The Message

Turning over, I was startled by the feeling of cold flesh; cold hairy flesh to be accurate. My eyes opened and met yours, staring coldly back at me, almost accusing me. “It was all my fault,” they said. “You think you’re in trouble. You’re not the one who has ruined these satin sheets. Those bloodstains will be the devil to get out.”
I jumped out of bed, heart pumping, an inarticulate garbled protest coming to my lips.
What was a horse’s head doing in my bed?
How had I offended the mafia? I didn’t even know any Italians!

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