Hey John Pt. I

Imagine a car, a convertible to be exact cruising on the highway at exactly 120 miles per hour on a 90 miles per hour lane, then suddenly your right tire blows out causing you to crash into the car next to you creating another impact which causes you to hit and crash into multiple cars, back to back. Then to top it all off an elephant stands on top of your already dismantled car and starts doing the jumping jacks. That was exactly how my head felt, I have never experienced such a headache like this before, opening my eyes seemed like the worst thing to do but I had to. Normally around this time I would feel Sparky licking my face beckoning me to get up, but today was different, there was no Sparky. I felt the sun shine on my face but I couldn’t get my eyes open. I figured saying a little morning prayer might do the trick. I slowly began to open each pupil one at a time until I finally got the muscles in my eyes to squint. There was something heavy in my hand and I had an uncontrollable grip to it. Once I got the chance to look at exactly what the heavy item was, I screamed and got up abruptly which enhanced the elephant’s cardio routine in my head.

I was holding a gun, not any gun, but a suppressed 9MM pistol, my hand was taped around the loaded gun with such precision almost as if I had shot a few bullets. My heart was racing faster than ever and which caused my blood to circulate through my body, making my movements quicker by a millisecond. I jumped up and realized that I was not in the comfort of my own home back in London, I was in a hotel and surrounding me were papers, documents, passports, blueprints, building alarms, IDs’ and a bundle of cash that could easily be worth fifty grand. I closed my eyes and hoped that I was still dreaming but then a knock came on the door. “Room service”.

I was frozen and didn’t know what to do next. I attempted to unwrap my hand from the gun I was holding, but whatever tape was used to wrap my hand could not be unwrapped without using a knife or scissors. I slowly crept to the door and peeped through the hole, the room attendant was a beautiful young girl who did not deserve to see me in that state. “Mr. John, I assume you’re busy I will just leave your breakfast out here for you, please hurry and take it before it gets cold” she said and left. My mind was doing hurdles, my heart was racing, my body had created its own marathon. I made my way to the door, looked through the peephole to make sure no one was in the hallway before proceeding to take my food, gun still taped to my hand. After bringing the food in I went into the washroom and found a pair of scissors under the sink. I started to cut the duct tape that was meticulously wrapped around my hand, it took two minutes of cutting and unwrapping before my hand became free and I placed the gun on the floor.

I did a walk through the entire room and I was more confused than ever. I was not in an ordinary hotel room, this room was equivocal to a bachelor apartment. I began pacing the room. Not only was I kidnapped and brought to a new city, but I must have been in some deep sleep for two weeks because I had a beard, something I disliked, a clean shaven face was my cup of tea. This hotel room became my new truth, I was not in London anymore and I was not going to have a normal day as I have been used to, I was in New York City. I decided to take a look at the papers on my bed in hopes that it would shed some light on the predicament in which I found myself. Theses papers were classified documents of big financial transactions that happened between huge business companies which frankly speaking ruled the world’s market. Some of these transactions were done by my firm and I, others I only heard about on the news. I glanced through most of the documents and became even more confused as to why I was here, in New York City, with a bunch of classified business transactions that no ordinary 28-year-old man-such as myself should have access to.

Confused with a headache and a bad morning breath, I sat on the bed and started to cry. I then decided to freshen up and on my way to the washroom I saw a green folder sitting casually on the coffee table. I stared at the folder for a few minutes because I knew that somehow if I opened the folder I would be opening Pandora’s box. I worked up the courage and balls to open the folder because if I didn’t God knows how long I would be in this God forsaken hotel. The folder had pictures, telephone numbers, bank statements, and license plate numbers, neatly organized in sections. Inside the folder was a brown envelope and a blank piece of paper with instructions. The first instruction read- Do Not Shave only trim, underneath the sink are a pair of glasses, change them as you please but never shave. Keep the beard. The second instruction read – Kill Donny O’Brien by 9pm today. Use the gun….

You and I had the exact thought after reading that note. What the F….. I hate stepping on ants much less killing an actual bug, now I was instructed to kill a human being, and not just any ordinary human being Donny O’Brien. O’Brien was the CEO of the world’s largest telecommunications agency in the world, servicing almost every continent and now he was on my hit list. A hit list that suddenly was under my control. After contemplating for a few minutes, I went to the washroom freshened up and got dressed, surprisingly my closet was packed with clothes and shoes of all designs. I put on a white T-shirt, some blue trousers, a baseball cap and one of the many glasses my kidnappers were gracious to give me and left the room. I figured my new disguise was to be a 6’3” medium built man with glasses, a beard and an English accent.

I left the room but before I made it to the elevators I ran back and placed the gun at the back of my pants, and took five hundred dollars cash with me. I flagged down a cab the way I had seen on TV back home in London, got in and told him where to take me. I got out and paid him his fare. I was standing in front of my freedom and the only thing stopping me was my two feet, which were suddenly glued in position. A man of my status is never happy to go to the police station, I don’t think any man is but I had to in order to free myself from this hole and possibly save a life.

Just when I was about to enter the station, three beautiful women dressed like Nubian queens walked past me, one of them dropped a McDonalds bag, I picked it up in an attempt to give it back to her I heard a ring. I opened the bag and realized it was a burner phone. At this point I didn’t know whether to run to the girls and indicate they dropped their burner phone or pick up, so I picked up. “Hey John, where do you think you’re going” the voice said to me stopping me dead in my tracks…..

(Stay tuned to find out what happens after the phone call)


One thought on “Hey John Pt. I

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