The Nicoli Conspiracy

It was a quarter of seven on a sultry evening in the middle of August. I was tired. Not from physical labor, I’d given that up for the ability to make money using my brain a long time ago, but from the mind taxing emotions of dealing in the world of the imagination. I am a writer. How good of a writer, I’ll let you conclude, but a writer nevertheless. The day had been exhausting. My mood was bleak and all I wanted to do was put the day behind me and go to bed. But...two things occurred. One, my stomach was growling. And two, I got a call from Bud, an old friend. “Hello?” I began when first picking up the phone. I know this is the most commonly used greeting, and being a writer one would think I could come up with something a bit more intriguing. But, once again, I was tired and not in the mood for creativity. I’d been creating all day. “Feel like joining me for a bite?” he asked sounding annoyingly jovial. Bud had a way of doing that. Whenever he detected I was down, he would put on this air about him that both made me want to laugh and slap him right in the mouth at the same time. “Not really,” I responded. “I’m really beat and simply want to go to bed.” “Well, put your tiredness on a back burner for tonight,” he insisted. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet. This lady has a story. A story you are going to want to hear. It’s taken me a long time to get her to agree to meet with you. This is your only opportunity. If you don’t take advantage of it you’ll be passing up the story of a lifetime.” Always a sucker for a good story I agreed and got ready to go. We were to meet at the restaurant at seven-thirty, so I had to hustle. It was already six forty-seven. Finally I was in the car and headed to the rendezvous. Or, at least that is what I thought I was doing. I had no idea that the level of exhaustion I was feeling would be put to the test and by the time the evening was up my life would be altered forever. Nothing would ever be the same.