One more big score

The light, it came from the knives, which were apparently made with an illegal material smuggled from another planet, that, when dropped too hard or put too much pressure on it, sends a beacon of war to the planet. Crazy right? One small mistake and the whole planet is doomed.

You’d think no one would make knives so dangerous. What’s the advantage? Yet here they were, for sale in a small shop, dozens of them. I flashed my badge at the clerk and said “I need to know who the wholesaler is on the doom sticks. And you’re closed for the day.”

The clerk told me he bought all of his knives from a black market seller known as Slash. I had a feeling it wasn’t the guitarist for Guns n’ Roses. He handed me a knife-shaped business card. I read it: “For all your knifey needs, call Slash. 1-800-555-CUTS.” My next lead.

I hesitate, because it can be a scam but I really need cash fast. My sister was taken away and her kidnappers ask me so much… I don’t really have any choice but call. Chewing my lips, I wait on the phone that Slash guy answers me.

The phone clicks, and I hear the heavy breathing on the other side. “Have you decided?” The man whispers. “Yes.” I wait for a moment, listening to the man shuffle. Then, I hear a car start. “Check your mailbox. You will find a bulletproof vest and gun. Be at the bank by 5:07.”

Adorned with the vest and a gun on my hip, I arrived at the bank seven minutes before he told me to be. I very suspiciously look around in all directions as I make my way closer to the bank, being sure to scout out any possibility of danger.

I stuffed the chloroform-soaked rag in the guard's face & he went down. "Quiet," I hissed at the bank cashier, holding the gun so that only she could see. I passed the note to her. She read it, marked it, & slid it back to me. "Do you like me? Check Yes or No." She'd checked no.