If The Price Sounds Too Good To Be True, Then It Is Too Good To Be True. I Learned That The Hard Way.

“Yeah… look, Dimitri, I’m going to get you your money, I just need a little more…” I pleaded before I was cut off.

“Always with the excuses, (He said my fucking name. My actual first name). You bring me the money now,” Dimitri said with a very angry tone.

“Okay, okay. Look, I can meet you in two hours at that place on Broadway. I’ll have your money then,” I offered him.

“Why not now?” Dimitri asked in a friendly manner.

Just then, my identical neighbor’s door burst open and three large men with tattoos and weapons rushed into the condo. The other me bolted like a goddamn cheetah from his bedroom, across the living room, and towards the kitchen. Maybe that’s where he kept his gun. Seemed like a bad place to me, especially now. Before he could make it there, one of the tattooed men took three quick shots at him with a pistol. His couch (which was exactly like my couch) erupted downy feathers into the air as the first two shots missed. The third ripped through my doppelganger’s leg and he went tumbling to the floor.

Two of the large men quickly grabbed the other me from off the floor and yanked my injured body up onto my knees. The third man approached slowly, talking and pulling a very large machete out from his belt. He seemed to be making some point as I panted and sweat, a muscle-bound ex-con pulling on each arm. The third man stopped talking and leaned in close to me. He stared for what seemed like a long, tense moment. Then he quickly raised the machete high and brought it down to the floor, cutting off my right arm in one swing. I could see me scream and thrash across the street as my blood sprayed all over my white carpet.

The men holding me didn’t flinch. Like they were at work. Before I could even register the level of atrocity playing out in front of me, the machete fucker hacked down on my other arm. This one took two strong bashes before lobbing off my other limb. I could feel my stomach wrench like Bruce Lee had been sidekicking me in the intestines for the last hour. I thought about getting my 1911 and just firing right through the window, but I couldn’t move a muscle. Maybe I was just in shock, I don’t know.

I screamed and bled for a moment longer before the machete wielding fucker chopped into my neck with two sturdy whacks and my head hit the floor. It rolled a couple feet across the pretty white carpet, leaving a red trail behind it. The machete man grabbed my severed head by the hair and lifted it up to stare straight into my scared and dead eyes. He smiled with a row of regular teeth mixed with gold ones. He slowly turned his own head and the severed one to look out the window and directly across the street. At me. Right as he turned to catch my eyeline, the lights in the other condo went out.

And just at that moment, a loud banging rapped against my door. I almost yelled, it startled me so bad. I immediately grabbed my 1911 off the coffee table and made sure it was loaded. I inched towards the door as the banging continued and started to shake my walls. My muscles began to tense the closer I got. My hands were shaking, but I was more than ready to unload a clip into a fuckhead with a machete. The banging kept getting louder and it seemed angrier. I cautiously placed the muzzle against the door and leaned in to look through the peep hole. Right as I reached my eye to the door, the banging stopped completely. I looked out and just saw a hallway. My heart rate slowed down just a little, and I opened the door to peak both ways. Not a single person.

I went back inside, locked the deadbolt, and busted out the black label bottle. I’m a few drinks in now as I finish typing this. I’ve got my Johnny Walker and my 1911, so at least there’s that. But whatever’s happening, it’s starting to bleed into my condo over here. I don’t know what might happen tomorrow night, but I’m not looking forward to it.