Sitting here in stunned silence. I think to myself with a clenched fist and whiskey on the rocks. My life savings is riding on this game. I look around my home office. “125,000 dollars how could I be so careless?” 5 minutes have passed before the dreaded phone call arrives.

“Mr. Hudson….”

The incredibly calm deep voice terrified me. “I cant honor our agreement!” stammers out barely above a whisper.


The next hour is a vexed blur of soul wrenching fear. The dread feeling you feel when your own doom is quickly approaching is paralyzing. My fingers are trembling and the stale scent of sweat pooling on my desk in front of me. Above to my left is an unopened bottle of Glenglassaugh 40.

“Seems like a fine way to end the day” While reaching up a black Mercedes Benz is seen slowly pulls into my driveway. Through the fuzzy haze of intoxication life’s memories collide with the events that led me to this moment.

“Of all the things on my mind one final taste of fine scotch….fitting”

I watched the doorway handle turn slowly and give way to a ghost of a figure clad in all black. Young, expertly tailored, one would imagine him a business man with the terrifyingly serious air of a warrior about him. No words are spoken. Instantly the cold steel of a Makarov pistol is pressed against my temple.

I wanted to scream, to plead, to take this God Damn whiskey glass and smash it into his damn head. Instead I did none of that; I lived an eternity in one single explosive




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