Kaptain's Blog

The writings and musings of The Kaptain

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Through The Godless Hours (35)

The driver was late – very late – which was unusual. By now, he should have dropped off the Captain at his residence and walked around the corner, to the small café, just as the pair of them had when Adi insisted upon their first teatime chat. This is not a good sign. Something’s happened, he worried, while calling for the check. A growing sense of unease had begun to well up inside him. For any kind of setback was exactly what Detective Adi did not need, today of all days, when the next – and most critical – phase of his plan was about to be executed. And whilst the venue he had selected for the meeting offered the protection of the public glare, he knew that his ploy would still carry a substantial risk: for ultimatum spelt danger whenever it was directed at the embodiment of terror Captain Farid represented.

As he covered the bill with his money, Adi began to feel a distinct anxiety – a churning sensation in the pit of his stomach reinforcing his unease. It was as if his body was confirming the suspicions in his mind: suddenly, and for whatever reason, all was not running as smoothly as before. Dolefully, and with his hands in his pockets, he slipped out of the cafeteria to walk the hundred or so paces to his aging red Toyota. It was a reluctant stroll – his body language a world away from the confident swagger he would commonly project. Deep in thought, the young Detective then slid into his car and pulled away into the chaos of the evening traffic…

As instructed, the assassin left the door to room 414 very slightly ajar, allowing a narrow chink of soft light to spill out into the darkened corridor. Still inside, he quietly busied himself with his preparations for the next stage of the mission. Although approaching just ten p.m., the motel was already deadly quiet. The afternoon office affairs had ended hours ago and the evening’s prospective patrons had not yet drunk enough to summon the dare to commence their illicit trysts.

On the bed, the perfectly still body of the driver had begun its imperceptible decay. His heart had long slowed to a halt – his peaceful, almost beatific look denying the deadly events that had consumed his body, rendering it exhausted, used up, dead. His face wore an interesting shade of pink – a flushed effect, as if he had been drinking. His limbs still awaited the arrival of rigor mortis, a few hours to come. And around his nostrils the traces of congealed blood seemed to advertise the fact that his breathing had stopped a while ago. 21:36 precisely, the patient is confirmed dead, the doctor had earlier sent by text message to the Captain’s cell-phone.

At a few minutes to ten, the assassin primed a second syringe, this time with a lower dosage, and took up position behind the door. Fucking expensive way to kill two low-lifes like these, he thought. And he was right: there were much cheaper ways of wasting people. But Captain Farid wanted extravangance; he wanted it to be obvious that a lot of money had been spent here… Spent by the driver, the Detective’s informant… Using his bribe-money… On whores and drugs – the danger posed by which he had failed to understand…

Almost exactly on cue, just a couple of minutes after ten, there was a light tapping on the door. “Captain…? My Captain? Are you there…?” Slowly pushing it open, the hooker nervously stole into the room. In the soft light she could just make out the prone figure on top of the bed… “Ow! No–” Suddenly, she was grabbed roughly from behind, a hand now pushing hard on to her mouth and nose, restricting her breathing. Kicking out wildly, she struggled with all the instinct of a lion’s prey, but the man was simply too heavy; too strong. She felt herself blacking out, swaying in and out of consciousness, at some point imagining the sensation of a prick on her arm, a needle being pushed firmly in… All too easy, thought the assassin, as the lethal dose was unloaded. All in a casual moment’s work.

And whilst, in their struggle, he had this time missed the vein, the intra-muscular injection the assassin had managed to administer would send this pretty young whore off to the same place as the driver in a matter of just a few short minutes. Tying her up as a precaution, he took the opportunity to survey her shapely body, reviewing the young face of a world-weary passenger – the mask of someone much older than her years, a common feature of those who were forced to ply the oldest of trades. But she is certainly pretty, he now reflected, studying the small and perfectly positioned beauty mark to one side of her upper lip with which she had been graced at birth. Continuing to draw breath, it seemed to him that the girl was not willing to let go. In his irritation, the assassin considered throttling her, in order to accelerate events. But he had been paid handsomely for the job and did not want to make any mistakes, or jeopardise any future commissions the Captain might send his way. No: he had very clear instructions and would carry them out to the letter.

Moments later, the girl at last sucked in a final, shallow breath before… shuddering slightly… she stopped. On this cue, the assassin once more took out his cell-phone and typed another text message, before following his remaining instructions.

Partially undressing her, the assassin then laid the whore beside the driver, arranging the ‘lovers’ in a macabre and graceless embrace. After covering the syringes with their fingerprints he then scattered them randomly, together with their plastic wrappings and a few empty phials. Then rummaging around in the whore’s handbag, he located a stick of red lipstick. Twisting the base so that it spiralled out, he scrawled the words on the driver’s body precisely as instructed, before taking off his gloves and dropping them into his briefcase, snapping it smartly shut. Then snatching up his promised down-payment, which he found on the bedside table by the driver, his final act was to pick up a clump of paper tissues, which he would use to close the door behind him…

22:09. The dogs have been put to sleep. The Captain had laughed aloud on receiving the doctor’s second text message, confirming the successful execution of his mission. What are you going to do now, Detective Fucking Adi? he giggled to himself, maniacally. Driving at a sedate pace on his way home, relaxed and contented, he then called ahead to his wife and suggested she made herself ready, got dressed up in style, to which – surprised – she had readily agreed. They would be going out for a late bite to eat and perhaps a dance at his favourite club. Yes, this was going to be the night the tide turned. His night. And it had been effortless. Just effortless.

posted by Kirk at 3:56 am  

1 Comment »

  1. I found your site on technorati and read a few of your other posts. Keep up the good work. I just added your RSS feed to my Google News Reader. Looking forward to reading more from you.

    Matt Hanson

    Comment by Matt Hanson — February 17, 2008 @ 4:00 am

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a comment

Powered by WordPress