T.M.I. (Too Much Information)

About This Author

I am SoCalScribe. This is my InkSpot.

T.M.I. (Too Much Information)

“It’s really dark in here.”

I rolled my eyes.

“That’s the whole point. Unless you want to turn on the lights and advertise the fact we’re not supposed to be here?”

Bobby and I crept through the empty office, finding every chair and side table in our path. The aptitude with which we managed to find obstacles and stumble over them was uncanny, really.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Bobby asked as we crept to one of the executive offices bordering the sales floor.

I fumbled to find the door handle, jiggling it accidentally as I grasped for it in the dark. It was unlocked and we slipped inside.

Bobby tripped over a guest chair with a loud “oof”. Suddenly, light flooded the room as a lamp switched on. We looked up to find Gibbons sitting at his desk, leveling a revolver at us.

“You two are the worst burglars I’ve ever met,” he said. “I heard you coming all the way from the elevator.”

Before we could respond, he continued.

“I should tell you that your attempts at secrecy were laughable. I’ve been onto you for days now, and I can tell you that I’ve already destroyed all evidence of the embezzlement. Now drop the bag.”

We complied, raising our hands up as the bag hit the ground and spilled out streamers, miniature candies and confetti.

“What’s this?”

“Birthday decorations,” I replied. “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?”

A brief wave of realization swept over Gibbons’ face before his steely resolve returned. He stood and cocked the gun.

“Wait!” I exclaimed. “You said you destroyed the evidence. There aren’t any more loose ends.”

“You’re right,” he replied coldly. “Once I’ve taken care of the two of you.”

The last thing I heard was a pair of gunshots.

(300 words)

InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.