The Rat

“That is it. I am going to get something and kill all of you.” Mark said as a roach crawled across his kitchen counter, which Mark killed with the shoe off his foot. Not even the smell of freedom let him sleep better at night, no matter how much Mark cleaned, the rodents appeared. Mark tied his trash bag shut from the kitchen and thought what he could do to fix his rodent problem. He leaned against the front door, disgusted at where he was in life right now. Mark sighed. “Bromadiolone!” Mark said as he opened the pantry door, he remembered he saw rat poison when he first moved in. There it was, way in the back of the pantry, the label was faded. He was careful, he knew the little white powder was deadly. Mark was certain to hold it away from him before he opened it. He backed up slowly careful not to get any powder on his hands. “This stuff is deadly.” Mark repeated and sprinkled the white powder behind his refrigerator and close to the trash can.

“Mark Goodman!” A voice spoke from the hallway and spooked him. The white powder was somehow knocked over, and spilt all over the kitchen counter.

Mark froze, as the voice knocked on the door.

“Yes.” Mark said as he took a good look through the door’s peep hole. Suddenly, the back of Mark’s head exploded as the bullet passed threw the door. The gunman opened the door and quickly locked it and stepped over Mark’s lifeless body, and put two more bullets into Mark’s deceased corpse. The gunman begun to search the apartment, knocked over a few tables, he was looking for something frantically.

He opened the closet door, pulled miscellaneous items in haste. “It has got to be in here.” The man passed the kitchen and looked at the powdery substance on the counter. He wet his fingers and ran them threw the white powder, mistaken it for cocaine. He went to work again, ransacked the apartment. Within minutes, he begun to sweat heavily, by the time he had searched the whole apartment, he felt like he had the flu.

“Bromadiolone!” He said out loud and held the capsule he found on the floor beside Mark. “Oh God, no!” He cried out as he vomited heavily all over the floor.

The phone rang! The gunman was startled, he hesitated in his weakness. The sixth time it rang, he answered but did not speak.

“I assumed Mark Goodman is dead!” The man said on the other end. “And you did not find what you were looking for.”

The gunman hesitated. “Yes and no.”

“Excellent, the police are about to knock on the door, let them take you… We have a job for you that is far more profitable than killing rats. How about it John Hunt?”

“I swallowed rat poison by mistake. I feel deathly ill.” John said to the mystery man on the phone.

“I will inform them to send an ambulance. Lay down your weapon, once you leave the hospital we will contact you. You have much work to do in Mexico.” The voice said as he hung up the phone.

John dropped the phone, and fell to his knees. The sweat dripped from John’s head as he dry heaved constantly unable to stand.

“Open up it is the police!” They said from the hallway as the door was kicked open. John tossed his pistol a way from himself and placed his hands in the air.