Kaptain's Blog

The writings and musings of The Kaptain

Friday, February 8, 2008

Through The Godless Hours (33)

A look of fear was writ large across the driver’s face as the Captain re-approached the Timor. “OK, let’s go,” the army man said, pulling open the front passenger door. “But B-Boss…” “Look. This is now an order. What happened tonight mustn’t be discovered by anyone. People will suspect, if they see you in the state you’re in – mentally, as well as physically. That wouldn’t be good for either of us. I want you to take some time out and relax, so your face can heal. You’ve been through a lot. In spite of what you’ve done, you probably deserve a break.” The driver began to slowly crawl from the car, avoiding direct eye contact with the uniformed man. Trembling, he remained petrified of what else might happen to him. “Like I said,” continued the Captain, “you’re going to need a doctor – which I’ve already arranged. Now, don’t make me angry again by refusing my help.” At the mention of this, the driver’s thoughts returned instantly to those moments of savagery an hour or so earlier, when the Captain had shown how cruel he could be, when angered. Wincing inwardly, he quickly conceded that his only option was to go along with his Boss’s instructions.

He was led not through reception and into a lift bank, but directly around to the rear of the motel, where a fire exit was wedged open with a brick. Captain Farid knew of this arrangement – that the door was kept permanently open – since he sometimes used it himself, whenever he felt that entering the building with ‘a friend’ via the main entrance was too risky. Hands in his pockets, the driver stared down at his feet as he walked, still locked in something of a stupor. His mind was whirring with all the possible outcomes of this hastily arranged excursion, as he dolefully followed the Captain’s heels. They ascended a few flights up a dimly lit stairwell, before arriving at a fire door to one side, which was marked with a large numeric ‘four’. After pushing through it, they promptly arrived at the place it was intended he took his rest. Room 414 was a standard but surprisingly clean room, of the type in which the motel specialised. Closing the door behind them, the Captain gestured for his fidgety driver to sit.

“OK. Settle in, relax and wait for the doctor to come. Order yourself whatever you need from room service and I’ll take care of it when I settle the bill,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Oh – and here’s something for your trouble.” Taking out his wallet, the Captain then pulled a wedge of high denomination Rupiah banknotes from inside and handed them over, without counting. Looking up from the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his thighs, the driver cut a pathetic figure as he nodded a token thanks. At the prospect of the Captain’s departure, he was at least beginning to relax a little. But there was still one additional piece of information his Boss required before leaving. “That Dick who’s been pestering you,” the army man said, abruptly. The driver looked at him and swallowed hard, automatically fearing the worst. “It’s OK. It’s OK,” the Captain went on, noticing the man’s unease. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’ll be gone in a minute, anyway. I just want to know if he has a name.” “Detective Adi,” replied the driver, nervously. There was a brief pause while the Captain registered the information, before making his next move. The driver’s sigh of relief was audible as his Boss then turned to walk towards the door.

Captain Farid let himself out of the room and descended the stairs, exiting via the same rear door. He walked leisurely around to the front of the motel and then slid comfortably into his car, smirking. Before turning the key in the Timor’s ignition, he then made two calls on his cell-phone. The first was to a whore. The bitch of a hooker who had barged in on him at Endang’s, unannounced. The filthy slut who had just walked into the room without warning and seen it all. Seen everything. And laughed. Shrieked maniacally at what she had stumbled upon. The filthy whore had the fucking audacity to laugh at me, he now seethed, as he listened to the ringtone at the other end. Now dead bitch walking. Who’s going to be laughing now, bitch? Fucking whore. The Captain was smiling again, now. At the neatness of his plan. A two-for-one special, he chuckled inwardly. Perfect. Effortless. His confidence fully restored, the Captain felt once again in complete control of his destiny, as the girl eventually came on the line. There was no exchange of pleasantries. He simply asked her to come by room 414 at the motel. 10 o’clock. Sharp. A request to which she readily acceded. Just as he knew she would. Effortless. The second call he made was to the assassin. A longer conversation, full of detailed instructions, to the man he had earlier referred to as the doctor.

posted by Kirk at 2:08 am  

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