The Weekday One Hundred

I heard the bell jingle. Weird, could’ve sworn the front door was locked.

I paused my late-night inventory forecasting session and poked my head out from the back office. I spotted two meaty men in black approaching.

“Max here?” one asked.

My brother had borrowed money from less than reputable folks. Keeping a pizza joint afloat was harder than expected. Seeing them flash brass now, I was learning just how unsavory.

“Lemme go find him,” I answered, knowing he’d left hours ago.

I snatched my laptop and that night’s take and opened the office window.

Max problems deserved Max solutions.