"I need to check this apartment out, before we parlay. I'll knock when I'm ready." Jack withdrew into the kitchen and shoved the Automag into it's holster, this was getting sttranger by the moment.
Taking a pair of gloves from a drawer, Jack pulled them on.
Jack began by checking all the cupboards andd drawers in the kitchen. It was a very normal kitchen, coffee mugs were held on a wooden peg and the dishes were in the dishwasher. The refridgerator was filled with milk, eggs, cheese and an assortment of ice cream. In the cupboards were boxes of cereal.
As Jack retreated from the kitchen, his hand bumped into a box of Raisin Bran he had sat on the counter. The box plumetted to the floor and burst at the seams. A white powdery substance spread all over the kitchen floor. Damnation! He thoguht, kneeling to observe the powder closer.
Jack came to the realization that his friend had become a drug addict. He shook his head sadly.
As with the kitchen, the living room appeared completely normal aswell, it was the bedroom that nearly made Jack's stomach turn.
In a boneless heap in the corner, was Albert Corer's dead body. Blood pooled around him , issuing from hundreds of cuts, made with a small bladed knife. Both of Albert's legs had been busted at the knee, so badly that bone showed through hideous tears in his flesh. Extensive burns covered Albert's chest, where small trenches had been carves into Albert filled with cordite and then cooked off with a match or lighter, whoever had done this was an talented amateur.
Jack couldn't bare to look at his friend anymore, so he looked away and tried to ignore the smell. He quickly looked through Albert's room. He was headed to the door when he spotted a scrap of paper crumpled and thrown onto the floor.
Jack picked up the paper and opened it, it read.
Jack,
You're reading this, so that means that I am dead. I regret my actions in the past, as do many people in our line of work. I was never truthful with you, in the years we'veknown each other, so I will try and get those lies that lay heavily on my heart off here.
The operation in Mexico, it was a complete lie. Bandits were attacking the road, however The Agency could care less about the Mexican's problems, they are only human. We were all, everyone but you, were getting a large piece of th epie from those bandits, until they stopped paying. Then, The Agency decided to send the best we had to get what was coming to us and to do a small favor for the Mexican government. There was never any rockslide, those banditos remaining thought there was a whole division of Army Rangers knocking on their door. I was being chased, but only half heartedly, those chasing me thought they were being chased aswell. I went back to steal the money Enrico Salvatore had held back from us, was extracted by boat the next day.
Now for what has happened here. I'm sorry to say, I'm not the man I useed to be. I called you here, praying you would get here in time to be here when they came for me. You and I could have stopped them, Jack.
I've become a druggy, like those we fought against when we were with the Agency, ironic. I've already got the threats and I know the name of the one who will come to do the deed. Jerome Peters, a small time gangbanger, an all around piece of garbage that doesn't mind killing women and kids when he's getting paid for it. He likes to hang around The Cherry Gentleman's Club, if you're intrested.
All the best, friend,
Albert.