Black Star Canyon – Chapter 3

3 – A Rough Morning After A Rougher Night

David Lukas slowly opened his eyes in a painful squint, noticing that he forgot to draw his blinds closed when he came home last night in a drunken stupor. It wasn’t the light that had woken him though. He could’ve slept another couple of hours before his studio apartment got so hot from the sun, he would’ve felt like he was being cooked alive. No, he woke up this morning because he put his cell phone on vibrate and purposefully left  it on top of a pile of change on his night stand in order to wake him up, if he needed to be woken up for any reason. This was his alarm clock.

He grabbed the phone and looked at it. Lawrence Chaney was calling. Once the call went to voicemail, he saw that he had forty-seven missed calls from Lawrence Chaney that morning. David Lukas sighed. He knew this couldn’t be good. Lawrence Chaney called again. He didn’t want to answer it because he knew it would be bad news and he also knew, if the news was really bad enough, Lawrence Chaney would be pounding on his door in a matter of minutes. This meant that he didn’t have much time.

He sat up on his messy twin bed, looked down at himself and noticed that he still had on his clothes from yesterday; shirt, tie, slacks, dark gray trench coat. He had managed to get one shoe off though. The black sock with a hole in the big toe was the canary that sang that tune. His eyes slowly moved across the small room, trying to locate the missing article.

His studio apartment was very small. Besides his bed, he only had a nightstand, a small desk and a dresser. His walls were a muted depression that held the same hue as his trench coat. There was though, a small pastel portrait hanging above his dresser that looked as if a child had drawn it. His tiny desk sat under the only window in the room, and had on top of it, the room’s only light; a small fifteen watt desk lamp. His apartment was horribly tidy for a man who obviously didn’t care about his environment. The only thing on the floor was the empty bottle of vodka, that looked as though he had tried to place it on the dresser, and then missed. One explanation for the cleanliness of his dwelling was that there was a good possibility that he was wearing all the clothes he owned. There was also a strong possibility that the food David Lukas would eat, came in a bottle and was either from Poland or Russia.

His phone was still rattling on the change. He rubbed the crust from his eyes then almost cut his hand open as he slid his fingers down his cheek over the two day growth of his dark stubble. His chiseled face was hidden behind long greasy hair that hung down past his chin. He stood up and almost fell right back over once he found out that the one shoe on his right foot made him about an inch taller. Trying to regain his balance also showed him that he hadn’t managed to sleep it off and he was, in fact, still a little drunk. He found the heel of the missing shoe poking out from its hiding place under the bed as he stumbled. Once he got it on, he stood up straight and stretched. His back and shoulders were in knots due to the fact that he had passed out with his gun holster on again. He hated doing that.

Once he’d got his bearings, he opened his front door then turned to the even smaller bathroom to release all the vodka that he had been holding onto all night. Like clockwork, a shorter man in a nicer and cleaner version of what David Lukas had on, entered the room with great urgency. The man was holding his cell phone to his ear and spoke loudly through a neatly trimmed red beard.

“No it’s okay. You don’t have to answer your phone; I’m already in your apartment,” Lawrence Chaney said full of sarcasm.

“You forgot, shithole,” David Lukas added as he zipped up his pants and flushed the toilet.

“I told you, I’m trying to not use as much foul language,” Chaney said.

“You haven’t used any yet today. I think you’re due,” Lukas said.

“You obviously haven’t listened to your voicemails,” Chaney said.

“You got me there,” Lukas said as he exited the bathroom. He grabbed a cigarette off the dresser and put it in his mouth.

“You’re not going to wash your hands?” Chaney asked in disbelief.

“Bite me, Chaney,” he said through his teeth while he lit up. “What the hell do you need so early?”

“It’s not early Lukas. It’s eight in the morning.”

“Morning being the operative word in that sentence,” Lukas pointed out.

“We have big trouble. Get ready,” Chaney insisted.

“I am ready,” Lukas said.

“For detox?” Chaney said, “I can see that. But we have to work now.”

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