Well, I've finally gotten around to writing my part of Skilla's story. If you want a reference point, it's on page 40. Also, don't plan on this being my best work, but you never know
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"What?!" Arthur Jennings yelled into his phone, causing his sleeping wife to stir and ask what was the matter. It was 3 A.M., and a police officer had just informed Arthur that the bank he owned, Messenger Bank, was robbed.
"Ass fucking Christ! I just fucking received a fucking requesting for more fucking money. Fuck!" Now a light went on in his neighbor's home. But Arthur didn't care; a little sleep lost didn't compare to the money lost. "Seventy fucking thousand dollars! You have got to be fucking kidding me! Awww, Christ!"
Arthur quickly got dressed, donning a pair of old, faded and thinning sweat pants and a hooded sweat shirt, not worrying about a shirt or underwear. But when he stepped outside to begin the trek to the bank, he realized how important the latter was on this winter night. Snow was beginning to fall, and already the light, white powder dusted the tiny front yard.Fuck it, I'll be warm soon enough
He drove off to the the Bank, passing parked car, and occasionally another midnight driver, wondering the roads, trying to get home from a party, work, or to pick up a necessity for the wife or child. At one point, he passed a man on a motorcycle. "How the fuck can he do that? It's got to be twenty fucking degrees outside!" Mr. Jennings wondered aloud. He turned up the heat, and enjoyed it's comfort.
As Arthur arrived at the Messenger Bank, a few cop cars had already arrived, and taped off the crime scene. After sloppily parallel parking his SUV, he speed walked over to the nearest officer, to find out what happened.
"Sir, calm down. I know you have just been robbed, but it will be alright; we'll catch that bastard for you. We just need some information." The officer said. His attempt at calming the infuriated owner proved futile. "Fine. I'll tell you whatever the fuck you want. But let's go the fuck inside; I'm freezing my fucking balls off out here." Literally Arthur thought, not wanting to tarnish his angered and in command persona in front of a stranger.
"Sorry, sir, but this is a crime scene. You aren't allowed in." The officer stated, as if he had saidthat many times before. He got out a pen and paper to take notes.
"Fuck that! I'm going in! I want to see what the fuck that fucker did to my fucking bank!" Arthur went around the policeman, heading straight for the bright yellow cation tape, hoping his sudden movement would allow him to gain the upper hand in the foot race that was about to ensue. "Wait, you can't go in there!" the officer called after him, turning around to catch up the the now jogging Jennings.
Jennings beat the officer to the door of the bank, and flew past the officers inspecting the lock on the open door. Arthur looked at the door with some regret for not adding more locks to that door. He went into the actual bank and saw more police officers, more than what he had initially thought. Some where taking pictures of everything, whether it had to do with the path the robber took or not, while others dusted for finger prints along every inch of the building. But Jennings made a bee-line for the back room, and when he saw that only the small safe was broken into, he was overwhelmed with joy.
Finally, the officer from outside caught up with Mr. Jennings, and proceeded to question him; his name, address, relation with the building, any possible suspects, the usual questions used to see find out more about the robbery. The officer ended with a "Thanks very much. We'll get your money back soon enough." and left Arthur to get back home.
When Arthur got back home, it was 4:30 in the morning; half an hour before he usually got up to get ready to open the bank at 8 AM. He sat on the coach downstairs, and turned on the TV. The only thing on was an infomercial for a vacuum with "10 times more suction and 5 times more dirt storage capacity than the leading brand", and Sportscenter, neither of which particularly struck a fancy in Arthur. He was too worried about what would happen to his money, and because of that, he couldn't go back to sleep. He couldn't notify his employees; although Arthur Jennings was a slave-driver at the bank, he wasn't a "asshole", as so commonly called by his employees when they thought their boss was out of earshot.
So, Arthur was left to sit and
