Craig knocked on the door. It was just a bit of weed, and his mate had put him in contact with the dealer. How hard could it be? There was a bump, followed by a moment of silence, then several clicks as the door unbolted. A golden shaft of light penetrated the dark of the hallway, as the door pulled taught on the chain.
“Hi. We spoke on the phone a minute ago?”
The silhouette nodded.
“Just wait there.”
Craig heard the hasty footsteps recede across the flat. He’d left the door ajar. Strange, this wasn’t how Jack said it would happen. Through the crack of light, he made out a few packed bin liners. His eyes took a moment to adjust. Then he made out a couple of shabby armchairs, one on its side. A smashed lampshade. Broken plates. And was that newspaper on the floor? He must have been decorating, there were splotches of red here and there.
Craig began to shuffle on the spot. He wanted to get out of these flats. Maybe there was an argument? It might explain why those bin liners had clothes spewing from them. Some had paper in them too, which could have been stripped wallpaper. A sudden bump announced the silhouettes return.
“Here you go mate.” Craig noticed the glint of steel in his right hand.
He couldn’t resist a glimpse up at the window when he reached the street. Behind the blinds, he saw a shadow over one of the bags, forcing something in. Wait, was that an arm?
© Copyright 2016 Mitchell Essom. All rights reserved.
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