• The man sitting across from me in the limousine is in a very nice suit. He is fairly well groomed, wears a conniving mustache, and his name is Anthony. I try not to look at him, preferring to look out the window instead.

    “It is a nice neighborhood, don’t you think, Reginald?” Anthony says to me.

    “Yes, yes… y-yes it is, indeed, sir.” I hastily reply. I am beginning to think that my nervousness is obvious. My knees are shaking a little, I feel as if I am always adjusting my tie, and my hands are sweating profusely.

    “Of course my house is kind of like one of those mansions on a hill shadowing over all of the other relatively smaller houses. It is simply a shame that the rest of the people in this gorgeous neighborhood can’t be as rich as I.” he brags.

    The limousine stops. A few seconds later someone opens the door, and I step out. Anthony’s description explained the whole house. It was practically a mansion on a hill shadowing over all of the other relatively smaller houses.

    Anthony appears beside me, and begins to walk up the path to his home. I, of course, reluctantly follow.

    The large, light wood front doors of his house lead into what I imagine to be a fancy foyer dressed in an Asian theme. The floor is made of square stone tiles, and the walls are like the thin paper, paneled walls from the Far East; nothing is on these walls, including windows. There is a black, matching loveseat and sofa set, arranged at a right angle, with a light wood coffee table centered between them. Green botany occupies three corners of the room, and in the fourth corner there is another, smaller coffee table next to the door that seems to be for mail. There is a sliding door on the wall exactly opposite the front door, and a rectangle patterned door to the left. The only thing that seems out of place is the sunflowers set in a vase on top of the coffee table centered between the seating.

    “Sit.” Anthony commands. I sit on the couch, and Anthony sits on the loveseat. A few seconds pass, and the man starts to pull something out of his pocket made of metal. Oh my god, is it a gun? I knew it; I am going to die! Anthony continues to pull out the object, and not much longer it becomes apparent that it is simply a small box with cigars in it. He offers it to me, “Would you like one?”

    “N-n-no… I-I don’t smoke.” I gulp, and feel a little relieved.

    “Suit your self.” Anthony pulls a lighter out, and lights his cigar. He lets a long puff out before he speaks again. “So… I was wondering, how’s life with you recently?”

    “Oh!” I am surprised at the question, “You know, I work for five days, and then I get a couple days with the family.”

    “I see,” he replies, “you haven’t thought of anything else? You just seem so unoriginal, so… ordinary.”

    “I like my lifestyle.” I say.

    The chat continues for a few minutes until Anthony finishes his cigar. “Let’s get a drink.” he says.

    “Okay.”

    Anthony gets up, walks over to the sliding door, and slides it open. As I step out of the room I feel the door; it is made of sturdy wood, and the paper is wallpaper. The next room is a courtyard with stone paths connected to various parts of the house. There is abundant plant life, and a few benches. I can only assume that a paid gardener manages the flora. I look up, and the rooms above are connected by a balcony that encloses the courtyard, but not so that it blocks any light.

    Anthony walks through the courtyard, to the right, and through an arch with several strings of hanging, black beads for privacy. The next room seems to be a place to hold events or parties. There is a small bar on the far side of the room, several couches, a large television hanging on the wall, and several nice photographs and paintings hanging on the walls.

    Anthony walks over to the bar, and begins pouring a couple drinks. “Down to business.” he says casually while taking his good old time pouring the drinks, “Where’s the money?”

    I panic. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get it to you before now. I’ve been talking to some people to help me out here. Look man, I really needed that operation!” I say quickly and all at once. I quickly look down, fidgeting with my hands lubricated with sweat.

    “I am so sorry to hear that.” Anthony is finished making the drinks. He hands one to me, and continues to talk. “So when do you think you might be able to get it to me? I wouldn’t want anything to happen because of debt.”

    I take a long drink. The drink is delicious, but something tastes a little off, but I don’t say anything. “Oh, maybe a week or two, I’m still working some things out.”

    “I see.” Anthony swirls his drink for a few seconds and takes a sip. “That would mean I made the right decision just now.”

    “What do you mean by that?” I exclaim.

    Anthony is stays quiet for a few seconds, and my stomach starts to churn a little. Suddenly, there is a huge lurch in my stomach, and I begin to feel sick. I regurgitate a little in my mouth, and I begin to fall.

    As I fall I can hear Anthony’s voice say, “Well, that takes care of that.” I can see him finish his drink, and walk away before I black out, helpless to do anything.