Answer:
The Dream
I open the cafe door. People buzzed around the cafe, their conversations filling to room. I scan the area looking for someone, searching for a client of mine who was not very happy. I take a deep breath and place my hand on my belt, feeling the gun in its pouch. I knew that I would need it, for I have had encounters similar to this were only one of us would make it out alive. My eyes stop on the man, who is sitting at a table alone. He just stares at the table, if his eyes were lasers, they could have burned a hole in it. I sigh and make my way over to the table. I push through the crowds ignoring their greetings and waves of hello. As I make it to the table the guy falls out of his daze and starts scanning the room for me. He catches my eye and at once he recognizes me. We had met before; he was never one of my nicest clients, but he paid well and that was all that mattered to me. He stood up, even though I am 6 foot 2 he still towers over me like I am a mouse.
“Sit” he says in his thick Russian accent as I approach the table. With out saying anything I sit down across from where he was as he pulls back his chair to sit. “Look I don’t want any trouble,” he says as he shoes off a fly, “but if at the end of this I am not happy then we will have a bigger problem then all problems combined,” he said, the last part with an especially thick accent.
“Look,” I say “how many time will I have to tell you that your car will be shipped here ON TIME” I say stretching out the last part.
“I told you that “on time,” doesn’t work for me anymore,” he said growling. “I need it two weeks earlier.” He said, nearly knocking his drink down.
Two weeks earlier was an unreasonable request, two weeks before it was due, we would still be painting the car, let alone shipping it. “I am only going to say this one more time, you are getting it when we agreed, on the” I start to explain before the waiter interrupts.
“Can I get you guys anything.” We both glare at her. She understands what’s happening and says, “My apologies just don’t make a mess” and disappears into the crowd to find another table.
“On the 12th,” I finish. “You can take it or leave it.” I said and I get up from the table and start heading towards the exit.
“Oh you just made a big mistake,” he says as he gets up from the table and withdraws his gun. I turn around to see the barrel facing at me and then everything goes dark.
I wake breathing hard and covered in sweat, and I sit up in bed. I look at my clock. It reads 2:34 a.m. I sit in bead and try to collect myself. After 30 minutes I can calm down and I try to go back to sleep, but before I do I pull down my shirt a bit to see that my scar is still there. I sigh and curl under the sheets. The worst dreams are often the ones that are true.
Explanation:
