The exquisite office they left me in was as picturesque as the exterior of the house. High vaulted ceilings with wall-to-wall windows allowed optimal sunlight to cascade inside, and canary yellow walls peeked out from between the mural-sized windows. All the walls were bare of pictures. The beige tile floor was cold beneath my bare feet. A couch and two chairs, all leather and white in color, formed a U-shape off to one side atop an oriental rug whose red-and-orange designs looked out of place with the soft tones in the room.

A mahogany desk cluttered with stacks of papers and two sleek computers occupied the center of the room, a high-backed executive chair on the side where the house's owner undoubtedly sat. Two smaller, leather chairs for visitors faced it. Small palm trees were placed in each corner of the room adding a bit of floral flare. A stained oak bar sat against the far wall, its white marble top littered with delicious bottles. My mouth salivated as I stared longingly at the bottles filled with delectable and intoxicating liquors neatly lined up, beckoning me. Vodkas, scotches, whiskeys, every type of liquid my body needed right now.

No one was in the sunlit room except me. All alone and free to get out of the chair the men had roughly escorted me to, to pour myself a thirst-quenching, stress-reducing drink.

So without further unnecessary hesitation, I did. Barefoot and clad in a fluffy robe, my beard still dripping water from my impromptu, yet stinging, shower, I excitedly made my way across the chilled tiled floor, my eyes hungrily locked on my goal. The bottles shimmered brilliantly in the glancing sunbeams, their beautiful, inebriating contents waiting to free my mind of today's clutter.

My hands trembled lightly as I reached for a bottle of whiskey, its label telling me it was a brand I could not afford on my current salary of nothing. I fought the urge to merely open it and swig the contents like I would a bottle of my regular toxins, deciding instead to be a bit civil for my unknown host. The murky, brown liquid filled the glass I'd grabbed from the bar, past the traditional two-finger mark, stopping just below the top of the crystal rim. I may act civil in some ways for my host but my insatiable craving for a harsh buzz was too much to leave to chance.

I hastily swigged the contents of my glass as if the whiskey might drain out the bottom before reaching my mouth, and the warm liquid burned my throat as it slid down. I instantly felt the effects of the alcohol, that tingly sensation you get when your body is happy you provided it with a substance it desires. Without hesitation I poured another glassful and chased the first drink with another, closing my eyes as my body absorbed the liquor and my mind thanked me for the dusky haze it was once again shrouded in.

I was enjoying the numbing sensation of the alcohol when the door behind me opened and footsteps across the tiled floor informed me I was no longer alone. I chose not to turn around and greet my unknown visitor. Instead I stood there savoring the taste of the whiskey still lingering amongst my taste buds, one hand clutching the now empty glass, the other holding the bottle of luscious liquor as if the bottle itself was holding me up. My mind clouded over, the alcohol spreading through the unused mass in my head most call a brain, killing off a few brain cells along the way.

A voice followed the sound of the closing door. "Mr. McCreary, it seems you've found my liquor. Please go ahead and help yourself to it."

There wasn't a note of sarcasm in his voice, but I felt the irritation he projected just the same. I set down the bottle and glass and turned to face my host ... no doubt the man responsible for my morning kidnapping.

The man making his way across the finely decorated room was in his mid thirties, well built with black hair slicked back. His face was adorned with a goatee, as black as the hair on his head and he wore white slacks and a yellow dress shirt with sandals covering his tanned feet. He had a Mediterranean look to him with olive-toned skin and dark, round eyes.

"Please, have another, Mr. McCreary." He sat behind the congested desk and leaned back in the large chair, a squeaking noise escaping its metal parts. His coal black eyes affixed on me. He relaxed, folding his hands behind his head.

Figuring I had nothing more to lose, I gladly took him up on his offer, filling the crystal glass one last time. Instead of chugging this one in a single throat burning shot, I held it like a gentleman would and casually made my way toward my lounging host and his cluttered desk, lifting the glass to him in a mock toast. I sat across from him and stared out the windows at the wondrous morning.

"You're probably curious as to why you've been abducted and brought here, Mr. McCreary."

Although I had wondered it a few times today, I truly cared not. No longer did I worry about what the world held in store for me. So instead of giving my handsome host an answer I merely grunted.

"I'll take that as a yes," he replied after a short pause of dead air.

My host sat forward, resting his elbows on top of the desk, slowly pushing a few pieces of paper out of his way.

I sipped my drink, glad I'd already drained two large shots into my system, and continued to stare outside as if the windows themselves were large screen televisions. Otherwise I'd be dealing with this guy sober, not something I enjoyed, nor wished to endure.

"I guess I'll get straight to the point. I need your help, Mr. McCreary. I need a man of your skills, of your talents. Things are getting bad in my business, and right now recruiting someone of your," he paused as if thinking how to properly word what he wanted to say, "character would be a major asset."