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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?"