The train thundered through the beautiful landscape, only a few kilometres before it made its journey through the mountainous terrain of the picturesque snow-clad scenery. The quietude outside the train, in the serene hills, was in contrast with the environment inside. An old couple in the far end of the coach exemplified the truthfulness of a relationship as they laughed together. A group of young students were on a trip and they appeared absolutely vibrant. A young woman was reading a romantic book, which turned her cheeks red, probably missing her love. Everyone on the coach looked thrilled, except for one man.
A middle-aged man, sitting by himself by the window stared into the depth of the woods from the window. His dark eyes were fixed outside the window for quite some time. He was lost in thoughts, which apparently ate him up from the inside. He seemed to be worried about the what came next and was clearly and quietly expressive about his anxiety.
Frank Gordon, a slightly older man, sat opposite to this middle-aged man; he could not help but notice the growing anxiety on the man’s face. He wore a perfume that had a musty scent. It was very distinguishable and it caught Frank’s olfactory senses. Gordon interrupted his thoughts, breaking the depth of them. “Excuse me, good sir. I hate to bother you, but I could not stop thinking about the nervousness on your face. Clearly something is bothering you. You seem to be in some trouble. Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?”
The man stared at Gordon with a disturbing look, clearly displeased with the unwelcoming interruption. The shadows were playing on his face as the sun was setting down behind the hills outside. His dark hair were neatly set and the piercing eyes were not helping Gordon to perceive the ferociousness of his stare any lesser. Frank was a little shaken by the silent aggression, but he maintained his cool.
The dark-haired man stared back outside the windows, squinting a little against the shine of the sun. Frank was feeling disconcerted upon the odd contempt of his honest concern.
“Everything will be alright, sir,” Gordon said with a forceful smile, trying his best to be nice with the man.
He adjusted his hat over his vanishing hairline and adjusted back in his seat. The train arrived at the station, and the impolite man stood up, taking his discourtesy with him. Oddly, even his impending departure did not help Frank attain rest. It had become harder for him to survive the heat that rose out of the disturbing silence that dominated the space between them, and his behaviour bothered Gordon.
The man left through the door, leaving a trail of the musty scent of his perfume. Apparently, Brent was the only one who got off the train. For a moment or two, Gordon was lost in the strangeness of the man that he encountered. Frank’s eyes came wandering to the bottom of the seat where that unpleasant man sat, and there was a black briefcase that he had left behind. Immediately, Gordon looked out in search for the man and he saw him vanishing behind the walls that led to the exit of the station. Compelled by his instinct of setting things right, Gordon picked up the briefcase from under the seat, which was heavier than it appeared to be, and he rushed for the door at the same time when the announcement of the train’s departure was over. He escaped the train just in time as he saw felt the automatic doors close behind him.
“Curses!” Frank muttered some angered words over the fate of his journey. The station he got down was surprisingly small, signifying that the region did not hold a lot of people. There was one small room, made of bricks for the station master, who was nowhere to be seen. The station was as unmanned as the moon.
The sky was glowing purple. Frank, without wasting much time walked briskly on the same path, which he saw the man take. Assuming that he must not have gone too far just yet, he hoped to get the next train, whenever it was. Upon turning the corner at the wall towards the exit, Frank walked out of the glass door and he saw the man boarding onto the backseat of a black sedan that sped down the road as soon as he was in. Everything happened so fast that Frank had no time to call him and deliver the briefcase.
Luck was not in his favour, but Gordon had ample of patience. Frank boarded a taxi that was waiting at the curb, and asked him to follow the black sedan that went ahead. The taxi driver obeyed and after a chase of nearly twenty minutes, the sedan came to a halt in a sketchy neighbourhood, deprived of rich infrastructure, or even decent buildings. An array of short brick buildings dominated the poor side of the town that he was in. Most of the street lights were non-functional and the only few that were lit faintly highlighted the quiet, broken and messed streets of the area. Frank found it odd that a man dressed as professionally as him would have business in the underbelly of a town. Frank felt the discomfort of landing in such a place, but he had to deliver the briefcase, which might be important to the man. The streets were not filled with a lot of people, and the lonely streets in such a shady night served poorly to his comfort. He had come this far, he thought. He carried on.
He got off the taxi, paid the driver and walked behind the man, who just entered a small green door in an alley between two buildings, where the cars would not fit. It got darker there. He watched his step carefully as the poorly lit street did not help him well with the visibility of the possible potholes; maybe even an open sewage hole. Gordon was as careful as he possibly could. He wished he had a gun for his safety tonight. He kept walking and then just as he approached the green door, he heard some voices. He stopped and overheard the conversation. Two men. They spoke about something that shocked Gordon and blew his senses off.
“You’re still on your number four, Brent. Another seven kills in another thirteen hours. What is making you so sluggish?” The voice was rough; the kind that comes with years of addiction of cigarettes.
Gordon was frightened, and considered fleeing from the scene. His morals held him back. There was not a chance that Frank would not act upon the knowledge of the identity of the criminals.
“I lost my briefcase in the train. My weapon is in it, and I cannot carry on without it. I need your pistol.”
Gordon understood that the man he had met in the train was on a killing spree. He shook in fear, he sweat through every pore on his body, but he still did not flee.
“Here it is. Remember, you have to notify Boss as you climb up the ladder. If he doesn’t receive a notification…”
“I know,” interrupted Vergo with an angry grunt. “He’ll kill my family.”
Gordon’s astonishment knew no bounds. He heard the pain in his voice. Whatever he thought about this man changed every few minutes; from a distressed person to a killer to a probable victim. His head spun with the heavy thoughts of having gotten involved with killers. The briefcase fell on the floor with a slam the moment he realized that it had a weapon inside!
The noise of the briefcase falling on the ground was loud enough to alert the two men and Frank heard the rush of their footsteps closing in. Without wasting another second, Gordon left the scene with the briefcase with him, and ran in the other direction from the train station on a pavement that was filled with people sleeping or shooting injections to their veins. After a long run in the forsaken neighbourhood and very less help from the people around in the area, he felt that he had escaped.
Gordon found one man in black hood at the corner of the street smoking a cigarette, who walked Gordon to the police station. It was a small office that lay in the middle of a malodourous compound at the end of the street. He rushed inside the surprisingly vacant office and spotted one room to his left and he barged inside it. The police station was as sketchy as the neighbourhood, but Gordon did not expect a lot from this god-forsaken region where he was stuck that night.
In that room, he was welcomed coldly by a burly man with greying hair and a big built. His thick grey moustache matched his stern personality. Gordon placed his faith in the stern policeman and narrated the entire incident to him.
“You’re the not the first one to have the knowledge about The Boss. He is feared all across. Kids, adults and others; anyone or everyone could be his target. He has a very strong influence over the political parties and gets away with every accusation with not even a scratch. Killing brings him pleasure and he has not stopped doing so in last some months. He has gripped the entire town under his giant web of violence and corruption, forcing everyone into murderers. Even the saints and the priests have dirtied their hands in this town. You came to the right place, here. You are safe.”
“I will leave this briefcase here.” The trauma in Gordon’s voice was overpowered by the anger that he felt rising in his belly. “It belongs to that man I met in the train.”
“I will take care of it. Soon, all this will be over. His strategy of making others kill, provides him a layer of extra protection. Once we get through that barrier, he will be dead as meat.” The policeman was as cold as he was in the beginning. It seemed to Frank that this was not the first time that he was hearing the anger of a citizen. He felt sad thinking about what happened to those people.
Gordon was flabbergasted. “I hope you have a plan in your mind.”
“What would you do when your family’s life is at stake?” The policeman stared at him with his big silver eyes. “Would you not kill to save them?”
Frank remained quiet. He was outraged at the horrid events that shaped that town. He could have screamed at the unexpected series of events that changed the entire story of his day…possibly his life. He slammed the briefcase on the top of the table with little regard to the respect that the policeman deserved. Before he got up from his seat, the door behind him opened with a creaky voice. He noticed a musty scent once again, and his eyes grew wide open. It was the man from the train. He knew it was him. The scent was so strong. Before his brain could register a reaction, Vergo’s large arms grappled Frank’s neck from behind and snapped it hard, rendering him dead.. His head fell on the table in front of him with a loud thud, his hat fell down on the floor.
“That is number five, Boss,” spoke Brent with very little emotions and he left the office where the Boss formed his shelter, disgusted over the depth of planning the Boss could implement for facilitating kills of innocent people. The man in the black hood followed Brent outside the station.
The Boss sat back in his chair, and a devilish smile was formed on his face at the sight of another dead man. This will never be over.
….to be continued