An Hour's Worth

It is indeed with a purpose that I begin to recount this tale to you. I am not very good at telling stories though. I hardly find the time. So kindly bear with my literary flaws, if any…

Venue : One dimly lit alley, Crawford Street, Los Angeles

Stepping into the silent alley, I checked my watch, as part of the routine. It was time, I thought. But the alley lay deserted except for me and a little rat, rummaging through a nearby dustbin for its late night supper. Could something have gone wrong, I thought. In a flash, I took out my mobile, and glanced at the notes.

‘John Clay, 23, Crawford Street, L.A. - 8.00 pm'

I checked my watch again. It was then that I realized my mistake. “Time zone error. Rewind by an hour”, I told myself. I somehow seemed to have forgotten that Los Angeles is a solid one hour behind Colorado in time. A very costly error…

Damn it! So that meant I had to wait there in that alley for another hour. “Once you reach the spot, you can’t leave without getting the job done.”

The words of my boss echoed through my mind. So I receded into one of the musty corners, away from the feeble light cast by the solitary street lamp. Time ticked away slowly. My phone began vibrating. But I stared at the rat. I didn’t want to look at the phone. The ramifications of my mistake was mutely screeching out at the top of its voice from within my pant pocket…

* * * * *

The rat seemed pretty much ravaged as he pushed around empty tins in the dustbin. He paused for a moment as our gazes met. With a panicky squeak, he dived into the deep reaches of the dustbin as a huge, dark figure stepped into the alley.

I had a good look at his face as he entered the field of light. No, he was not John Clay. I leaned back against the wall. The phone was still vibrating, non-stop.

“John? Are you there?” he asked expectantly, trying to stare through the darkness that cloaked me perfectly. Silence was the only reply that his question received. Even the rat was holding its breath. And then, there were footsteps…

From my side of the alley, a hooded figure walked in. He did not possess a very good build, but still looked formidable enough. The darkness wreathed me perfectly as the hooded figure crossed me.

Both these gentlemen met face to face at the centre of the circular field of light.

“I’ve brought the money John”, said the huge man, lifting an old, ragged leather suitcase and pointing at it with a thick finger. “Where’s Nicolas?”

“He’s safe in our custody back in Colorado, Paul”, replied John, pulling off his hood to reveal a sturdy face.

I lowered my head, closer to my chest and smirked. Safe in whose custody? Haha…

“You give me the money now and Nicolas will be back as if nothing had happened at all”, said John with a greedy smile on his face.

My grin grew wider. My phone’s vibration paused for a couple of seconds.

“I first want to talk to him”, spoke Paul firmly, moving the suitcase away from John’s reach.

John clicked his tongue in disgust and then taking out his cell phone quickly dialed a number. I yawned and checked my watch with the adjusted time.

“J dot here. Hand it over to Nic”, spoke John over the phone.

There was a moment’s silence. And then, John heard the reply. The reply which I knew he would hear. My phone had resumed vibrating.

“What?! Are you serious?” John almost gasped and lost his breath as he heard the voice at the other end speak. Paul’s gaze on John grew firm.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?.........Okay. I’ll handle the situation.”

Speaking thus he cut the line. His fingers quivered as he put his phone back into his pocket. He felt for his gun inside his coat but could not find it there. His forehead was already dotted with beads of sweat, as he gazed unsteadily at Paul. Paul raised his eyebrows, riveting John with a questioning glare.

“Noth….Noth….” It was taking some time for the words to come out. “Nothing, Paul. You cannot speak to Nicolas now. Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet? I’ve brought the money you’ve asked for, haven’t I? Why can’t I talk to my brother then?”

“See… Paul… Listen…The situation is…”

Just then, Paul’s phone began ringing. With a grunt, Paul wrenched his phone from within his coat. He glowered at the mobile screen for a moment, with such fierceness that it may have evaporated on the spot.

“What the fuck is it, Bob? I told you not to disturb me for another hour, didn’t I?” he shouted back at the caller.

And then, Paul too fell silent. He stared blankly at the floor as he heard the man called Bob, speaking from the other end. Within a few seconds, Paul had cut the line. He was still staring at the floor. John gulped.

Placing his phone back into his coat pocket, and still staring at the floor, Paul spoke, “How do you wish to die John?”

“Listen Paul. It… It….It wasn’t our fault. At least… It wasn’t my…my fault…”

Paul raised his gaze from the floor and stared right into John’s quivering eyes.

“I asked you a question John. You haven’t given me the answer.”

“Paul… listen… We really do not know how this happened. The fellows are searching the whole of Colorado for the murderer. It wasn’t one of our gang. Trust me. It wasn’t…”

I grew restless as my phone continued vibrating with a renewed sort of vigour.

Paul dropped the suitcase onto the floor and his right hand went to his rear pant pocket.

“John… Do you know how much I loved my brother?”

Paul began advancing towards John, who began skulking in his shadow.

“Wait…Paul… we just kidnapped him for ransom. We were running short of money. Why would we kill him? We DIDN’T kill him. Trust me. We knew that he is your brother, Paul. Still we kidnapped him. That’s how desperate we were for money. But we would never have had the guts to kill him. It must have been one of Warner’s men who did it. You know Warner, the drug dealer? He is bent upon getting our gang into trouble...“

“Oh…so it was Warner who killed my brother then?” asked Paul sardonically, pulling out a black pistol from his pocket and pointing it at John’s forehead.

“Yes. Yes.” John nodded frantically.

From where I stood leaning against the wall, I could see that expression on John’s face clearly. The expression that I had seen on countless faces before. The sole expression that distinguishes the brave from the cowards…

“So it was Warner who killed my brother then…”

This time it was not a question. It was as if Paul was repeating the words to himself. John nodded his head frantically again. Paul’s right hand still held the pistol to John’s forehead while his other hand held his head by his hair.

John’s eyes were staring at the finger on the trigger. He gulped as the finger slowly loosened.

“So it was Warner who killed my brother then…” Paul repeated for a third time, as he loosened the grip further and looked away from John’s face. “Hmm… ok then. He’ll join you soon.”

The alley echoed with a gunshot. There was the sound of a boot hitting flesh, and a thud as John Clay toppled to the ground. A small pool of blood formed on the dusty floor and flowed slowly towards the dustbin.

Almost immediately an alarm sounded somewhere and there was the sound of rushing footsteps. Paul acted fast. Placing his gun back within his coat, and grabbing his suitcase, he vanished out of the alley in a flash.

I still stood waiting in the shadows as three men came running into the alley. They were clearly policemen in plain clothes. One of them kneeled down beside John, while the second lamented “Yet another murder? And that too when we were on patrol…Gawd… The General’s gonna screw us man…”

The first man caught hold of John’s wrist and gasped, “He’s still alive. Guards let’s get him to the hospital first. Jesus, save this chap!”

Unfortunately, Jesus wouldn’t be able to help, I thought, as the policemen lifted the hurt man onto their shoulders. I looked at my watch. It was 8.00 pm sharp. I stepped out of the shadows and placed the tube in front of John’s mouth.

The policemen never saw me, as they busied themselves with rushing towards the hospital. I kept up the pace with them. Another two seconds I thought, as I took the tube closer to John’s mouth. His eyes fluttered for a moment as he looked at me. I smiled back reassuringly. And after the two seconds elapsed, I halted in my steps.

Closing the tube with a cork, I placed John’s soul safely within my coat as the policemen rushed away into the darkness with the corpse. It was then, that I finally plucked out my vibrating cell phone and stared reluctantly at the screen, unable to imagine how many times it would have buzzed in this one hour.

“6124 alerts! 6124 people queued for death...”

I had to do overtime that night. And that is when the true worth of an hour hit me on my face.

I just felt like sharing this with you mortals. Thanks for reading. See you soon. :)