The Poison's Killer

So someone's draining my bank account. Yesterday I was all panicky and pissed off. Today I'm fine, which is odd.
Larry told me not to worry about the rent thing, just get everything else taken care of. That's why he rules. How come all the guys named Larry I know personally are so badass?

The weirdest shit happened to me this morning. I didn't check my mailbox yesterday since I was afraid of more bad news. I checked it this morning and there was no space in it because there's this fucking box with no return address. I cautiously open it, and there's a note and a key to a P.O. Box. The note was typed with a typewriter and read "Don't ever give up, you have way too much talent and passion to go to waste. We'll surprise you with a visit shortly. Until then, put this to good use."
Okaaaaaay. Whatthefuck? So we go to the post office before heading into work and I found the P.O. Box. I took the key, opened it, and there was another box that was slightly bigger than the one that was in my mailbox. It was wrapped in plain black paper with red ribbon around it. I picked it up, and it was kinda heavy. It even looked almost too pretty to open. I closed the door and turned the package around to see where to open it and there was a little evil face, but it looked kinda cute.
So I opened it...
...and there's a fucking Digital Reference Wireless Microphone System inside. I just stood there for what only seemed like a few seconds when I hear the horn outside. I walked up to the Counter and the post office people are all gawkin' at me. I asked them "Do you know who rents the box this key belongs to?"
They fucking knew. I could tell.
The lady nonchalontly looks at the key, types something in and says "Ahhhhh, this is the one. We received a phone call yesterday morning asking us not to tell you who it was, but they wanted us to assure you that you know them."
Duh. It'd have to be, since only someone I know would send me what I've always wanted.
"So is there anything you CAN tell me?"
"I don't really know anything other than to not give you the name. We just know that someone went to great lengths to get this to you."
"Where they here yesterday?"
"Not that I'm aware of, I only work mornings. OH!!! Before I forget, I need that key back. They only rented it for this purpose."
So I hand her the key, and start walking away when she says "HEY!!!" and I turn around. She winked and said "By the way, good luck. You're more handsome than the description he gave us. Maybe it's because your moutache is missing."
Weird. She slipped up by saying "he" though. At least that narrows it down. I hate getting hit on by way older women...shit's always creepy.

So I'm sittin' here going "Who the fuck do I know that has at least $150 to blow on shit like this without a second thought?" No one. It has to be someone I haven't seen in at least 2-3 weeks, since the moustache has been gone about that long. Yet still, it has to have been someone who knew about my recent upsets, knew I was contemplating giving up.

I don't get it. No matter how much I rack my brain, I don't get it. And since "he" won't tell me who he is, I can't thank him properly. That sucks.

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