Fiction

I think to myself, “I can do this; I’m a detective after all.” So, i hop onto the small platform behind the last carriage of the train. I’m able to keep my balance thanks to a vertical pipe that runs the height of the carriage. As I am on the platform, I try to listen in on the conversation going on inside. Something about a box of cocaine and the lady, who is clearly foreign, as given away by her heavy accent and odd hat, wanting it to be delivered to the right place, which she points out on her map with wild gesticulations is not the place the train is currently headed. Deciding I should probably do something before this escalates or at least to stop this transfer of a massive amount of crack, after taking a quick peep through the window, I open the door on the platform and run in.

Having pulled my gun which I always carry around with me, the lady immediately raised her hands and dropped the map while the young man set down the box and, raising his hands, asked me if I wanted some money. I responded that I just wanted to do what’s right, but he insisted that he wasn’t just talking about some small sum. He claimed there was ten kilos of coke in his box, which amounted to about half a million dollars. I, being of feeble will, acquiesced. He seemed delighted but I could tell he was trying hard to cover it up. At this point I had forgotten about the train I missed. I put the gun back in its holster. The two told me the situation, and I suggested an alternate route so that we could get to the right destination.

As we were arriving at our final destination, somewhere in the middle of  Siberia, I was exhausted, having been on a train for the last ten hours. As I step off the train, some husky Russian guy put a bag over my head. He told me to shut up and all the while that little weasel who had been on the train with me for the last ten hours was laughing his head off. The lady, on the other hand, didn’t seem to say anything. They took me to what I felt was an empty warehouse, and only once I felt the barrel of a rifle against the back of my head was my idiotic automatic assumption that all of humanity was good was finally cracked as I realized that I wasn’t going to get my money. Now it makes sense why I never got a promotion as a detective..

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