Smells like rain

A lone wine glass sat atop a dark cherry antique bar. District Attorney Woody Yates stood in it, pouring red wine he got from the cellar. It was his favorite, Chateau Haut Brion, bottled in 1939. The green bottle shook slightly as it poured, and the white collar of his oxford shirt was stained yellow. He was a short man, morbidly obese from years of fine dining, evidenced by the fact that his belly was rubbing against the edge of the bar. Black-rimmed glasses slid down his face, barely holding his red bulbous nose. The room was completely silent except for the rhythmic screeching of the ceiling fan mounted high on the vaulted ceiling of his large playroom. Next to the glass of sparkling wine was a half-ounce bag of marijuana. Yates looked at the bag in disgust. He wondered why he was still smoking that shit, but he knew why. He liked it. Marijuana accompanied by a little wine always calmed his nerves, or so he told himself in the beginning. Now it was nothing more than another bad habit, but his nerves undoubtedly needed to be calmed right now.

It seemed that Yates had uncovered some evidence that could bury some very important people. Evidence of more heinous and immoral acts than he could ever imagine from these people. These people were supposed to be upstanding citizens of New Harbor, devoted to the family and residents who lived there. When he learned of these inhuman acts, he was so disturbed that he vomited nothing but bile and a blood-strewn stomach lining.

Two days earlier, J.T. Weiderman, a local drug dealer, supplied Woody with thirty milligrams of Valium. That's when Weiderman, trying to beat the possession charge, told Woody about the whole nasty deal. D.A. he didn't believe him at first, but Weiderman even supplied him with some physical evidence to prove his accusations. J. T. he wanted to show that he wasn't crazy and that what he said was true. This evidence came in the form of a flash drive that contained a short video clip shot by a cell phone and a word document consisting of a list of names. The list of names was worthless without the video, but the video was pure gold. It was enough to destroy at least one or two careers, and if the rest of JT's strange story is true, then a full investigation and charges could mean long prison sentences for those involved.

Woody rubbed his bald head; he wanted to forget it all for now. All he wanted was to get high, take a Valium, and then melt back into his fat, overstuffed couch and sleep. Despite what he wanted; he couldn't relax. His thoughts were spinning wildly, after all, what gave him the right to judge? What he himself planned to do was not the act of a saint; it was almost bad too. Not because the action itself is horrible, but to blackmail someone and leave all of that person's illegal and immoral actions unexplained; it was unforgivable. Woody wasn't a bad person, but money numbed him to the worries and strife of the real world. For him, caring for people was long forgotten. For the past ten years, his kind of worry has consisted of wondering whether to buy a gray Jag or a black one? But now, deep down, he was horrified. He felt as though microorganisms had already begun to turn his bones from blood red to bleached white, dead inside. But he had no choice. His lavish lifestyle left him broke; he owed money to banks, bookies, loan sharks and women. Two million dollars could save him, or at least allow him to continue his social facade. Still, the whole thing made him sick.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, four quick knocks. This startles Woody and causes him to spill wine down his Armani pant leg and onto the floor.

"Damn! It's early." he said looking down at the mess. The red wine soaked into the plush gray carpet. On a normal night, he would have been upset about the accident and probably ranted about it for a while. But tonight was no ordinary night. He barely thought about it tonight. He stared intently at the door, hoping it wasn't him. Who else could be so late? He checked his gold Rolex; it was 10:32 p.m. Woody thought, it's probably my ex-wife Brenda, the bitch who needs the money now. I paid her child support last week.

"I shouldn't have spoiled her like that. he said under his breath.

Unaccustomed to the menial task of opening the door, Woody rushed to open it, which only added to the strange awkwardness of the night. His staff of two had already gone home for the evening, so he had no choice.

His heart sank as he opened the door. He hoped it might have been his ex-wife, but it wasn't. She was the one he had been waiting for, the one he planned to extort money from. He felt dirty inside when he said that to himself. He was a lawyer, but life won the fight. This was his only option...blackmail.

A dry, confident voice spoke, "Hi Woody, it's been a long time."

"Come this way, we can take care of business in the Fun Room. Woody said as he turned around, ignoring the greeting from his visitor.

He walked through the door and headed into the game room. He really didn't expect to have much fun tonight.

The man followed Woody. He was a tall man with sharp features and well groomed brown hair. He didn't look more than thirty years old. He was wearing casual dark pants and a simple gray polo-style shirt and carried a black leather satchel at his side. The walk was slow and deliberate; the man seemed to lag behind on purpose. It looked like he was trying to piss Woody off because he knew Woody would rather take care of things quickly.

Woody turned the corner into the large game room and asked, "Would you like something to drink?"

He moved to his most familiar spot behind the beautiful antique bar in the left corner. In the middle of the room was a pool table and to the right was a stuffed and mounted charging black rhino that Woody had bought from an antiques dealer in downtown Atlanta. However, he tells his friends that he filmed it in West Africa on a safari. Whatever for his reputation he insisted on preceded him and happened. Most of the social elite around New Harbor saw Woody Yates as a good, stubborn and honest man. Little did they know that inside was a spineless coward willing to forget his oaths and morals to save his reputation and continue his obsessions.

A loud rumble of thunder shook the room. A burst of lightning lit up the dark night sky and filled the playroom with light. It was bright enough to see the large gazebo and patio furniture in Woody's backyard.

"I didn't know there was supposed to be a storm tonight. Woody said.

"It's not…it's supposed to be. the man said, breaking into a sick laugh revealing his almost perfect teeth, but quickly stopped and glared at Woody.

The man's eyes were bright gray, but the white part was not white at all. It was a dull shade of yellow. Woody suspected it was