occasionally a snippet of a jazz song, what the wind didn't whip away. Arthur's feeling of trepidation was so strong that he leaned against the wall taking deep breaths. He knew there was just as good of a chance of him being shot when he opened the door as not. But to proceed further, Arthur knew he had to open the door.
With the greatest of care, Arthur slowly pressed the latch down and gently pulled open the door. Once the door was open enough for someone to slip through, Arthur paused and waited. No sound came from inside the door. All he could hear was his own muted breath. And the pounding of his heart. He was so nervous, it felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest.
Deciding that it was a now or never situation, Arthur threw open the door, and leapt into the room, pistol drawn and ready. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he found himself staring at a scene beyond his wildest dreams. It was a warehouse full of marijuana. Stacked along the walls, hanging from drying racks, growing in a self-contained greenhouse. "What the hell is going here?" Arthur muttered to himself. That was when the world went black.
The first thing that occurred to Arthur as he came to was that he had the worst taste in his mouth. It tasted of week-old socks left to mildew in the sun. It made him gag, and Arthur didn't have a weak stomach. His next thought was that he had been hit by a semi-truck. His body ached as if some giant had tossed him around like a bean-bag. Every muscle felt bruised and banged. Arthur felt as if his head was going to explode from the pressure. Slowly pulling himself into a sitting postion, Arthur leaned back against the wall. He had no idea what had happened to cause him to feel this way, and Arthur also realized he had NO idea where he was.
Working his jaw to loosen it and generate some saliva for his parched mouth, Arthur surveyed the room. He was sitting in his living room. Looking down to the coffee table, he saw a couple of freshly emptied bottles of rum. While not entirely sure, Arthur felt this might explain the condition he now found himself in. If he had tied on a drunk like that, it was no wonder that Arthur's body was now protesting. He wasn't 25 anymore. Hell, he wasn't 35 either. But at that moment he felt 105.
As his body starting waking up, Arthur became of the urgent need to relieve his bladder. This was consistent with the number of empty liquor bottles Arthur saw on the table. Making his way to the bathroom, Arthur scratched his head. While he hurt like he had been drinking all night, Arthur couldn't recall getting drunk. Or why he would have done so. Arthur liked the drink as much as the normal person, but he normally didn't binge as much as he apparently had the night before. Most times he had gotten drunk like that, it had been for a reason, not just a random occurrence.
Pushing the door open to the bathroom, and standing there relieving himself, Arthur let his head roll back and closed his eyes. Finally relieved, Arthur turned around, and opened the door to the bedroom. He was tired and ready to just crawl into bed and get some much needed, alcohol-free sleep. Pulling his clothes off as he crossed the room, Arthur was still struggling with the reality that he couldn't remember anything from the previous night. Pulling back the covers from his bed, Arthur thought it was strange. "I don't ever make my bed." As a bachelor and work-a-holic, Arthur rarely did the house chores another more domesticated man might have. He washed dishes when he had no more clean ones. The same could be said for his clothes. He tried to sweep one a week, and that was the extent of Arthur's housecleaning schedule.
Arthur found himself staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him. "there is so much blood," came the unbidden words to his lips. "where, what...." Arthur couldn't form a complete sentence. He just stared at the naked lifeless woman laying there in his bed. Her throat had been sliced from ear to ear. The sheets were soaked in her blood. Finally a coherent thought floated into Arthur's mind. Even with this awful discovery, Arthur found himself admiring her body. She would have been a hot woman alive. Very much Arthur's type.
With that thought, Arthur reached for his phone and dialed 911. He couldn't remember what he did last night, but Arthur was pretty sure it wasn't this.
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