To The Hot Blooded

I picked up a line that said the information I was looking on could be found right here.

I caught my ship at a quarter ’til, I made it past the loading gates right on time.

The hiss of electronics had accompanied me down long hallways, the guards never saw me and everything was going as planned. Still, I have the sinking feeling that something wasn’t going quite my way.

I want to sit back and tell you that it’s my stunning intuition, that my mind has been nagging me about a mystery, that I’ve been picking up these puzzle pieces like dominoes.

I want to say that, but really, I know things aren’t going right when I wake up in a too-bright room, my circulation cut off by the zip-ties binding my wrists together, tight and red.

And I know things are going straight to hell when the door opens up and my girlfriend walks through, not a hair out place, not a tad out of line. She eases onto the edge of the table, she’s holding the documents I was sent to collect.

And she leans in real close.

“Love,” she starts.

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