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Greg sat on the porch, staring at the two cars still remaining in the parking lot. The sun was slowly rising in the desert, burning off the chill of the night air. It sparkled off the grit in the parking lot, and the tear that was rolling off his cheek. He didn't know what to do at the moment; but he did know that he would never see his five friends again.
"Friends," he whispered. "Ha. Some friends they were."
Greg remembered meeting them several years ago when he started working as a garbage collector. The city was now five drivers short for their trucks, and if he was smart, they'd be six people short. Otherwise, he was in for a long time in jail cells and interrogation rooms with pissed off police officers.
"Wanna talk about it?" asked a man's voice from behind him. Greg turned around and saw the co-owner of the brothel standing in the open doorway. Just the sight of this bald, physically fit man standing there caused Greg to jump to his feet and fall down the stairs. The blood stain just below the rib cage was still present on the black shirt Jason was wearing.
"You do know that you can't leave without keys for one of the two cars you and your friends came in, right?" Jason asked the man lying on his back at the foot of the stairs. "There's only one way to get those keys, and that is to come back inside and get them."
"She'll kill me," Greg stammered, fighting with the urge to scream out that Jason should be dead.
"Like you guys tried to kill her?" Jason responded, pulling a cigarette out of thin air. It lit itself when he sucked on the opposite end of it. "Like Charlie tried to kill me, perhaps?"
"I didn't know they were that bad," Greg yelled, sitting up, but remaining on the ground. Jason sat down on the top step and smoked his cigarette. "They've never been that brutal before."
"Oh, they've done worse before," Jason answered, blowing out smoke. "You just never saw it."
"If I knew, I wouldn't have come here with them last night," Greg said. "I never wanted to be part of this."
"Well, you were, Greg, and now it is up to you to put it right," Jason replied.
"How do I do that?" Greg climbed to his feet, resigned to wanting to do right and not end like the other guys.
"Go inside, go to her room, apologize to her, and ask nicely for the keys to one of the cars," Jason answered. He flicked the remaining portion of his cigarette out toward the parking lot. Greg watched it fly into the air, disappear before it fell to the ground and looked back to where Jason had been sitting. The man was gone without a sound.
"Shit," he exclaimed, and slowly walked back up the stairs toward what was sure to be his doom. His mind thought about the events of the night before that led to him and five other men walking up these same stairs.
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Greg, Charlie, Max, Larry, Joe and Gary shared the pitcher at the table, like they always did on Friday nights. They sat together in a side booth, laughing loudly about all the shit they saw this week in peoples trash cans. It was unbelievable what people threw away, and at the moment, they were playing the typical game of who saw the weirdest shit.
"Okay, okay, I got you on this one, Larry," Charlie yelled over their laughter. He leaned toward the center of the table conspiratorially and the rest of them went quite all of a sudden and leaned in to hear the great secret of what Charlie had found this week.
"Tuesday, I found an arm in one of the cans at a house," Charlie whispered. They all looked at him with awe before all but Charlie burst into laughing.
"You're fucking with us," Max said, reaching for the pitcher and his mug.
"It's the God's honest truth," he bellowed. "I swear to fucking God that there was an arm sticking out of a can when I pulled my truck up next to it."
"Sure there was," Joe said, raising his glass to his mouth and draining the last of it.
"It was a fucking arm," Charlie yelled. "With fingers and everything. Hell, the goddamned thing even had a ring on the fingers."
All heads in the bar turned to them, and the rest of the guys had gone silent at the Charlie's insistence of his find being real.
"You really found an arm?" Greg asked, his voice full of awe at such a thing. "Did you call the police?"
All of the guys looked Charlie, and he kept a straight face as he leaned in again to tell them exactly what he did about the arm.
"I took it home and made a roast out of it," Charlie answered, then all five of the men laughed and pointed their fingers at Greg. "You fucking noob, no one throws away body parts anymore. They know the cops will definitely catch them that way."
Greg felt his face flush with anger at being made fun of, but he bit his tongue and chuckled at the fact he was the butt of their joke. As he raised his glass to his lips, Gary pulled it back from his mouth, causing him to spill it on his shirt.
"Go get another pitcher, noob," Gary said, not a bit of joking in his voice.
Greg knew not to mess with Gary. He got up and went to the bar with the empty pitcher. He came back with a full one and saw bald physically fit man sitting in his seat. As he got closer, the man stood up, turned around and smiled at him as he took a drag on the cigarette hanging from his lips.
Greg sat down in his seat again as Gary grabbed the pitcher. Charlie took it from him before he could start pouring and filled his own glass first.
"Who was that?" Greg asked.
"That was a man with an offer we just can't refuse," Gary said. "We're going to go get laid tonight, my newbie friend; and we're going to do it at one of the best known brothels in the country, to boot."
"Huh?"
"That was Jason Maurice," said Charlie, setting his half empty mug down. "He runs the Succubus Ranch, the best little whore house in America, and he's offered us a night of our greatest fantasy, if we come to his brothel tonight. He even said that if he can't meet our fantasy, then he'll give us $10,000 cash each."
"The poor bastard's going to loose some money tonight," Max said, drinking his glass empty. He quickly refilled it from the pitcher and handed it to Larry. By the time Greg got a chance to refill his glass, the pitcher had little more than a sip left in it.
"You fuckers," Greg said, starting to get up to go get another pitcher. Charlie reached across the table and put his meaty hand on Greg's shoulder and pushed him back into his chair.
"Drink your beer," he said, his menacing tone. "We've got a date with a lot of cash."
The men all finished their drinks quickly and got up from the table at the same time. As they walked out, many heads turned away from them, everyone noticing their silence compared to the boisterous laughter they were having earlier. As soon as the two cars were out of the parking lot, people in the bar let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the looks on the faces of five of the men meant that someone was in for some pain tonight.