SUMMATION by Daniel Syverson Page A

mock him.
               He had been so sure that the lock box was
his big chance, sure it was some kind of treasure. But nothing. Nothing .
He'd been so pissed off about it he'd nearly hit one of the customers sitting
next to him, after first cussing him out. He couldn't even remember why.
               He'd blown up at the waitress filling drinks at
the station to his right. And then, when he told the bartender himself off, his
support group dropped down to two, Captain Morgan and himself, and even the
Captain was getting shaky.  In a mood foul even by his standards, he
left no tip, just got up and walked out.
               No one seemed to mind.
               Frankie turned up his street, stopping at the
steps to his front door. He didn't notice the guy leaning against a car at the
building after his, but then, there was no reason to. He also didn't notice
that his front door lock had been picked. And again, there was no way he should
have noticed. The tiny scratches left behind were on the inside of the lock,
the talented gentleman who picked it leaving no marks. He didn't even notice
the man sitting in the dark in his living room.
               Until he turned on the light.
               The man outside now stepped inside, giving Frank
a shove forward before closing the door behind him.
               "Good evening, Frank." The smaller,
seated one smiled.
               The other one didn't.
               Oh, shit. "Who
are you? What do you want?" He looked around, wide eyed. He'd never had
anything like this happen before.
               " I
haven't got anything.  Look around - there's nothing here." He reached
into his pocket, pulling out the few bills he had left.
               He wished
he had bought another drink with those bills before leaving, seeing as he was
going to lose them anyway. Reluctantly, he held the bills out to the seated
man.
               "Here, take it. That's it. That's all I've
got. Look around. I haven't got anything."
               It was true. In the hour they had had to kill
waiting for him, they had looked around, checking things out, looking for
weapons. He was right. There wasn't anything here of value. He obviously lived
alone.
               There was a wedding picture, clearly from long
before. Certainly that hadn't worked out either, but no ring in the dresser. Probably
hocked, by the look of the place. Both of the uninvited guests had been
surprised at the squalor that passed for his apartment. They knew he was
employed - several pay stubs were stuffed into the pencil drawer of the small
desk. At least that drawer worked.
               Of the three drawers in the pedestal of the
desk, one had the guide bar snapped off, jamming it shut, and the other two
were filled with an eclectic mix of old bills, overdue notices, pictures from
long ago, and an occasional candy wrapper. Empty bottles and wrappers from
carry out filled two separate trash cans, and one bag of trash sat near the
door, tied up, ready to go. However, by the odor, it must have been waiting to
go for a while.
               The television, though not new, was adequate. The
screen had even been wiped down in the recent past. A stack of lottery tickets,
all losers like the owner, were stacked on top of it.
               The men didn't move. The smaller one continued
the same smile, although no one would have confused it with a happy smile.
In fact, it was a rather disturbing smile.
               As intended.
               "Frank, we're here about that lock box. Where
is it?"
               Frank just stared at him.
               "The lockbox, Frank."
               He almost choked. You have got to be kidding .
He stared at them. How could they know? And even if they did, why would they
possibly give a shit? He had just found out about it himself, how could