Master of Descriptions: Perils (Part I)

Its Sunday afternoon, 1400hrs. You are seated at the balcony of a six star restaurant, somewhere in Mombasa along the shores of Indian Ocean. Your multimillion automobile is parked in a reserved parking space. You are drinking the finest Scottish whiskey. The bottle is half full, your glass is half empty. A waiter approaches you.

“Hello Sir, your car is in the wrong parking place. Do you want me to call the manager?”

This is the third time he has approached you. You stare at him filthily, your inner voice shouts back at him, “I am the manager, you idiot!” But you don’t. You gulp your drink one more time. Without staring at him you say,

“I heard you the first time.”

You reach out for your customized smartphone, unlock the screen. Jules hasn’t called yet. You slam your fists on the table. The waiter leaves.

It has been 3 days now, the delivery was to be made a day ago and money wired to your account. You dial Jules number, she can’t be reached. You get on your feet, pour whiskey, and gulp it, all at once. You remove five one thousand notes and place them on the table, your glass on them.

“Keep change,” you whisper. You grab your phone, the car keys, and then leave.

Inside your car, you stare at the back seat through the rear view. The blue bag is still there. You reach for the dashboard on the co-drivers side, to remove a pistol. You switch on the engine, your phone rings.

“Finally, you better have an explanation!” You exclaim while pulling the phone from your jeans, hoping that it’s Jules.

Its honey calling. On the screen of the phone there is a picture of a woman, two lovely kids and then there’s you. The four of you are happy.

You: Hello love.

Her: Hello, how are you?

You hesitate to answer her back.

You: I am doing alright. How about you, how are the kids?

Her: The kids miss you. I miss you. How is the business trip?

You: Everything is fine. I will be home in the next two days. I got to go, say hello to the kids. I love you.

            Her: I love you too.

You hang up.

You step on the accelerator. Speed off, leaving behind screeches of tire as pedestrians turn around to watch you vanish, dust floating to the sky. You are headed to your hotel room.

Inside your room, there’s is a wooden table and a chair that is adjacent to the window. There is a master bed. On the bed there is a suitcase packed. You take out the pistol, places it on the table. You pull out the chair. Take out a Cuban Cohiba Cigar from your pocket, put it between your lips as it fits softly giving you a touch of a gold brick blend of tobacco, before lighting it up. On your phone, you dial Jules number. She, still, cannot be reached. You pick up the gun, check if it’s loaded. It is. You unload it, count the bullets. There are four. You load the gun again, this time removing the safety pin.

You get up, walk towards the window. You inhale from the cigar, hold your breath then exhale as you watch the curly thread of smoke disappear into thin air.

Your phone rings. It’s an incoming call from Jules. You pick it up.

“Where the hell have you been? Did you make the delivery or not? If you mess up with me I will kill you.”

On the other end, comes a stern response from an unfamiliar male voice.

“Jules is dead. You are next.”

 The phone clicks off.

                                                                    *****  Part II coming up  *****