My wrestling partner fell on his own sword before I even had to do anything. I lost my breath when I felt the weight of the man slide onto the sharp blade of the knife. Based on the weight and tension on the end of the thing, it felt that it must have slipped just beneath the man’s rib cage.
A pained gasp let out in the dark, followed by a flurry of horrified screams. I yanked the knife out and felt the man fall hard on the ground next to me.
I slowly caught my breath as I listened to the man scream bloody murder next to me until I had to put my hands over my ears.
Light came back to my vision. I was no longer in that hot tent in the Middle Eastern desert. I was back in that steamy hotel room with the shitty air conditioning. I was on my knees looking down at the crumpled body of Timothy, forever stuck with his arms clutching his upper stomach/lower ribs. Blood flowed from his wound and onto the already-stained carpet of the room.
I looked at the knife in my hand. A thick coat of blood oozed down the blade. Timothy must have pulled the thing on me, I wrestled it from him and the blade ended up in his insides. Now he was dead.
“Ah fuck, what do we do?” I screamed at Timothy’s body.
“He came after you with the knife and then just fell on it,” Bobbi said from behind me. “I was a witness.”
“Shit. What do we do?”
“We should get the police involved. I can vouch for your story of self-defense, but there’s something I think you should look at on this guy before we do that,” Bobbi said.
Bobbi walked around me and over to Timothy’s body. She unbuttoned a few button on his shirt and yanked down the collar area. She waved me over.
“Look at this. I saw a glimpse of it when he was dealing,” Bobbi said.
I joined Bobbi by the bed and saw what she was talking about. Tattooed just below Timothy’s collarbone were what looked like latitude and longitude degree numbers. Bobbi took out her phone and snapped a picture.