Kaptain's Blog

The writings and musings of The Kaptain

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Through The Godless Hours (34)

Captain Farid took his time driving to the Hyatt, comfortable in the knowledge that he was now in control of the situation – that the next events would be at his bidding, rather than that of the upstart Detective. At around nine p.m., he drove into the hotel’s underground car park, spiralling down under the large mall complex to one of the very lowest floors. There were few other cars around, at this level. Reaching into the glove compartment, he rummaged around amongst some of the driver’s paltry possessions: a used safety razor, a comb, some toothpicks, each sealed in its own, individual paper sleeve… What is this guy, a fucking squirrel? he thought to himself, irritably. Yeah… and due for a long hibernation, he now smiled, his annoyance banished momentarily by the thought of what would later happen to the traitor back at the motel.

Finally, his search uncovered what he was looking for – an old biro he knew he had tossed in there some time ago, and a scrap of paper. On it, he simply jotted down the telephone number of the motel, followed by ‘room 414’. Minutes later, after emerging from the car park lift directly into the hotel lobby, the Captain walked briskly over to the desk marked ‘Concierge’. “Good evening, officer,” the desk assistant greeted him. There was a slight note of caution in his voice, as he surveyed the uniformed figure that stood before him. “And how may I help you, sir?” “Give me an envelope,” the army man instructed, curtly.

After slipping the note inside, the Captain sealed the heavy wove envelope before scribbling something on the front. Detective F. Adi it read, the upstart Dick’s new moniker prompting a snigger. Grinning, he handed the envelope back to the assistant. “What time does your shift finish tonight?” he asked, abruptly. “Me?” quizzed the desk assistant, nervously. “Why I… I’ll be here till morning, officer,” he continued. Why does he want to know? the young man immediately began asking himself. There was something about this army officer that unnerved him. “Good. I need your help,” the Captain then said, unwittingly answering the desk assistant’s silent question. He pushed a fresh twenty US dollar bill into the young man’s hand, relaxing him considerably. “Wow! Thank you, officer!” “Shhh… Keep your voice down. You’ll get some more, if you do as I say. Tonight at twelve midnight there will be a…” the Captain hesitated for a second before continuing “…a rather good-looking young guy sitting here in the lobby, on his own, waiting for someone. He’ll probably be smartly dressed – a light suit, or jacket, perhaps. Black, spiked-up hair. Name’s Adi. I think you’ll spot him easily enough.” “OK.” “At precisely twelve-fifteen a.m., I want you to give him this envelope – understand?” “Yes, officer. Of course.” “When I know that he’s received it, I’ll come back and give you more of this,” he then concluded, showing the desk assistant a roll of dollar bills he had pulled from the breast pocket of his fatigues. The young man’s eyes lit up. “OK, officer,” he said, anxious to convey his unswerving commitment to the task, as instructed. “And thank you, sir. Thank you. Oh, and don’t worry – your instructions will be carried out to the letter.”

At the same time as Captain Farid was returning to his car in the underground car park, the assassin was slowly climbing the stairs of the motel’s fire escape. Coming to the next landing, he pushed open the door on which a large numeric ‘four’ was marked. Breathing harder than when he began his climb, and carrying a convincingly worn and heavy-looking briefcase, he surveyed the corridor for the wall-mounted sign that would lead him in the direction of his intended destination. In the dim light ahead, he was eventually able to spot an arrow pointing to the right, above which the numbers ‘401-409’ were written. It must be to the left, then. Three doors down the corridor to the left, the assassin knocked on the door of room 414. Nothing. He knocked again, this time with more urgency, while pressing his face close to the door. “Hello? It’s the doctor.” Another urgent rap on thin veneer. “Hello?” Slowly, the handle of the door was turned until, with a click, it sprang open a little, but only to the extent of the chain that still had one end slid into the groove on the inside, the other attached to the room’s interior wall.

“Er… I’m feeling much better, ya? I think I’ll just rest up awhile – relax, er… like the Captain said. Thanks, ya?” explained the shaky voice from within. “Look. You must let me in. I have a job to do, my friend. If he finds out that I haven’t carried out his orders, I don’t know what’ll happen to me, you understand?” the assassin cleverly posited. The poor driver could only empathise with the man, reluctantly opening the door to let the doctor in. “Thank you.” A well-built man with lank, greasy hair entered the room, placing a medical case on top of the bed. The driver looked uneasily at this figure, who seemed unlike any doctor he had previously known. “OK. Take off your shirt and sit down for me, would you?”

Opening the case to reveal an array of medicines, instruments and syringes, the assassin began pulling a pair of disposable surgical gloves over his fingers. The driver, who by this time had managed to clean himself up a little, slowly complied with his instructions, finally perching himself on the edge of the bed. He looked worn out – defeated – but still considerably better than he had an hour or so earlier. “Now, let me have a look in here, please. Open up,” the assassin instructed, placing a rubber-gloved hand beneath the driver’s chin. He shone a small torch with the other into the hole where a rather prominent front tooth had once been rooted. “Oooh… Ouch. I bet that hurts.” The driver nodded, his mouth still gaping open. “OK. The first thing I’m going to do is give you something to take that pain away, OK? Then I’ll do a little remedial work. Start getting you back into proper shape,” the assassin continued.

The driver said nothing, but continued to feel uneasy, sitting as he was with his shirt off on a bed in some tawdry motel in this stranger’s presence, still unaware of what was in store for him. Forcing himself to think positively, he contemplated the extra money he had recently earned, and how he might choose to dispose of it. Maybe a couple of hours with some hooker, here in this very room, he thought to himself. The poor man had no way of knowing how ironic this reflection would later prove to be. But he was beginning to relax now, comforted by the thought that tonight’s ‘little chat’ with the Captain had seemed to wipe the slate. That henceforth, they could return to their previous relationship, before he had strayed on to the other side… For after the initial violence that followed the discovery of his treachery, the Captain had opened up to him more than on any previous occasion. Had even seemed, at times, a little more… well, human and caring.

It was as his mind began drifting off, pondering these last few thoughts, that he felt the sharp prick of a needle puncture his arm, jerking him from his contemplations. He turned with a start to look into the smiling face of the doctor – an eerie visage that now slowly nodded back, in what was more a chilling, than calming manner. Not that the driver would be in need of reassurance for much longer, as five hundred milligrams of the purest street-heroin then began coursing through his veins. For in as little as seven seconds, he would be as high as a kite – flying up and away, to meet his maker.

He’s no doc… docto…

posted by Kirk at 3:37 am  

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