Looking back, I probably should have just walked away. I mean, it sounded pretty harmless. A simple delivery from one friend to another. How bad could it be? And what I was promised in return made me feel like I was getting the better end of the deal.
But death is inevitable. Can’t really bitch too much about it.
Just hope when the grim reaper comes for you, it’s not Charlie.
That guy’s a dick.
~~~~
Sitting outside the Quik-E Mart, a fresh piece of cardboard in my left hand and a nearly dried-up Sharpie, you know the ones, in my right. God, I love that smell. Anyway, I’m going through my bag because I think I might have another marker that isn’t so dead somewhere, maybe way down at the bottom? So, I’ve got my head practically inside this giant bag and I hear,
“Excuse me.”
I look up and there’s this guy’s standing there. Nothing special. He wasn’t throwing any weird vibes or anything. Just… normal. So he says again, “Excuse me.”
“Yeah?” I says to him.
He doesn’t look nervous or guilty or anything like most people do that do talk to me. He just starts in on how he’s got this favor and how if I’m interested, there would be a steak dinner with all the extras and dessert and everything at the end of it. Of course, I’ve got questions.
“So, what sort of favor is this?” I ask the guy.
He says, “Just a little delivery to a friend of mine. Totally harmless, nothing illegal. I promise.”
“Hell,” I says, “a steak dinner? Dude, for a steak dinner, I’d commit murder. I ain’t had a steak dinner in… well, it’s been a real fucking long time.” I’m grinning from ear to ear. All happy thinking about meat that doesn’t crawl around in the sewers.
He gets a look on his face, like he’s thinking real hard and he’s grinning right along with me. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out this envelope. “Take this to 16204 East Emerald Coast Drive. There’s a man there, his name is Greg. Give him this envelope and then come to this address.” He hands me a plain envelope with Greg on it and the address on ECD and a business card with another address on it somewhere in the lower downtown area. “I’ll see you later, Simon,” he says to me.
I just stood there for a second because I know I didn’t tell that dude my name. And most people out here know me as Matty. My middle name is Matthew. So, I’m just standing there and I say, “Hey! Who are you? And how in the fuck did you know my name?”
“Charlie,” he says. “My name is Charlie and your steak dinner will be ready at 6pm at the address on the card. I look forward to getting to know you better then. Thank you, Simon.” And just like that, the dude turns and walks away, if you can believe that.
I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything so I immediately head to ECD to deliver that envelope. I’m so distracted by the thought of real meat, and I’m wondering if I can order it medium rare, the way I like it or if it’ll just come out cooked however the cook decides to cook it. Well, I stepped off the damned curb right in front of a city bus.
Blammo!
Goodbye Simon Matthew Grainger.
The End.
Or so I thought.
~~~~
It’s been six months since I died and went to Hell and I still haven’t gotten my steak dinner.
Seriously?
Fuck you, Charlie, you liar.
Just… fuck you.
~~~~
I think Charlie and Simon’s, I mean Matty’s adventures are just beginning.
To be continued…
Cre8ive Junkiez 