by Christi
Organic *water*? No one buys that. Who buys that? Why'd he say that? That's when it hit me. Maybe it was a clue. After work that day, I made my way over to the Whole Foods. I just knew there was something about the water.
It was over by the refill station where I made my discovery.
I was pretending to fill my cup from my morning excursion to Quik Trip. As I scanned the machine, I noticed a little piece of paper sticking out beneath the instruction panel on the machine. After I made sure no one was watching, I tugged at the piece of paper. It turned out to be an envelope - business-sized. On the front, in red ink, was my name!
I paid for my refill and sat out front at one of the tables. An errant breeze left over from the earlier storm delivered little buckets of humid smog straight up my nose, but I hardly noticed. I stared at the envelope, pausing to take a breath. Little did I know that once I opened that envelope, there was no going back. My very life could then be in danger.
I opened it carefully, unaware of the magnitude of potential peril what may have awaited me for so doing. Inside was a plain sheet of paper with a handwritten note:
I need your help. I was placed at our job for the purpose of concealing myself from a notorious Colombian drug cartel who is very upset with me, because I usurped the authority of the Drug Lord in Charge. Don't ask how. I'll explain later. For now, just use the enclosed info to board a small plane to the specified location in Mexico. You'll receive further instructions there. I am counting on the fact that you are smart enough to know that no one buys organic water. For Pete's sake. Act fast. Otherwise, I can assume that this letter is going to rot in the refill station at Whole Foods...
Chapter 6 awaits...
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