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Weekly Contest #71
The joint was already asking to be looted. The door was never locked, the safe was in the damn lobby for fuck’s sake. The only lock in the entire building was on a trapdoor into the cellar. It had been tampered with of course, and the man sent down there to explore hadn’t returned. He radioed in constant chatter, more than his usual nonsense. “Is there something in the air, Charlie?” my partner asked. I inhaled for a good moment to the scent of freshly ground cinnamon. “Cinnamon, it’s a bakery Ryan.” I dismissed, and he raised his eyebrows...
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