Writing assignment: 750 words or less, Crime, Jack the realtor, filing cabinet, "have you seen my pants?"
I am showing a house in Capitol Hill today. As I gel and comb my hair, I recite my latest motivational lines from my "Power Talk" CD collection. "My name is Jack Mikkleson, I am a great realtor and I will sell my first $2 million home today." Slowly I wind my way from my North Seattle neighborhood, cursing the traffic on South I5. I arrive at my latest listing over an hour before the scheduled brokers open.
As I pull into the driveway, I begin to open the garage, my red BMW parked inside might be a selling feature. The automatic door drones open, I cough and gasp spilling my double tall vanilla latte on my most expensive suit. There, in the middle of the garage, is a a woman dressed in a red evening gown. She lies, motionless on the floor. "Damn! that woman looks dead!" I leap from the car to get a better look. The woman's body is pinned at the hem of her dress by a fallen filing cabinet. Personal and financial files are strewn around the body. It is with some confusion that I note the complete absence of blood. Quickly, I race back to my car, noting the latte stain spreading near my crotch. I have to think fast. This house is my best listing. Soon I will have realtors pouring in to this open. I decide that I should involve my partner, Dave, never mind that he is an environmental attorney and bit squimish around murder. I whip out my cell and soon have Dave on the other end of the line. "Have you seen my pants?" I blurt. "Hey, what ...Jack what are you talking about?" "Have you seen my brown pants, I looked for them this morning and I think that they might look better with this jacket. Could you bring them to me?" I know that Dave has to go this direction to get to his office. "Uh sure," Dave replies sounding confused. I give him directions to a nearby coffee stop. I want to meet at a neutral location to calm down.
Half an hour later Dave arrives, pants in hand. I pick a corner table as Dave orders his grande mocha. "What happened to your pants?" he asks, noting the stain. I pull him close and whisper my findings. "Oh my God! You have to get back there!" "I don't want to go back there, I am totally freaked out." "No, we have to go back and call the police" "What about my brokers open? This house could be the sale of my career." "Well, you're not going to sell it with a dead woman in the garage." I dive into the restroom to change my pants then have Dave follow me to the listing. I pull into the driveway, Dave pulls in close behind. With shaking hand, I carefully aim the remote at the garage door. Slowly it opens and inside is completely empty. Empty except for an upright filing cabinet standing neatly in the corner.