Mr. Douglas

Arnold Douglas finds himself thrust from the balcony of his penthouse suite, wearing nothing but his luxurious white mulberry silk robe, erratically flailing at his side as if they were the wings of Icarus. Post sun. And, clutching an ancient solid gold Mayan artifact, which he purchased for a pretty penny, that he managed to swipe back from his assailant, who snatched it from his neck as they shoved him over the edge.

He wasn't a few feet down from the balcony when he felt like time had slowed. A bottle of Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru spilled from above next to a plate of hardly-touched nachos, which he had been anticipating all night, followed by a card with a familiar design, but he could not make it out.

Arnold screamed, eyes closed, kicking in screaming.

“This isn’t fair,” He cried out. “I won!”

He continued his mid-air tantrum, letting out a few things best left unrepeated until he finally grew tired of it and opened his eyes. He found that he was right where he was when he had closed them, suspended under that bottle of wine, next to the nachos, under what is presumably his tombstone. Though unarguably a genius, Arnold was a simple man. He did not like to dwell on observations he could not reason with easily, so he looked around across the city's skyline. then turned his stare upward toward the frozen but gorgeous redhead above. She was dressed in black lingerie, the kind that left little to the imagination, and he could not help but think about the dozen or so things he would rather be doing with her rather than floating in the air waiting for life to unpause and continuing with his death. His open robe revealed he was getting too excited before realizing she was just a psycho assassin sent to kill him. She is obviously good at what she does. Almost.

She had one arm reached out from over the balcony, her hair draped over to one side as she scowled down at Arnold. He took satisfaction in thinking she had at least failed at one of her goals. He lifted both his arms, one with his accent neckpiece and the other giving her a proper middle finger. he pumped his arms several times before having a mini freak out in frustration. She still got him, even if not fully successful, and he knew that.

Still suspended, he started to get more curious about why. Is he going to be stuck like that forever? Is this what death was like? His stomach growled, and he decided to wait a little longer before asking the difficult questions. He reached out for the plate of nachos above, barely managing to get the tips of two fingers on the side of the plate and slowly pulling it down, increasing his hold as it got closer. His soon-to-be meal was scattered around, and he tried his best to collect all the toppings on the plate as he brought it closer and rested it on his stomach. They were worth all of the two hundred bucks he spent on them.

Suddenly, a man's deep laughter echoed around him. He looked around in search of the source; where ever he looked, it was as if the sound surrounded him. Finally, he returned facing upward and noticed that the woman was not laughing in rhythm with the echoing voice around him. She lifted her arm, and with it, Arnold began floating up, waving about in an attempt to find some stability.

“What the fuck!” He shouted as he came to a halt in front of the balcony, “What the hell….”

The woman put out a hand with the index finger raised, gesturing for him to give her a second. She was guzzling an entire bottle of wine without taking a breath. When she finally finished, she tossed the bottle off the balcony and let out a belch so relentless she was holding her stomach as if attempting to keep it from bursting. That was the most overwhelmingly stereotypical display of masculinity Arnold had ever seen. He was impressed. Though, the sight of it coming from Anya, the assassin, a woman who emitted a certain degree of divine femininity, even more so in her current attire, felt a little offensive.

Anya exhaled the exhaust from her outburst while wiping away the wine trickling from her lips.

“You are a very entertaining man, Mr. Douglas,” said Anya in a deep voice. Arnold could not pinpoint the accent, but it was thick and sounded native.

From what Arnold had already seen, he was certain that Anya was a woman, and the voice that came out was not that of the person Arnold had invited in an hour ago. No amount of assassin training or experimental drugs could transform what he was hearing now into the small seductive voice that was whispering in his ear not too long ago.

“Who are you?” Arnold asked,

“Who am I?” Anya answered with the composure and authority of a stage actress giving the performance of her life, “I am your savior! I am the god once worshiped and praised throughout the Americas! I am…”

The being within Anya, the assassin, clearly likes to boast, and for a second, Arnold found the one-woman show entertaining but tired of it quickly. He heard something about parties and alcohol but mostly tuned him out. He noticed some of his nachos scattered around him and started picking them out of the air as the show continued.

“I am the Great! The one and only!... Acan!” Acan paused, breathing heavily from his lengthy introduction, hands raised as if waiting for applause. Whatever was going on, clearly, Anya’s lungs were not a match for Acan’s Ego. Arnold was a little disappointed.

Arnold had never heard of this Acan, but he obliged the self-proclaimed god and gave him a few claps as he continued munching on his snack. Acan grinned with pride, though he was not happy when he turned to find Arnold's disinterested look, searching around for his next chip.

Acan pulled his arms down and began pacing like a villain about to reveal his evil plan. “There you were, Mr. Douglas, suspended miles from the ground with no idea why you were not descending quickly toward your certain demise, and what do you do? You ogle your killer and eat food from your belly like a fucking otter!” Acan chuckled, “An entertaining man indeed. I am glad it was you who came to possess my pendant. I have watched you cleverly lie, cheat, steal, party, and fuck your way to the top of the world, only for that to be your downfall. Quiet literally.”

Arnold looked down at the ancient Pendant he clutched in his fist and back up at Acan.

“You said you were known throughout the Americas, but this is an artifact found in Europe.”

“Yes, you drink one little insecure greek god under the table on vacation, and he goes crying home, tail between his legs, to daddy,” Acan scoffed at the thought, “waah, daddy Zeus, this handsome foreign party animal, drank more than me make him pay,” He said mockingly. “ next thing you know I'm trapped inside my own jewelry waiting for the next idiot pour a drop of alcohol on it so I can get out and have a sip for my self. It's been a few hundred years, but I found you.”

Acan, noticing Arnold's ‘excitement’, looked down at his revealing attire. “Can't say this is an ideal situation”

He waved his arms and hands downward, with them, her hair twisted into a ponytail and the lingerie slowly changing to a matching dark purple two-piece suit, with no shirt under the blazer. Arnold thought it was fashionable, but if Acan tried to quell the beast within him, he was failing. In a final gesture, Acan raised his fist and gave it a whirl, wrapping. Arnold's robe and putting an end this his indecency for good.

“Now, can we get serious?” Acan asked.

“I have no idea what is going on,” Arnold responded, “I am about as serious as I can be”

“Of course. Of course. Sit with me. Let's chat” Acan began to move toward the table opposite the balcony, taking a seat. Arnold glided unwillingly to the chair across from Acan, and out of the penthouse came a bottle of whisky and two glasses, one coming to a rest in front of both ‘gentlemen’ with the whisky pouring itself into them.

“Thanks and all, and not to be ungrateful, but what is this about?”

“Unfortunately, I am a prisoner. Presumably, for the rest of eternity. or until Dionysus stops being a little ​​Le chan paalo' and gets his father to undo this curse,” Acan downed his glass of whisking and slammed it back on the table in anger. The bottle refilled it, “Anyway, while I am trapped would at least like to have some fun. Your life seems like a good time, and lucky you get wine on my pendant when you did, and I get to sit here and make a deal with you.”

Arnold’s eyes shifted around before responding, “Yes,” he said, “Whatever the deal is is probably worth it, all things considered,”

“Great!” shouted Anon, “Though it is not that easy. You see, you are in danger. Obviously. And I am not capable of saving you at all times as I have this night. Your life may be a party ending and a waste of my time. I might have a better use of my time striking a deal with this woman instead. She is clearly no stranger to trouble”

Despite being a male god clearly capable of displays of masculinity, Acan played the role of a woman well. He sat with legs crossed to the side of the table, sipping his whisky and giving Arnold a seductive stare. It was reminiscent of Anya prior to turning murder, and with it, he realized that he may not be out of the woods yet.

“So…” Arnold asked.

“So, I need assurance that you last longer than Dionysus with a bottle of water in a drinking contest. Else I jump out of this lovely lady into you, and we talk before you continue your dive into a dried lake. You should drink, Mr. Douglas. This may be your last,”

Arnold looked out at the city, and his legs tightened shut as his body began to tense up. He clutched his glass as tight as he could without breaking it and threw the whisking down his throat. He turned slowly back toward Acan, who was also finishing his glass.

“What do you need?” he asked Acan.

“I need to know that you can make it out of this alive and avoid it happening again. So, Mr. Douglas, just answer one question correctly. Why are you dying? I’ll give you until if finish all the alcohol in this house.”

Arnold was a little relieved at the time constraint, considering that he had an entire room filled with expensive bottles. noway anyone was going to finish that in a reasonable amount of time. He relaxed his body a bit.

“Before you get too happy and comfortable, you should know that I have already consumed about a third of the alcohol in your cellar. Maybe had you listened to my fantastical introduction, you would have heard that I am the god of alcohol and have depleted entire countries of their supply in days. I can finish your cellar in an hour,” Acan boasted, giving Arnold that same seductive stare.

Arnold stood up, looking down at Acan. He had not noticed the collection of glass bottles. He cleaned all of the whisky and moved on to the vodka. He did realize that Acan had been drinking so much and so quickly. He began to pace across the balcony, running his hands through his short wavy black hair, still damp from the shower he had taken before his tumble.

“Tic Toc, Mr. Douglas,” Acan taunted before gleefully chugging a bottle of Iordanov. The skull on the bottle alarmed Arnold more about what could soon be.

The card from earlier left a few good guesses as to who might be behind this hit put out on him, it may not have been the question, but it's a start.

JEST was an elite group of assassins, very expensive and, aside from prominent politicians, was willing to kill anyone. Arnold had many enemies, but few were wealthy enough to hire JEST. They are expensive because if they believed it possible, they would offer the target a chance to save their life by paying double what was placed on their head. Then he remembered the card from earlier. He heard that JEST left playing a card on their targets. A note for the crocked cops discovering the body and a final farewell from the client.

He felt around his robe for the card though he knew he did not grab it. Still, it was in his pocket, likely an assist from the playful Acan. The card was a joker with a unique illustration of a jester falling chest up, similar to how Arnold had been. Under it read, ‘Here lies Arnie. He played himself.’

Arnold Douglas was born into the union between the children of two billionaires. His father's father was an oil tycoon, the largest in the US. While his mother's family were powerful business moguls, heading multiple fortune 500 companies around the country. They inherited much from their families, but unfortunately, their lives were cut short. They perished alongside his maternal aunt during a meeting in a tall building at the start of the century.

Only his family called him Arnie. His father was an only child, and his mother had only her sister. Aside from them, he had only one relative left, his fraternal great-uncle, Steve Douglas.

Steve Douglas was a bitter old man who was jealous of all his brother had accomplished. Arnold's father inherited the business when he passed, and Steve cut off contact with his family. But when Arnold's parents passed at seven, Steve jumped at the opportunity to take him in and gain control of all his inheritance. Growing up with Steve, Arnold thought that he wasn’t a nice man but wasn't all too nasty either. He remembered when they occasionally played a game together, maybe chess or some other board game, Steve never let him win, and he would always give him the same warning for the final blow, “Play the game. Don't play yourself.”. That was exactly what he told Arnold when he stole his inheritance years ago, though he still supported him because they were family. To get it all back, Arnold had to cleverly lie, cheat, steal, party, and fuck his way to the top of the world from where he fell, and he was almost there. He was finally winning.

Arnold was now certain as to the who, but why?

Acan had moved his binge drinking to the living room. He blasted pop music from the stereo and started dancing like a drunk college girl on her 21st birthday. The blazer shifted around, flashing the room as he moved around. A collection of glass bottles lay on the ground of the balcony next to where Acan was sitting. He was over two-thirds of the way to his target.

“Why?” Arnold thought, searching for an answer. Maybe cause his uncle was a piece of shit. Though correct, realizing that would not be enough to keep him from falling off the next balcony.

“I wasn’t careful enough,” Arnold whispered to himself.

The music stopped. Arnold looked up, and Acan had disappeared.

“What was that?” Acan said, appearing next to Arnold, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and taking a swig of Pasión Azteca. Seeing him drink that bottle hurt Arnold.

“I said, ‘I wasn’t careful enough,’”

“Arnie. I’ll call you Arnie now,” Acan said, taking his seat. “Two thousand years ago, I decided to take a trip away from home into the kingdom of another, where I did not know the rules. I just wanted to drink and party in a new and exciting place. I ran into another god in that place. Lo and behold, he turned out to be my rival, Dionysus. He was all that I was and worst, and I had to make sure he knew it. And that was my undoing,”

Acan tossed the finished bottle off the side of the balcony, Crushing Arnold's spirits even more, and stood up chest out, marching toward Arnold, exuding that masculine energy he had shown before. He placed one hand on Arnold's shoulder, and the other had a finger out, pointed in his face.

“With my pride and ego, I marched onto that continent thinking I could take over the world and no one could stop me. But I just wanted to party. That arrogance and negligence cost me an eternity of free will, and I was absent during the fall of my kingdom. You are not as great as me, but I saw much of myself In you, Arnie, and I knew that the day would come when you would fall because of your carelessness. Though, I didn’t know it would be so literal. You are a smart man, and I do believe you will reach your goals. So long as you are careful”

Acan took a step back and extended his hand to seal the deal.

“I will help you, Arnie. You may lie, cheat, steal, party, and fuck all you like but be careful the world is not as easy as to will as you like.”

Arnold took Acan’s small hand and gave it a firm shake.