Special Delivery
Whitney didn’t go on deliveries often -- his parents didn’t trust him with boxes full of pills meant for higher branches of the company. They thought he was going to take them or something, but he wasn’t stupid. If he did that, they’d cut him off for good and he wasn’t interested in losing his trust fund. He was surprised he hadn’t already.
The relationship between he and his parents was getting more tense by the day though, and he figured they’d reach their breaking point soon. All he needed to do was be good for a couple of months, pretend he was going straight, then go back to his old shit. He’d been using this method since he was thirteen, and it hadn’t failed before.
The address was a large corporate building with mirrored windows and a security perimeter. It looked well protected and discrete. He could guess what kind of business went on behind these walls, but it didn’t phase him. He was notoriously bad at sensing red flags. He walked inside and leaned against the counter, grinning at the man at the front desk. “Hey,” he said. “I have a delivery for Mr. Evans. I think he is expecting me.”
The secretary eyed him, then smiled; It was cold and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He is. Take the elevator to the twelfth floor. His office is to the left all the way at the end of the hall.”
“Cool. Thanks.” Whitney grabbed a few candies from a dish off the counter and shoved them in his pocket.
He didn’t have a hard time finding Raph’s office. It was almost like it had an aura radiating off of it, drawing Whitney forward. He felt a weird stirring in his chest, but ignored it. He popped one of the candies into his mouth and knocked on the door before entering (without waiting for a response). “Helloooo? Mr. Evans?”
The office was empty. He frowned and rolled his eyes, put off by the absence of the exterminator. Typical. He rolled the hand truck to the middle of the floor and engaged the brake, then examined the walls with a quiet hum.
Guns everywhere, that was the first thing he noticed, and then the skulls. “Damn,” he said to himself, walking to one of the displays with a loud whistle. “Beautiful.” He recognized the make and model of this gun, it was one he’d dreamed of owning for years. He pulled it off the wall and smiled, observing all the intricacies and minute details. He wished there was an easy way to conceal a gun as big as this one so he could steal it, but alas.
He pulled the hammer back, the cold metal resisting him. It probably wasn’t loaded, but he liked the fantasy of it. He held the butt against his shoulder and peered through the scope, pointing the gun giddily at various items in the room.
