LostSole
Registered User
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2024
- Messages
- 41
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- 18
The sun sagged low on the horizon, spilling molten gold and copper over the quiet suburban street. It painted the rows of identical houses in a fleeting brilliance, as if trying to lend them a moment of individuality before the night swallowed them whole. This was a neighborhood where monotony thrived—manicured lawns, white picket fences, and the hum of routine that dulled even the sharpest edges of life. But tonight, the veneer of quiet perfection felt strained, as if something unseen had begun to press against it, threatening to surface.
Inside one of these homes, Derrick moved like a shadow given form. His wiry frame carried a tension that belied his casual appearance—shaggy blond hair falling into sharp blue eyes, his hoodie frayed at the cuffs and hem. He wasn’t here to linger. His hands worked with an efficiency born of repetition, rifling through drawers with a predator’s precision. A thin stack of cash disappeared into his backpack, followed by a modest haul: a sturdy wristwatch, a gold chain tucked into a small box, and a bar of silver that gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Every motion was deliberate, almost surgical. Routine jobs like this rarely went sideways, though there was always the chance for something to go wrong when least expected. Tonight, it seemed, his luck was about to be tested. As he crouched in front of the safe tucked away in the study, the faint sound of the front door handle jostling shattered the stillness like a crack of thunder.
Derrick froze mid-motion, his pulse quickening as adrenaline surged through him. His head snapped toward the sound, and he crept to the edge of the window, parting the curtain with two fingers. On the porch stood a man fumbling with his keys, muttering under his breath as frustration etched lines into his face. The dim porch light cast a soft glow on his dark, disheveled hair, which flopped over his forehead as if it had long since given up on being tamed.
“Well, this is inconvenient,” Derrick murmured to himself, lips curling into a wry smile despite the tension coiling in his chest. The man—presumably the homeowner—looked like he’d been chewed up and spat out by life itself. His slumped shoulders and defeated posture told a story all their own as exhaustion clung to him like an old coat he couldn’t shake off.
Henry Blackwell groaned audibly as he jangled his keychain again, each metallic clink another insult to an already miserable day. His tailored gray slacks were wrinkled beyond salvation; his blue dress shirt hung untucked and crumpled over his waistband; and his tie dangled askew like a half-hearted noose. The day had been relentless: coffee spilled down his front before 8 AM, a presentation that imploded spectacularly in front of unimpressed colleagues, his wallet mysteriously disappearing sometime after lunch, and now this—locked out of his own damn house.
“Of course,” Henry muttered under his breath as he leaned against the doorframe in defeat. “Why not?” He straightened after a moment, patting down his pockets one last time in futile hope before glancing toward the side yard. If he couldn’t get through the front door, maybe one of the windows would give him mercy.
As Henry trudged off the porch and onto the grass with heavy steps, Derrick’s mind raced. He scanned the room for options and spotted salvation in an unexpected form: a laundry basket perched near the couch. Without hesitation, he peeled off his dark hoodie and jeans and swapped them for items from the basket—a plain gray T-shirt and sweatpants that clung just slightly too tight around his legs. Not ideal, but passable.
Derrick caught sight of himself in a hallway mirror as he tugged at the hem of the borrowed shirt. A grin flickered across his face—not quite amusement but something close to it. “Time to improvise,” he muttered under his breath.
Outside, Henry cursed softly as another window refused to budge under his fingers. The backyard loomed ahead as his next—and likely final—hope for entry. Grass crunched beneath his shoes as he rounded the corner toward it.
Inside, Derrick adjusted his stance by the couch and tilted his head toward the faint sound of approaching footsteps. His heart pounded harder now—not with fear but with anticipation. Whatever happened next would require quick thinking and sharper instincts than ever before.
The game was on.
Meanwhile, just a few streets away, Steven Cartwright adjusted the strap of his binoculars and scanned the neighborhood with the fervor of a self-appointed sentinel. His tall, lanky frame and thinning hair might not have screamed authority, but Steven’s conviction in his role as the neighborhood’s watchful protector was unwavering. He patrolled nightly, armed with nothing more than a flashlight, a notebook for jotting down "suspicious activity," and an overinflated sense of duty.
Tonight, his vigilance paid off. Movement caught his eye—a figure in the side yard, attempting to pry open a window with hurried, clumsy motions. Steven’s lips pressed into a thin line as he muttered to himself, “Not on my watch.” Gripping his flashlight like a weapon of justice, he marched toward the house in question, his sneakers striking purposefully against the pavement.
When he reached the front door, Steven rapped his knuckles sharply against it, his flashlight tucked under one arm. “Hello? Is anyone home?” he called out, his voice firm but polite.
The door opened a crack, revealing Derrick’s face. Clad in borrowed sweatpants and T-shirt, Derrick leaned casually against the doorframe, exuding an air of calm that belied the adrenaline still coursing through him. “Hi there,” he said smoothly. “Can I help you?”
Steven squinted at him, his flashlight beam grazing Derrick’s face before he lowered it. “Good evening,” Steven began with practiced formality. “I’m Steven Cartwright—neighborhood watch coordinator. And you are?”
“Derrick,” he replied without missing a beat, flashing a disarming smile. “The homeowner.”
Steven tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing Derrick with the intensity of someone who had watched one too many detective shows. “Well, Derrick,” he said slowly, “I hate to introduce myself under these circumstances, but I came over because I saw someone near one of your windows just now—looked like they were trying to break in.”
Derrick’s expression didn’t falter; if anything, his brow furrowed in just the right amount of concern. “Really? That’s strange,” he said evenly. But before either man could say more, a loud crash shattered the moment.
Both men froze for an instant before exchanging wary glances. Without another word, they moved toward the source of the noise coming from the living room.
There, sprawled awkwardly on the floor amidst shards of what had once been a vase, was Henry Blackwell. His wrinkled dress shirt clung to him like a badge of defeat as he struggled to sit up, one hand rubbing at his elbow where it had collided with the hardwood floor.
“What are you doing in my house?” Derrick demanded sharply, seizing the opportunity without hesitation.
Henry blinked up at him in stunned disbelief. “Your house? This is my house!” His voice cracked with indignation as he gestured wildly around him. “I live here!”
Derrick turned to Steven with an incredulous look that could have won awards for its authenticity. “I’m guessing this is the man you saw trying to break into my home?”
Steven nodded solemnly. “It appears so.”
Henry’s face flushed a deep red as he scrambled to his feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I lost my keys! I was trying to get inside my own home!”
Steven frowned deeply, clearly torn between Henry’s disheveled sincerity and Derrick’s composed demeanor. But before Henry could launch into further protestations, Derrick stepped forward with calm authority.
“Look,” Derrick said smoothly, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder as though consoling him. “We all want to make sure this is cleared up properly.” He glanced at Steven meaningfully. “Maybe we should restrain him until we figure out what’s going on. Just to be safe.”
Henry gawked at him in utter disbelief. “Restrain me? Are you insane?!”
But Steven nodded gravely at Derrick’s suggestion. “That might be wise,” he agreed.
Derrick moved quickly and methodically, rifling through drawers until he produced zip ties, while Henry sputtered protests that fell on deaf ears. Within moments, Henry found himself seated at the kitchen table, his wrists securely bound to the armrests and his ankles tightly restrained to the chair legs.
“This is ridiculous!” Henry barked, pulling against the restraints.
"Now," Derrick began with a tone of mock casualness, straightening up from his crouch to lean against the counter. His wiry frame was relaxed, but his sharp blue eyes fixed on Henry with a calculating glint, and his lips curved into a faint, almost lazy smile. "Why don’t you tell us why you broke into my house?"
Henry's face flushed with indignation. "I didn’t break in! I live here!" His voice cracked as he shot back, furious and incredulous, his fists clenching in defiance despite his precarious situation.
Derrick shifted his stance, his gaze flicking toward Steven, who stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, watching Henry with a faint smirk of amusement. Steven’s relaxed posture contrasted with the sharp curiosity in his eyes, which seemed to assess Henry with quiet intensity.
Henry glared up from the chair, his eyes locking on Steven as he struggled against the zip ties. "You can’t seriously believe this lunatic!" he barked, jerking his head toward Derrick, his voice hoarse with frustration.
Derrick leaned forward, his sharp eyes glinting with a calculated calm. "You’re in my house, buddy," he said smoothly, flexing his fingers as if mulling over his next move. "And if you can’t explain yourself, well… unconventional problems call for unconventional solutions."
Henry’s brows knitted together in confusion, his frustration giving way to suspicion. "What the hell does that mean?"
Derrick crouched in front of Henry, his fingers wiggling theatrically in the air. "It means," he said, his tone light but with a dangerous edge, "we’re about to have a little… laugh."
Steven raised an eyebrow from the sidelines, his smirk growing. "This ought to be good," he muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall to watch.
Before Henry could protest, Derrick’s hands darted under his arms, zeroing in on the sensitive spots with ease. The reaction was immediate—Henry jerked in the chair, his face twisting into a blend of surprise and hilarity. A startled yelp burst from his lips, quickly giving way to a torrent of helpless, uncontrollable laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHO! WHAHAHAT ARE YOU DOHOHOING?!" Henry shrieked, his voice rising as Derrick’s fingers kneaded along his ribs with methodical precision. His laughter rang out, echoing through the room.
"Just seeing how ticklish you are," Derrick teased, grinning as he leaned into the task. "A good laugh does wonders for the memory, don’t you think?"
Steven’s chuckle deepened as he observed, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "Well, this is a first," he said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. "Not the interrogation technique I would’ve chosen, but I’m starting to see the appeal. There’s something satisfying about watching someone squirm, especially when they might be lying."
Henry’s face turned crimson as tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. "HAHAHAHA! I’M NOHOT LYING! STAHAHAHAP!" His voice cracked as he struggled to breathe between bouts of hysterical laughter.
"Then why does it feel like the truth is stuck somewhere under all this laughter?" Derrick quipped, his hands moving down to Henry’s sides and digging into the soft spots just above his waist. The intensity of Henry’s laughter climbed, each desperate thrash against the chair making it all the more entertaining.
Steven finally stepped forward, his smirk widening. "Think he’ll crack if I give it a shot?" His tone was light, almost conversational, as if they were discussing something mundane.
"Be my guest," Derrick replied, stepping back with a theatrical flourish and a sly grin, wiping his hands together as if he’d just finished a job well done. "Let’s see if you’ve got the magic touch."
Steven approached with a calm precision that sent a chill down Henry’s spine, his movements marked by an unnerving deliberateness that set Henry on edge. He positioned himself behind the chair, his tall frame looming as his hands reached forward with calculated ease. His fingers targeted Henry’s sides and lower ribs with maddening accuracy, drawing out frenzied peals of high-pitched laughter.
"C’mon now," Steven drawled, his voice low and teasing, leaning slightly over the chair as his fingers worked mercilessly. "You say this is your house, but that doesn’t explain why you’re sweating like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar."
"HAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP!" Henry pleaded, his voice breaking into desperate shrieks as Steven’s fingers found a particularly vulnerable spot near his waist. His head snapped back involuntarily, tears streaming down his flushed face as his body writhed in vain against the restraints. "HAHAHA! I’M TEHEHELLING THE TRUHUHUTH!"
Derrick leaned in from the side, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Steven’s relentless interrogation unfold. "You’re a terrible liar," he remarked, his tone calm but cutting as he crouched in front of Henry. His hands moved with calculated precision, squeezing just above Henry’s knees. The reaction was instant as Henry erupted into a fresh wave of hysterical howls, his body jerking in the chair desperately trying to escape.
"You’ve got all the tells: shifting eyes, nervous twitching, and this delightful, uncontrollable laughter," Derrick added with a teasing grin, his hands working mercilessly to amplify Henry’s wild reactions.
The dual assault was unbearable. Henry’s laughter had grown hoarse, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "PLEHEHEASE!" he cried, his voice cracking as each touch sent fresh waves of hysteria through him, his pleas melting into panicked cries. "I CAHAHAN’T TAKE IT!"
By the time they stepped back, Henry was slumped in the chair, the room heavy with the sound of his ragged breaths. His hair stuck to his damp forehead, and his body trembled with exhaustion, held upright only by the restraints.
Derrick tilted his head, looking down at Henry with mock concern. "You know," he mused, his tone dripping with exaggerated seriousness, "maybe we should call someone—like a counselor, or even a crisis team. You’re looking a little too rattled for someone claiming to be innocent."
Steven let out a low chuckle, brushing his hands off on his jeans as if clearing invisible dust. "Yeah, either he’s hiding something, or he’s one shaky answer away from a wellness check."
Henry glared weakly at them, too drained to respond as he panted, trying to catch his breath. Derrick studied him briefly, then pulled out his phone with deliberate calm. He dialed the non-emergency line, his voice measured as he explained the situation. “Yes, I’d like to request an officer for a wellness check. The individual is acting erratically and seems to believe this is his home.” His tone was steady, yet it carried a subtle hint of urgency, as though he wanted the authorities to grasp the delicate nature of the predicament.
He paused, glancing toward Henry, who sat bound and glaring daggers at him from across the room. Henry’s face was flushed with anger, and his hands twitched as though he longed to break free of the restraints and lash out at Derrick. Derrick’s lips quirked into a faint, almost amused smile before he returned his attention to the phone. “Thank you. I’ll wait for their arrival,” he concluded with a polite yet resolute tone before hanging up.
As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he turned to Henry, his eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and mischief. “It’s done,” he said, his voice laced with mock cheerfulness. “They’ll be here soon.” The words hung in the air, carrying an unmistakable taunt, as a smug, playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Henry groaned, his head hanging in defeat as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Derrick approached him with an easy, casual stride, tilting his head as if weighing an idea. A sly grin spread across his face before he said, “How about one last round before we say goodbye?”
“Don’t you dare—” Henry began, but his protest was cut short as Derrick darted behind him. Without hesitation, Derrick’s fingers attacked his armpits with ruthless precision. Henry’s words dissolved into a torrent of frantic laughter, rising higher until they broke into wheezing gasps.
His body jerked against the chair as Derrick’s fingers moved down his ribs in slow, calculated strokes, each touch heightening the overwhelming sensations. The relentless tickling left no room for relief, each pause only amplifying Henry’s helpless, riotous laughter when it resumed.
“You’re ridiculously ticklish,” Derrick teased, his voice dripping with mockery as his fingers spidered along Henry’s quivering sides. Henry could only shake his head frantically, any attempt at coherent speech drowned by his breathless laughter.
Across the room, Steven shifted his weight against the wall, a hint of amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth as his gaze lingered on the scene. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His tone carried a playful edge.
Derrick shrugged, his hands never faltering in their relentless exploration of Henry’s sides. “It’s definitely entertaining,” he said with an easy tone, a faint trace of amusement slipping through. “Look at him—laughing this hard. It’s infectious.” He paused briefly, just long enough for Henry’s frantic giggles to fade into shaky, uneven breaths, before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm.
Steven’s smirk widened as his gaze flicked between Derrick and Henry. “I have to admit,” he said, his tone turning almost reflective, “watching someone get tickled to the brink of insanity is... fascinating. But I’m starting to think you might enjoy this a bit too much.”
Derrick chuckled, glancing over at Steven without pausing his methodical movements. “What can I say? Some people paint, some play music. I bring laughter to the world… whether they like it or not.” His fingers returned to Henry’s ribcage with calculated precision, drawing another fresh burst of uncontrollable laughter that echoed throughout the room.
Henry twisted and squirmed in the chair, his head shaking frantically as more tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. “NOHOHO! STAHAHAHAP!” he wailed, his voice breaking into hysterics as the laughter rose to an almost inhuman pitch.
“You’re going to wear him out,” Steven quipped, though the lack of concern in his voice betrayed the playful jab. He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, observing Henry’s helpless state with a mix of amusement and faint pity. “He’s turning about as red as a tomato.”
Derrick finally relented, stepping back with a satisfied grin. “Oh, he’ll be fine,” he said breezily. “It’s good cardio. Besides, I think he secretly enjoys the attention.” He cast a knowing look at Henry, who could only manage a weak glare in response, too drained to offer a proper retort.
Henry slumped forward in the chair, trembling as residual spasms wracked his body. His laughter had diminished into wheezing gasps, and his voice was barely above a whisper as he pleaded, “Please… no… more.” His words, fragmented and breathless, hung in the air as he struggled to recover.
Before Derrick could respond, a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Both Steven and Derrick froze, tension thick in the air. Derrick straightened and gestured for Steven to handle it. Steven nodded, glancing briefly at Henry, who was still slouched in the chair, struggling to lift his head.
Steven opened the door to reveal two uniformed officers standing on the porch. “Good evening,” one of them said politely. “We’re here for the wellness check?”
Steven stepped aside, leading them into the living room. Henry’s head snapped up at the sight of them, his movements sluggish but driven by desperation. His voice cracked as he rasped, “Oh thank God! Please—arrest these two lunatics!” The words came out uneven, his breath hitching as he pointed frantically at Derrick and Steven. “They tied me up in my own home!”
Derrick stepped forward smoothly, his expression one of calm concern. “Officers,” he began in an even tone, gesturing toward Henry. “This man broke into my home through that window.” He pointed toward the shattered pane in the living room. “He’s been ranting nonstop about this being his house. My neighbor here”—he nodded toward Steven—“helped me subdue him when he became erratic.”
The officers exchanged glances before one addressed Henry directly. “Sir, can you confirm your identity and address?”
Henry’s voice cracked as he shouted, “This is my house! I live here! I lost my wallet today—if I had it, I’d show you!” His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, his desperation palpable.
The officer raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, before turning to Derrick. “Do you have any identification for this man?”
Derrick shook his head, his tone heavy with fabricated sympathy. “He didn’t have anything on him when we restrained him. Poor guy must’ve had some kind of breakdown.” He sighed theatrically, his gaze briefly flicking to Henry before addressing the officers again. “We didn’t know what else to do. He was acting unhinged.”
The second officer frowned, his gaze flicking between Derrick and Henry. “We’ll take it from here,” he said firmly, though his tone carried a note of hesitation. Turning to his partner, he added, “Let’s verify his story at the station.”
Steven stepped forward, cutting the zip ties binding Henry’s ankles and wrists. One of the officers hauled Henry to his feet, but he struggled weakly against their grip, his voice rising in panic. “Wait! What are you doing? This is my house! Please—you’re taking the wrong guy!” His protests grew fainter as they led him outside, the door clicking shut behind them.
Silence filled the room, broken only by Derrick’s long sigh of relief. He turned to Steven with a grin. “Well,” he said lightly, clapping Steven on the shoulder. “Glad that’s over. Thanks for your help tonight—it was much appreciated.”
Steven chuckled, waving off the gratitude with a casual shrug. “No problem at all! That’s what being part of neighborhood watch is all about.” He grinned. “Happy to help.”
Derrick stretched lazily, gesturing toward the kitchen cabinets. “I need to step away for a few minutes,” he said smoothly. “Feel free to grab a drink—I think there’s some whiskey in the cabinet.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Steven replied with enthusiasm, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make us both one.”
As Derrick disappeared down the hallway, Steven’s gaze lingered on the cabinet for a moment before he began preparing the drinks, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
In the bathroom, Derrick stared at himself in the mirror, his reflection smug and confident. He let out a low chuckle that echoed in the small space. “Hollywood’s next biggest star,” he murmured before splashing water on his face. He gave his reflection one last look. “Nothing could ruin this night,” he said softly, and then headed back out.
When Derrick returned to the kitchen, Steven was already seated at the table, two glasses of amber liquid set neatly before him. He looked up with a grin and raised one glass in greeting as Derrick settled into the chair across from him.
“To a successful evening,” Steven said, his voice light and cheerful as he lifted his glass.
Derrick mirrored the gesture, picking up his own glass. He took a long sip, savoring the warm burn of the whiskey as it slid smoothly down his throat. The familiar sensation was comforting at first, but as he lowered the glass, something felt off.
His hand wavered slightly, the glass clinking awkwardly against the table as he set it down. A deep frown creased his face. “That’s... weird,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. A wave of dizziness hit him, sudden and disorienting, making his stomach churn.
Steven’s brow furrowed in apparent concern. “You okay?” he asked, leaning forward. “You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t—” Derrick started, but his words slurred. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. The room seemed to tilt violently, the edges of his vision blurring.
“Whoa, hey, sit back down,” Steven said, rising quickly as if to steady him. His tone was urgent, bordering on alarm. “What’s happening? Are you—”
Derrick staggered, his knees buckling as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. His hand shot out to grip the table, but his fingers missed, brushing only air. The world tilted violently, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint before collapsing into darkness. The last thing he registered was the sensation of the floor rushing up to meet him as he crumpled into a heap.
When Derrick’s awareness finally began to return, it came in fragments, like flickers of light breaking through a thick, oppressive haze. The first sensation was a dull, throbbing ache at the base of his skull, radiating outward with each sluggish pulse of his heartbeat. A groan escaped his lips, low and hoarse, though it barely cut through the muddled fog clouding his thoughts.
As the haze lifted, clarity brought with it an unwelcome discovery—his arms were pinned to the chair’s armrests, wrists bound tightly by zip ties that bit sharply into his skin. He tried to move his legs, but they too were immobilized, zip-tied firmly to the chair’s legs. Panic surged, sharp and immediate, as he tested the restraints, his muscles straining against the unforgiving bonds.
Blinking rapidly against the harsh kitchen light, Derrick struggled to focus on his surroundings. Shapes swam in and out of view before sharpening into a singular image: Steven, seated comfortably across from him, his fingers lazily swirling a glass of whiskey. A faint smirk curled at the corners of Steven’s lips as he met Derrick’s gaze.
“About time you woke up,” Steven said smoothly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. He leaned back in his chair, raising the glass in a mock toast. “Was starting to think I gave you too big of a dose.”
“What the hell is this, Steven? Let me go!” Derrick growled, his voice rough with frustration.
Steven chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Now, now, don’t be so hasty, Derrick—if that’s even your real name.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Derrick snapped, glaring at him.
“I know you’re not the owner of this home,” Steven said smoothly, his tone almost amused. “The owner is the man we just had shipped off to the funny farm.” Steven raised an eyebrow as Derrick’s expression shifted. “Come on now, Derrick. As a neighbor and self-appointed neighborhood watch, you think I wouldn’t know what my neighbors look like?”
Derrick’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Steven took a leisurely sip of his whiskey before continuing. “I’ll admit, though—this little show you put on was quite impressive. You’re a smart man; I can tell. You think on your feet. Most thieves”—he emphasized the word, his voice sharpening—“would have panicked and run off. But not you.”
“So you knew this whole time?” Derrick asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “Then why play along?”
“Because I wanted to see how it played out,” Steven replied with a shrug. “If you could really keep up the act convincingly.”
“And did I pass?” Derrick asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“Oh, you did,” Steven said with a grin as he stood. He set his glass down on the table, then slowly walked over to Derrick. Before Derrick could react, Steven’s hands shot out to his ribs, kneading methodically.
Derrick stiffened, biting his lip as he fought the urge to laugh. He glared at Steven, cursing silently as the laughter bubbled dangerously close to the surface. He refused to give Steven the satisfaction.
“Come on now, Derrick,” Steven teased, his fingers dancing along Derrick’s ribs with deliberate precision. “You said you like to bring laughter to the world. Don’t hold back on me now.”
Steven worked his way down Derrick’s ribs, pausing occasionally as if searching for the exact spot that would break his defenses. Derrick squirmed in the chair, his muscles tightening as he struggled to hold back. A strained chuckle escaped before he clamped his mouth shut again, his frustration mounting.
“There it is,” Steven said, leaning in closer, his voice dripping with mock encouragement. “You’re not going to hold out forever. Trust me, Derrick—I’m very thorough.”
Derrick gritted his teeth and managed to huff out, "What do you want from me?"
Steven’s grin widened, his fingers slowing but still pressing against Derrick’s ribs. "Oh, right now? Your laughter. You’re always bringing it to others, so it’s only fair you get a turn. Call it… a balanced exchange." He tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eye. “You know, I’ve always considered myself to have a great sense of humor.”
Derrick attempted to scoff, but the sound faltered into an unguarded chuckle. Steven’s fingers shifted in that precise moment, pressing beneath his ribs, and Derrick’s composure shattered completely. His head snapped back as he let out a high-pitched laugh that spiraled into uncontrollable cackles.
"AHAHAHAHA! NOOHOHO!" Derrick howled, his body twisting futilely against the restraints.
Encouraged, Steven’s fingers worked the spot mercilessly, kneading with steady precision. Derrick’s frantic squirming did nothing to dislodge him, and Steven’s hands never paused. "PLEAHEHEHESE! STAHAHAP!" Derrick shrieked, his voice cracking under the strain.
"My, my, somebody’s ticklish," Steven remarked, his tone matter-of-fact as his fingers continued their relentless assault. He ignored Derrick’s frantic squirming and desperate pleas for mercy, keeping it up for another excruciating minute before finally stepping back.
Derrick slumped in the chair, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Now,” Steven said, straightening his shirt with a casual flick of his wrists before reaching for his glass, “I do have a proposition for you.”
Derrick glared at him, his breathing uneven but his eyes still burning with defiance. He didn’t speak, his silence a challenge of its own.
Steven smiled as he swirled his drink, the movement slow and deliberate. “I’d like you to work for me, Derrick. You’ve got talent, and I know how to put it to good use.”
“Doing... what... exactly?” Derrick asked, his tone sharp with suspicion, each word clipped as he worked to steady himself.
Steven chuckled, taking a small sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Oh, nothing out of your wheelhouse. Let’s call it acquisitions—sourcing items for people who know their worth.”
Derrick’s brow furrowed as he absorbed the words. “You’re a thief too?”
Steven leaned back against the counter, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “Not just a thief. I run the game. This city’s black market, its network of goods and players? That’s all me. And with your skills, Derrick, you could be part of it—or, dare I say, make it even better.”
“And you want me to... what—steal for you?” Derrick asked, his tone clipped and wary, his skepticism clear in his narrowed eyes.
Steven straightened, his smirk never wavering as he took a measured sip of his drink. “That’s the gist of it.”
Derrick let out a shaky breath, his glare steady despite the exhaustion still weighing on him. “Why me?” he asked, his voice strained but firm.
Steven’s expression turned thoughtful, his tone softening as he stepped closer. “Because I’m always on the lookout for sharp, capable men. What I saw tonight? That was quick thinking. When you were cornered, you didn’t panic, didn’t lash out—you improvised. You’ve got a knack for stealth and strategy, Derrick, and I appreciate that. You could do more than scrape by with your talent. You could excel.”
Derrick’s lips twisted into a skeptical frown. “And what’s in it for me?” he asked, his voice edged with challenge. “If I’m supposed to hand over the prize?”
Steven’s grin widened as he gestured expansively. “Opportunity. Bigger payouts. Let’s be honest, hitting middle-class houses can’t be making you rich—not to mention the time you spend flipping what you steal. Work with me, and you’ll get a crack at bigger targets with none of that hassle. I’ve got buyers lined up and waiting. You just bring me the goods, and I handle the rest.”
He paused for a moment, his gaze steady and deliberate. “And there’s more. I offer protection. You won’t be working alone unless you want to. Need a team? I’ll provide one. Need backup? It’s yours. I make sure my people succeed, Derrick. Always.”
Derrick leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing further. “And if I say no?” he asked, his tone turning cold. “Is this where you threaten me—or tickle me half to death—until I agree?”
Steven chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, no, Derrick. I’m a practical man. If you’re not interested, fine—I cut you loose, and we go our separate ways. Forcing people to work for me? Too messy, too risky. The people on my team are loyal because they want to be. I don’t need to twist any arms.”
Derrick stared at him, his expression skeptical.
“Tell you what,” Steven said, pulling a sleek business card from his wallet and slipping it into Derrick’s hand. “Think about it. No rush.”
Derrick glanced down at the card and raised an eyebrow. “Your front business is a thrift store called Everyday Loot?”
Steven laughed, the sound low and genuine. “What can I say? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve got a great sense of humor.”
Without missing a beat, Steven grabbed the scissors resting on the counter and crouched in front of Derrick, swiftly snipping through the zip ties around his ankles. Derrick watched him with a frown, his voice laced with irritation as he said, “So if you’re not going to threaten me, why spike my drink? Why tie me to a chair? Feels a bit... theatrical, don’t you think? You could’ve just, I don’t know, said something.”
Steven straightened and moved to Derrick’s side, cutting the ties around his wrists with the same quick precision. “Call it a creative introduction inspired by your performance tonight,” he said with a shrug. “Figured it’d leave a lasting impression. Plus, it let me steal your full attention for a while,” he added with a wink.
Derrick blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re insane, aren’t you?”
Steven set the scissors down on the counter and leaned back against it, letting out a deep, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the room. “Maybe. But you can’t deny—it worked, didn’t it?”
Derrick didn’t answer right away, his lips pressing into a thin line. With a slow shake of his head, he pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness from the restraints. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
Steven’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I hear that a lot.”
Derrick’s gaze flicked toward the hallway, his expression hardening. “I’m grabbing my stuff, and then I’m gone.”
“Of course.” Steven gestured grandly toward the hallway, his tone light and amused. “Wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”
Without another word, Derrick disappeared into the bedroom, finding his backpack right where he’d left it. Slinging it over one shoulder, he paused, his gaze sweeping the room as he shook his head at the absurdity of the night. With a quiet mutter under his breath, he turned and made his way back to the kitchen.
Steven was waiting for him, leaning against the counter as he swirled the last of his whiskey with practiced ease. He glanced up as Derrick entered, his lips curling into a faintly amused smile, as if this were the most ordinary night in the world.
“All set?” Steven asked, his tone light and relaxed.
“Yeah,” Derrick replied tersely, shifting the strap on his shoulder. “Time to put this night behind me.”
Steven chuckled, pushing off the counter to walk him to the door. “You can try to put this night behind you,” he said lightly, “but something tells me I’ll be on your mind for a while.”
Derrick didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as they reached the doorway. Steven opened the door with a flourish, gesturing outward with exaggerated courtesy. “Well, Derrick,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “it’s been fun. You’ve got potential. And trust me, potential is a terrible thing to waste.”
Derrick shook his head, stepping onto the porch. “Don’t wait up,” he muttered as he started down the driveway.
“I won’t,” Steven called after him, his voice rich with amusement. “But I’d steal another moment like this any day.”
Derrick paused briefly, letting the pun hang in the air before continuing down the street. The faint sound of the door clicking shut reached his ears, but he didn’t look back.
Pulling Steven’s card from his pocket, he glanced at the playful “Everyday Loot” logo, its bold letters catching the dim glow of a streetlight. He stared at it for a long moment, then slipped it back into his pocket with a sigh. Adjusting the strap on his backpack, he muttered under his breath, “A whole network, huh?”
As he rounded the corner, a faint snort of amusement escaped him. Steven didn’t look like much, but Derrick had no reason to doubt a single word he’d said about his empire.
After all, while Derrick had spent the night congratulating himself on his performance, in the end, it was Steven who had truly stolen the show.
THE END
Inside one of these homes, Derrick moved like a shadow given form. His wiry frame carried a tension that belied his casual appearance—shaggy blond hair falling into sharp blue eyes, his hoodie frayed at the cuffs and hem. He wasn’t here to linger. His hands worked with an efficiency born of repetition, rifling through drawers with a predator’s precision. A thin stack of cash disappeared into his backpack, followed by a modest haul: a sturdy wristwatch, a gold chain tucked into a small box, and a bar of silver that gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Every motion was deliberate, almost surgical. Routine jobs like this rarely went sideways, though there was always the chance for something to go wrong when least expected. Tonight, it seemed, his luck was about to be tested. As he crouched in front of the safe tucked away in the study, the faint sound of the front door handle jostling shattered the stillness like a crack of thunder.
Derrick froze mid-motion, his pulse quickening as adrenaline surged through him. His head snapped toward the sound, and he crept to the edge of the window, parting the curtain with two fingers. On the porch stood a man fumbling with his keys, muttering under his breath as frustration etched lines into his face. The dim porch light cast a soft glow on his dark, disheveled hair, which flopped over his forehead as if it had long since given up on being tamed.
“Well, this is inconvenient,” Derrick murmured to himself, lips curling into a wry smile despite the tension coiling in his chest. The man—presumably the homeowner—looked like he’d been chewed up and spat out by life itself. His slumped shoulders and defeated posture told a story all their own as exhaustion clung to him like an old coat he couldn’t shake off.
Henry Blackwell groaned audibly as he jangled his keychain again, each metallic clink another insult to an already miserable day. His tailored gray slacks were wrinkled beyond salvation; his blue dress shirt hung untucked and crumpled over his waistband; and his tie dangled askew like a half-hearted noose. The day had been relentless: coffee spilled down his front before 8 AM, a presentation that imploded spectacularly in front of unimpressed colleagues, his wallet mysteriously disappearing sometime after lunch, and now this—locked out of his own damn house.
“Of course,” Henry muttered under his breath as he leaned against the doorframe in defeat. “Why not?” He straightened after a moment, patting down his pockets one last time in futile hope before glancing toward the side yard. If he couldn’t get through the front door, maybe one of the windows would give him mercy.
As Henry trudged off the porch and onto the grass with heavy steps, Derrick’s mind raced. He scanned the room for options and spotted salvation in an unexpected form: a laundry basket perched near the couch. Without hesitation, he peeled off his dark hoodie and jeans and swapped them for items from the basket—a plain gray T-shirt and sweatpants that clung just slightly too tight around his legs. Not ideal, but passable.
Derrick caught sight of himself in a hallway mirror as he tugged at the hem of the borrowed shirt. A grin flickered across his face—not quite amusement but something close to it. “Time to improvise,” he muttered under his breath.
Outside, Henry cursed softly as another window refused to budge under his fingers. The backyard loomed ahead as his next—and likely final—hope for entry. Grass crunched beneath his shoes as he rounded the corner toward it.
Inside, Derrick adjusted his stance by the couch and tilted his head toward the faint sound of approaching footsteps. His heart pounded harder now—not with fear but with anticipation. Whatever happened next would require quick thinking and sharper instincts than ever before.
The game was on.
Meanwhile, just a few streets away, Steven Cartwright adjusted the strap of his binoculars and scanned the neighborhood with the fervor of a self-appointed sentinel. His tall, lanky frame and thinning hair might not have screamed authority, but Steven’s conviction in his role as the neighborhood’s watchful protector was unwavering. He patrolled nightly, armed with nothing more than a flashlight, a notebook for jotting down "suspicious activity," and an overinflated sense of duty.
Tonight, his vigilance paid off. Movement caught his eye—a figure in the side yard, attempting to pry open a window with hurried, clumsy motions. Steven’s lips pressed into a thin line as he muttered to himself, “Not on my watch.” Gripping his flashlight like a weapon of justice, he marched toward the house in question, his sneakers striking purposefully against the pavement.
When he reached the front door, Steven rapped his knuckles sharply against it, his flashlight tucked under one arm. “Hello? Is anyone home?” he called out, his voice firm but polite.
The door opened a crack, revealing Derrick’s face. Clad in borrowed sweatpants and T-shirt, Derrick leaned casually against the doorframe, exuding an air of calm that belied the adrenaline still coursing through him. “Hi there,” he said smoothly. “Can I help you?”
Steven squinted at him, his flashlight beam grazing Derrick’s face before he lowered it. “Good evening,” Steven began with practiced formality. “I’m Steven Cartwright—neighborhood watch coordinator. And you are?”
“Derrick,” he replied without missing a beat, flashing a disarming smile. “The homeowner.”
Steven tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing Derrick with the intensity of someone who had watched one too many detective shows. “Well, Derrick,” he said slowly, “I hate to introduce myself under these circumstances, but I came over because I saw someone near one of your windows just now—looked like they were trying to break in.”
Derrick’s expression didn’t falter; if anything, his brow furrowed in just the right amount of concern. “Really? That’s strange,” he said evenly. But before either man could say more, a loud crash shattered the moment.
Both men froze for an instant before exchanging wary glances. Without another word, they moved toward the source of the noise coming from the living room.
There, sprawled awkwardly on the floor amidst shards of what had once been a vase, was Henry Blackwell. His wrinkled dress shirt clung to him like a badge of defeat as he struggled to sit up, one hand rubbing at his elbow where it had collided with the hardwood floor.
“What are you doing in my house?” Derrick demanded sharply, seizing the opportunity without hesitation.
Henry blinked up at him in stunned disbelief. “Your house? This is my house!” His voice cracked with indignation as he gestured wildly around him. “I live here!”
Derrick turned to Steven with an incredulous look that could have won awards for its authenticity. “I’m guessing this is the man you saw trying to break into my home?”
Steven nodded solemnly. “It appears so.”
Henry’s face flushed a deep red as he scrambled to his feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I lost my keys! I was trying to get inside my own home!”
Steven frowned deeply, clearly torn between Henry’s disheveled sincerity and Derrick’s composed demeanor. But before Henry could launch into further protestations, Derrick stepped forward with calm authority.
“Look,” Derrick said smoothly, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder as though consoling him. “We all want to make sure this is cleared up properly.” He glanced at Steven meaningfully. “Maybe we should restrain him until we figure out what’s going on. Just to be safe.”
Henry gawked at him in utter disbelief. “Restrain me? Are you insane?!”
But Steven nodded gravely at Derrick’s suggestion. “That might be wise,” he agreed.
Derrick moved quickly and methodically, rifling through drawers until he produced zip ties, while Henry sputtered protests that fell on deaf ears. Within moments, Henry found himself seated at the kitchen table, his wrists securely bound to the armrests and his ankles tightly restrained to the chair legs.
“This is ridiculous!” Henry barked, pulling against the restraints.
"Now," Derrick began with a tone of mock casualness, straightening up from his crouch to lean against the counter. His wiry frame was relaxed, but his sharp blue eyes fixed on Henry with a calculating glint, and his lips curved into a faint, almost lazy smile. "Why don’t you tell us why you broke into my house?"
Henry's face flushed with indignation. "I didn’t break in! I live here!" His voice cracked as he shot back, furious and incredulous, his fists clenching in defiance despite his precarious situation.
Derrick shifted his stance, his gaze flicking toward Steven, who stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, watching Henry with a faint smirk of amusement. Steven’s relaxed posture contrasted with the sharp curiosity in his eyes, which seemed to assess Henry with quiet intensity.
Henry glared up from the chair, his eyes locking on Steven as he struggled against the zip ties. "You can’t seriously believe this lunatic!" he barked, jerking his head toward Derrick, his voice hoarse with frustration.
Derrick leaned forward, his sharp eyes glinting with a calculated calm. "You’re in my house, buddy," he said smoothly, flexing his fingers as if mulling over his next move. "And if you can’t explain yourself, well… unconventional problems call for unconventional solutions."
Henry’s brows knitted together in confusion, his frustration giving way to suspicion. "What the hell does that mean?"
Derrick crouched in front of Henry, his fingers wiggling theatrically in the air. "It means," he said, his tone light but with a dangerous edge, "we’re about to have a little… laugh."
Steven raised an eyebrow from the sidelines, his smirk growing. "This ought to be good," he muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall to watch.
Before Henry could protest, Derrick’s hands darted under his arms, zeroing in on the sensitive spots with ease. The reaction was immediate—Henry jerked in the chair, his face twisting into a blend of surprise and hilarity. A startled yelp burst from his lips, quickly giving way to a torrent of helpless, uncontrollable laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHO! WHAHAHAT ARE YOU DOHOHOING?!" Henry shrieked, his voice rising as Derrick’s fingers kneaded along his ribs with methodical precision. His laughter rang out, echoing through the room.
"Just seeing how ticklish you are," Derrick teased, grinning as he leaned into the task. "A good laugh does wonders for the memory, don’t you think?"
Steven’s chuckle deepened as he observed, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "Well, this is a first," he said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. "Not the interrogation technique I would’ve chosen, but I’m starting to see the appeal. There’s something satisfying about watching someone squirm, especially when they might be lying."
Henry’s face turned crimson as tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. "HAHAHAHA! I’M NOHOT LYING! STAHAHAHAP!" His voice cracked as he struggled to breathe between bouts of hysterical laughter.
"Then why does it feel like the truth is stuck somewhere under all this laughter?" Derrick quipped, his hands moving down to Henry’s sides and digging into the soft spots just above his waist. The intensity of Henry’s laughter climbed, each desperate thrash against the chair making it all the more entertaining.
Steven finally stepped forward, his smirk widening. "Think he’ll crack if I give it a shot?" His tone was light, almost conversational, as if they were discussing something mundane.
"Be my guest," Derrick replied, stepping back with a theatrical flourish and a sly grin, wiping his hands together as if he’d just finished a job well done. "Let’s see if you’ve got the magic touch."
Steven approached with a calm precision that sent a chill down Henry’s spine, his movements marked by an unnerving deliberateness that set Henry on edge. He positioned himself behind the chair, his tall frame looming as his hands reached forward with calculated ease. His fingers targeted Henry’s sides and lower ribs with maddening accuracy, drawing out frenzied peals of high-pitched laughter.
"C’mon now," Steven drawled, his voice low and teasing, leaning slightly over the chair as his fingers worked mercilessly. "You say this is your house, but that doesn’t explain why you’re sweating like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar."
"HAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP!" Henry pleaded, his voice breaking into desperate shrieks as Steven’s fingers found a particularly vulnerable spot near his waist. His head snapped back involuntarily, tears streaming down his flushed face as his body writhed in vain against the restraints. "HAHAHA! I’M TEHEHELLING THE TRUHUHUTH!"
Derrick leaned in from the side, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Steven’s relentless interrogation unfold. "You’re a terrible liar," he remarked, his tone calm but cutting as he crouched in front of Henry. His hands moved with calculated precision, squeezing just above Henry’s knees. The reaction was instant as Henry erupted into a fresh wave of hysterical howls, his body jerking in the chair desperately trying to escape.
"You’ve got all the tells: shifting eyes, nervous twitching, and this delightful, uncontrollable laughter," Derrick added with a teasing grin, his hands working mercilessly to amplify Henry’s wild reactions.
The dual assault was unbearable. Henry’s laughter had grown hoarse, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "PLEHEHEASE!" he cried, his voice cracking as each touch sent fresh waves of hysteria through him, his pleas melting into panicked cries. "I CAHAHAN’T TAKE IT!"
By the time they stepped back, Henry was slumped in the chair, the room heavy with the sound of his ragged breaths. His hair stuck to his damp forehead, and his body trembled with exhaustion, held upright only by the restraints.
Derrick tilted his head, looking down at Henry with mock concern. "You know," he mused, his tone dripping with exaggerated seriousness, "maybe we should call someone—like a counselor, or even a crisis team. You’re looking a little too rattled for someone claiming to be innocent."
Steven let out a low chuckle, brushing his hands off on his jeans as if clearing invisible dust. "Yeah, either he’s hiding something, or he’s one shaky answer away from a wellness check."
Henry glared weakly at them, too drained to respond as he panted, trying to catch his breath. Derrick studied him briefly, then pulled out his phone with deliberate calm. He dialed the non-emergency line, his voice measured as he explained the situation. “Yes, I’d like to request an officer for a wellness check. The individual is acting erratically and seems to believe this is his home.” His tone was steady, yet it carried a subtle hint of urgency, as though he wanted the authorities to grasp the delicate nature of the predicament.
He paused, glancing toward Henry, who sat bound and glaring daggers at him from across the room. Henry’s face was flushed with anger, and his hands twitched as though he longed to break free of the restraints and lash out at Derrick. Derrick’s lips quirked into a faint, almost amused smile before he returned his attention to the phone. “Thank you. I’ll wait for their arrival,” he concluded with a polite yet resolute tone before hanging up.
As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he turned to Henry, his eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and mischief. “It’s done,” he said, his voice laced with mock cheerfulness. “They’ll be here soon.” The words hung in the air, carrying an unmistakable taunt, as a smug, playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Henry groaned, his head hanging in defeat as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Derrick approached him with an easy, casual stride, tilting his head as if weighing an idea. A sly grin spread across his face before he said, “How about one last round before we say goodbye?”
“Don’t you dare—” Henry began, but his protest was cut short as Derrick darted behind him. Without hesitation, Derrick’s fingers attacked his armpits with ruthless precision. Henry’s words dissolved into a torrent of frantic laughter, rising higher until they broke into wheezing gasps.
His body jerked against the chair as Derrick’s fingers moved down his ribs in slow, calculated strokes, each touch heightening the overwhelming sensations. The relentless tickling left no room for relief, each pause only amplifying Henry’s helpless, riotous laughter when it resumed.
“You’re ridiculously ticklish,” Derrick teased, his voice dripping with mockery as his fingers spidered along Henry’s quivering sides. Henry could only shake his head frantically, any attempt at coherent speech drowned by his breathless laughter.
Across the room, Steven shifted his weight against the wall, a hint of amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth as his gaze lingered on the scene. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His tone carried a playful edge.
Derrick shrugged, his hands never faltering in their relentless exploration of Henry’s sides. “It’s definitely entertaining,” he said with an easy tone, a faint trace of amusement slipping through. “Look at him—laughing this hard. It’s infectious.” He paused briefly, just long enough for Henry’s frantic giggles to fade into shaky, uneven breaths, before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm.
Steven’s smirk widened as his gaze flicked between Derrick and Henry. “I have to admit,” he said, his tone turning almost reflective, “watching someone get tickled to the brink of insanity is... fascinating. But I’m starting to think you might enjoy this a bit too much.”
Derrick chuckled, glancing over at Steven without pausing his methodical movements. “What can I say? Some people paint, some play music. I bring laughter to the world… whether they like it or not.” His fingers returned to Henry’s ribcage with calculated precision, drawing another fresh burst of uncontrollable laughter that echoed throughout the room.
Henry twisted and squirmed in the chair, his head shaking frantically as more tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. “NOHOHO! STAHAHAHAP!” he wailed, his voice breaking into hysterics as the laughter rose to an almost inhuman pitch.
“You’re going to wear him out,” Steven quipped, though the lack of concern in his voice betrayed the playful jab. He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, observing Henry’s helpless state with a mix of amusement and faint pity. “He’s turning about as red as a tomato.”
Derrick finally relented, stepping back with a satisfied grin. “Oh, he’ll be fine,” he said breezily. “It’s good cardio. Besides, I think he secretly enjoys the attention.” He cast a knowing look at Henry, who could only manage a weak glare in response, too drained to offer a proper retort.
Henry slumped forward in the chair, trembling as residual spasms wracked his body. His laughter had diminished into wheezing gasps, and his voice was barely above a whisper as he pleaded, “Please… no… more.” His words, fragmented and breathless, hung in the air as he struggled to recover.
Before Derrick could respond, a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Both Steven and Derrick froze, tension thick in the air. Derrick straightened and gestured for Steven to handle it. Steven nodded, glancing briefly at Henry, who was still slouched in the chair, struggling to lift his head.
Steven opened the door to reveal two uniformed officers standing on the porch. “Good evening,” one of them said politely. “We’re here for the wellness check?”
Steven stepped aside, leading them into the living room. Henry’s head snapped up at the sight of them, his movements sluggish but driven by desperation. His voice cracked as he rasped, “Oh thank God! Please—arrest these two lunatics!” The words came out uneven, his breath hitching as he pointed frantically at Derrick and Steven. “They tied me up in my own home!”
Derrick stepped forward smoothly, his expression one of calm concern. “Officers,” he began in an even tone, gesturing toward Henry. “This man broke into my home through that window.” He pointed toward the shattered pane in the living room. “He’s been ranting nonstop about this being his house. My neighbor here”—he nodded toward Steven—“helped me subdue him when he became erratic.”
The officers exchanged glances before one addressed Henry directly. “Sir, can you confirm your identity and address?”
Henry’s voice cracked as he shouted, “This is my house! I live here! I lost my wallet today—if I had it, I’d show you!” His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, his desperation palpable.
The officer raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, before turning to Derrick. “Do you have any identification for this man?”
Derrick shook his head, his tone heavy with fabricated sympathy. “He didn’t have anything on him when we restrained him. Poor guy must’ve had some kind of breakdown.” He sighed theatrically, his gaze briefly flicking to Henry before addressing the officers again. “We didn’t know what else to do. He was acting unhinged.”
The second officer frowned, his gaze flicking between Derrick and Henry. “We’ll take it from here,” he said firmly, though his tone carried a note of hesitation. Turning to his partner, he added, “Let’s verify his story at the station.”
Steven stepped forward, cutting the zip ties binding Henry’s ankles and wrists. One of the officers hauled Henry to his feet, but he struggled weakly against their grip, his voice rising in panic. “Wait! What are you doing? This is my house! Please—you’re taking the wrong guy!” His protests grew fainter as they led him outside, the door clicking shut behind them.
Silence filled the room, broken only by Derrick’s long sigh of relief. He turned to Steven with a grin. “Well,” he said lightly, clapping Steven on the shoulder. “Glad that’s over. Thanks for your help tonight—it was much appreciated.”
Steven chuckled, waving off the gratitude with a casual shrug. “No problem at all! That’s what being part of neighborhood watch is all about.” He grinned. “Happy to help.”
Derrick stretched lazily, gesturing toward the kitchen cabinets. “I need to step away for a few minutes,” he said smoothly. “Feel free to grab a drink—I think there’s some whiskey in the cabinet.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Steven replied with enthusiasm, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make us both one.”
As Derrick disappeared down the hallway, Steven’s gaze lingered on the cabinet for a moment before he began preparing the drinks, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
In the bathroom, Derrick stared at himself in the mirror, his reflection smug and confident. He let out a low chuckle that echoed in the small space. “Hollywood’s next biggest star,” he murmured before splashing water on his face. He gave his reflection one last look. “Nothing could ruin this night,” he said softly, and then headed back out.
When Derrick returned to the kitchen, Steven was already seated at the table, two glasses of amber liquid set neatly before him. He looked up with a grin and raised one glass in greeting as Derrick settled into the chair across from him.
“To a successful evening,” Steven said, his voice light and cheerful as he lifted his glass.
Derrick mirrored the gesture, picking up his own glass. He took a long sip, savoring the warm burn of the whiskey as it slid smoothly down his throat. The familiar sensation was comforting at first, but as he lowered the glass, something felt off.
His hand wavered slightly, the glass clinking awkwardly against the table as he set it down. A deep frown creased his face. “That’s... weird,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. A wave of dizziness hit him, sudden and disorienting, making his stomach churn.
Steven’s brow furrowed in apparent concern. “You okay?” he asked, leaning forward. “You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t—” Derrick started, but his words slurred. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. The room seemed to tilt violently, the edges of his vision blurring.
“Whoa, hey, sit back down,” Steven said, rising quickly as if to steady him. His tone was urgent, bordering on alarm. “What’s happening? Are you—”
Derrick staggered, his knees buckling as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. His hand shot out to grip the table, but his fingers missed, brushing only air. The world tilted violently, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint before collapsing into darkness. The last thing he registered was the sensation of the floor rushing up to meet him as he crumpled into a heap.
When Derrick’s awareness finally began to return, it came in fragments, like flickers of light breaking through a thick, oppressive haze. The first sensation was a dull, throbbing ache at the base of his skull, radiating outward with each sluggish pulse of his heartbeat. A groan escaped his lips, low and hoarse, though it barely cut through the muddled fog clouding his thoughts.
As the haze lifted, clarity brought with it an unwelcome discovery—his arms were pinned to the chair’s armrests, wrists bound tightly by zip ties that bit sharply into his skin. He tried to move his legs, but they too were immobilized, zip-tied firmly to the chair’s legs. Panic surged, sharp and immediate, as he tested the restraints, his muscles straining against the unforgiving bonds.
Blinking rapidly against the harsh kitchen light, Derrick struggled to focus on his surroundings. Shapes swam in and out of view before sharpening into a singular image: Steven, seated comfortably across from him, his fingers lazily swirling a glass of whiskey. A faint smirk curled at the corners of Steven’s lips as he met Derrick’s gaze.
“About time you woke up,” Steven said smoothly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. He leaned back in his chair, raising the glass in a mock toast. “Was starting to think I gave you too big of a dose.”
“What the hell is this, Steven? Let me go!” Derrick growled, his voice rough with frustration.
Steven chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Now, now, don’t be so hasty, Derrick—if that’s even your real name.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Derrick snapped, glaring at him.
“I know you’re not the owner of this home,” Steven said smoothly, his tone almost amused. “The owner is the man we just had shipped off to the funny farm.” Steven raised an eyebrow as Derrick’s expression shifted. “Come on now, Derrick. As a neighbor and self-appointed neighborhood watch, you think I wouldn’t know what my neighbors look like?”
Derrick’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Steven took a leisurely sip of his whiskey before continuing. “I’ll admit, though—this little show you put on was quite impressive. You’re a smart man; I can tell. You think on your feet. Most thieves”—he emphasized the word, his voice sharpening—“would have panicked and run off. But not you.”
“So you knew this whole time?” Derrick asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “Then why play along?”
“Because I wanted to see how it played out,” Steven replied with a shrug. “If you could really keep up the act convincingly.”
“And did I pass?” Derrick asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“Oh, you did,” Steven said with a grin as he stood. He set his glass down on the table, then slowly walked over to Derrick. Before Derrick could react, Steven’s hands shot out to his ribs, kneading methodically.
Derrick stiffened, biting his lip as he fought the urge to laugh. He glared at Steven, cursing silently as the laughter bubbled dangerously close to the surface. He refused to give Steven the satisfaction.
“Come on now, Derrick,” Steven teased, his fingers dancing along Derrick’s ribs with deliberate precision. “You said you like to bring laughter to the world. Don’t hold back on me now.”
Steven worked his way down Derrick’s ribs, pausing occasionally as if searching for the exact spot that would break his defenses. Derrick squirmed in the chair, his muscles tightening as he struggled to hold back. A strained chuckle escaped before he clamped his mouth shut again, his frustration mounting.
“There it is,” Steven said, leaning in closer, his voice dripping with mock encouragement. “You’re not going to hold out forever. Trust me, Derrick—I’m very thorough.”
Derrick gritted his teeth and managed to huff out, "What do you want from me?"
Steven’s grin widened, his fingers slowing but still pressing against Derrick’s ribs. "Oh, right now? Your laughter. You’re always bringing it to others, so it’s only fair you get a turn. Call it… a balanced exchange." He tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eye. “You know, I’ve always considered myself to have a great sense of humor.”
Derrick attempted to scoff, but the sound faltered into an unguarded chuckle. Steven’s fingers shifted in that precise moment, pressing beneath his ribs, and Derrick’s composure shattered completely. His head snapped back as he let out a high-pitched laugh that spiraled into uncontrollable cackles.
"AHAHAHAHA! NOOHOHO!" Derrick howled, his body twisting futilely against the restraints.
Encouraged, Steven’s fingers worked the spot mercilessly, kneading with steady precision. Derrick’s frantic squirming did nothing to dislodge him, and Steven’s hands never paused. "PLEAHEHEHESE! STAHAHAP!" Derrick shrieked, his voice cracking under the strain.
"My, my, somebody’s ticklish," Steven remarked, his tone matter-of-fact as his fingers continued their relentless assault. He ignored Derrick’s frantic squirming and desperate pleas for mercy, keeping it up for another excruciating minute before finally stepping back.
Derrick slumped in the chair, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Now,” Steven said, straightening his shirt with a casual flick of his wrists before reaching for his glass, “I do have a proposition for you.”
Derrick glared at him, his breathing uneven but his eyes still burning with defiance. He didn’t speak, his silence a challenge of its own.
Steven smiled as he swirled his drink, the movement slow and deliberate. “I’d like you to work for me, Derrick. You’ve got talent, and I know how to put it to good use.”
“Doing... what... exactly?” Derrick asked, his tone sharp with suspicion, each word clipped as he worked to steady himself.
Steven chuckled, taking a small sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Oh, nothing out of your wheelhouse. Let’s call it acquisitions—sourcing items for people who know their worth.”
Derrick’s brow furrowed as he absorbed the words. “You’re a thief too?”
Steven leaned back against the counter, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “Not just a thief. I run the game. This city’s black market, its network of goods and players? That’s all me. And with your skills, Derrick, you could be part of it—or, dare I say, make it even better.”
“And you want me to... what—steal for you?” Derrick asked, his tone clipped and wary, his skepticism clear in his narrowed eyes.
Steven straightened, his smirk never wavering as he took a measured sip of his drink. “That’s the gist of it.”
Derrick let out a shaky breath, his glare steady despite the exhaustion still weighing on him. “Why me?” he asked, his voice strained but firm.
Steven’s expression turned thoughtful, his tone softening as he stepped closer. “Because I’m always on the lookout for sharp, capable men. What I saw tonight? That was quick thinking. When you were cornered, you didn’t panic, didn’t lash out—you improvised. You’ve got a knack for stealth and strategy, Derrick, and I appreciate that. You could do more than scrape by with your talent. You could excel.”
Derrick’s lips twisted into a skeptical frown. “And what’s in it for me?” he asked, his voice edged with challenge. “If I’m supposed to hand over the prize?”
Steven’s grin widened as he gestured expansively. “Opportunity. Bigger payouts. Let’s be honest, hitting middle-class houses can’t be making you rich—not to mention the time you spend flipping what you steal. Work with me, and you’ll get a crack at bigger targets with none of that hassle. I’ve got buyers lined up and waiting. You just bring me the goods, and I handle the rest.”
He paused for a moment, his gaze steady and deliberate. “And there’s more. I offer protection. You won’t be working alone unless you want to. Need a team? I’ll provide one. Need backup? It’s yours. I make sure my people succeed, Derrick. Always.”
Derrick leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing further. “And if I say no?” he asked, his tone turning cold. “Is this where you threaten me—or tickle me half to death—until I agree?”
Steven chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, no, Derrick. I’m a practical man. If you’re not interested, fine—I cut you loose, and we go our separate ways. Forcing people to work for me? Too messy, too risky. The people on my team are loyal because they want to be. I don’t need to twist any arms.”
Derrick stared at him, his expression skeptical.
“Tell you what,” Steven said, pulling a sleek business card from his wallet and slipping it into Derrick’s hand. “Think about it. No rush.”
Derrick glanced down at the card and raised an eyebrow. “Your front business is a thrift store called Everyday Loot?”
Steven laughed, the sound low and genuine. “What can I say? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve got a great sense of humor.”
Without missing a beat, Steven grabbed the scissors resting on the counter and crouched in front of Derrick, swiftly snipping through the zip ties around his ankles. Derrick watched him with a frown, his voice laced with irritation as he said, “So if you’re not going to threaten me, why spike my drink? Why tie me to a chair? Feels a bit... theatrical, don’t you think? You could’ve just, I don’t know, said something.”
Steven straightened and moved to Derrick’s side, cutting the ties around his wrists with the same quick precision. “Call it a creative introduction inspired by your performance tonight,” he said with a shrug. “Figured it’d leave a lasting impression. Plus, it let me steal your full attention for a while,” he added with a wink.
Derrick blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re insane, aren’t you?”
Steven set the scissors down on the counter and leaned back against it, letting out a deep, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the room. “Maybe. But you can’t deny—it worked, didn’t it?”
Derrick didn’t answer right away, his lips pressing into a thin line. With a slow shake of his head, he pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness from the restraints. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
Steven’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I hear that a lot.”
Derrick’s gaze flicked toward the hallway, his expression hardening. “I’m grabbing my stuff, and then I’m gone.”
“Of course.” Steven gestured grandly toward the hallway, his tone light and amused. “Wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”
Without another word, Derrick disappeared into the bedroom, finding his backpack right where he’d left it. Slinging it over one shoulder, he paused, his gaze sweeping the room as he shook his head at the absurdity of the night. With a quiet mutter under his breath, he turned and made his way back to the kitchen.
Steven was waiting for him, leaning against the counter as he swirled the last of his whiskey with practiced ease. He glanced up as Derrick entered, his lips curling into a faintly amused smile, as if this were the most ordinary night in the world.
“All set?” Steven asked, his tone light and relaxed.
“Yeah,” Derrick replied tersely, shifting the strap on his shoulder. “Time to put this night behind me.”
Steven chuckled, pushing off the counter to walk him to the door. “You can try to put this night behind you,” he said lightly, “but something tells me I’ll be on your mind for a while.”
Derrick didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as they reached the doorway. Steven opened the door with a flourish, gesturing outward with exaggerated courtesy. “Well, Derrick,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “it’s been fun. You’ve got potential. And trust me, potential is a terrible thing to waste.”
Derrick shook his head, stepping onto the porch. “Don’t wait up,” he muttered as he started down the driveway.
“I won’t,” Steven called after him, his voice rich with amusement. “But I’d steal another moment like this any day.”
Derrick paused briefly, letting the pun hang in the air before continuing down the street. The faint sound of the door clicking shut reached his ears, but he didn’t look back.
Pulling Steven’s card from his pocket, he glanced at the playful “Everyday Loot” logo, its bold letters catching the dim glow of a streetlight. He stared at it for a long moment, then slipped it back into his pocket with a sigh. Adjusting the strap on his backpack, he muttered under his breath, “A whole network, huh?”
As he rounded the corner, a faint snort of amusement escaped him. Steven didn’t look like much, but Derrick had no reason to doubt a single word he’d said about his empire.
After all, while Derrick had spent the night congratulating himself on his performance, in the end, it was Steven who had truly stolen the show.
THE END