Freewrite 2

Escaping out the front door was not an option. The man at the door surely would remember his face, and wasn’t going to let him leave. He quickly went down the hallway where he expected to find a set of bathrooms, but instead walked right into a darkened kitchen.

Alex was positive he had seen him go towards the kitchen. There was a route to flee that way, but only someone who worked there could navigate towards it without creating a flash of noise. Edwards was working the crowd, but Alex didn’t trust him at the door. Dave had called in sick, which meant he didn’t have much of a choice, and motioned with his flashlight for Edwards to come to the front door.

The man nearly knocked over a cart of plates, and squeezed between two prep tables to a closed door. As soon as he opened it up he heard footsteps behind him and he went inside and quietly shut the door. It opened ten seconds later.

“You lost my friend?” The man recognized the voice of the doorman, booming out from behind the bright flashlight.

“I guess I didn’t find what I was looking for. Where’s the can?”

“I think you need to come with me. Mr. C would like a word with you.”

“Who the fuck is Mr. C?”

“Mr. C knows who you are, and that is all you need to know right now. Now, get the fuck up and follow me,” the doorman said, pulling back his coat, revealing a bright silver revolver. The doorman shined his flashlight on the protrusion to make sure it wasn’t missed.

“Hey man,” the man started to stand up, holding both of his hands in the air, “Be cool, I’ll go talk to Mr. C. I’m sure he’s simply mistaken me for someone else.”

“We’ll see,” the doorman said, waving him forward with his gun, “Walk motherfucker.”

Mr. C took a large drink of his scotch and water and leaned back in his padded leather chair. The intercom on his desk buzzed. He pushed the button marked, “Listen,” and waited.

“I found him in the broom closet sir.”

“Very well, bring him in.”

He smiled as Alex pushed the man through the doorway. He suit needed washing, and the man looked as if he had been on a binge for several days. His eyes were bloodshot, and wide with fear, but he tried to smile and act cool when he made eye contact with Mr. C for the first time.

“A broom closet? You try to fuck me out of 5 g’s and you hide in a fuckin’ broom closet? What they fuck were you thinkin’ eh? No fucking sense to plan your way out before you make off with my money? Huh motherfucker? Mr. C. was an intimidating presence once he got rolling; the man had a well practiced scare tactic, raising his voice with every word.

“I don’t know what you think I’ve done sir? But I was only looking for the bathroom...please believe me, my date is sitting alone at the bar waiting for me to return.”

“I know your fucking date. Who do you think tipped us off asshole? You think you’re going to come in to my place of business...fuck the best regular piece of ass in the joint, the whore that’s brought me regular business for the past five years, and then you expect to fuck me in the ass as well? You’re god damn out of your mind.” Mr. C finished off his scotch and water and stood up from his chair. “I’ve met a lot of dumb mother fuckers in my life Smalls...” Mr. C trailed off into a mumble, pulling out a large hunting knife from the file cabinet in the corner.

Smalls? Who was Smalls? The man was certain now, that this was a case of mistaken identity. He had been caught yes, but for the wrong crime. With a blade six feet away from ending his life, he had to think up something quick. The girl, he thought. She would tell him they just met...and that this was his first time in here. He wasn’t even on a first name basis with the bartender yet.

“Please, Mr. C, I don’t know who you think I am, but I swear to you...” His pleading lasted all of thirty seconds, before Alex stuck a claw hammer into the back of the man’s skull. Meanwhile a man named Marcus Smalls, and his girlfriend Samantha, both now former employees of Mr. C’s, made their way down the alley behind the bar, carrying a large black duffle bag.