Mr.K looked at the classy whiskey glass in his hands. He felt sad. He walked over to the window and reflected on his gloomy surroundings. He had always hated any dark rooms and spooky bookshelves. But what interested him in this room was the vintage selected Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey which was on the dining table in an eagle shaped Bottle and his Walther PPK 32 ACP which was hiding comfortably in his suit. It was a situation that made him feel sad. He had just come back after meeting somebody. Somebody very close to him for many years. He had always been a bearer of bad news. But a trusted friend who gave the bad news well in time for Mr.K to plan his actions.
On the wall there was only one painting. It was a replica of ‘The Night Café’ by Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh. In the dim light he was able to see only portions of it. He turned back and took another swig from his glass. He saw from the window something move in a distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of J.
J was walking towards the house with his tall legs. As usual without his umbrella, got off from the car, holding his bag to cover his head from the rain tiptoed until he reached the main door. He waved to the person driving the car who was not much visible from the window due to the rain, darkness and the branches of the trees in between. The car slowly left the location. A whining gate let J into the compound. There was nobody to receive him today. K had sent all his servants home. His bodyguard was downstairs. Since it was the mourning day of his wife’s death anniversary he had asked his staff to take the evening off. They would come back in the morning. The gate closed and K could hear footsteps coming up the staircase after the basement door banging shut. He could hear some movement in the corridor. He assumed J was removing his jacket and hanging it before he knocked. Then came the knock.
K gulped the remaining whiskey. He glanced at his own reflection in the long mirror of the wardrobe. He was a mean, crooked, whiskey drinker with skinny legs and a receding hairline. His friends saw him as a Leader. Once, he had even brought his son back from the brink of death. But not even a Mean person who had once brought a concerned son back from the brink of death, was prepared for what James had in store today.
Meanwhile the storm outside roared like hungry lion, making K hate what he was about to do. As K opened the door and J came closer, he could see the fierce glint in his eye. An unmistakable hatred was looming in him. J glared with all the wrath of a ferocious and wounded tiger. He said, in hushed tones, “I hate you”. K looked back receiving even more hate and still fingering the Classy Whiskey. “J, I love you, I am your father,” he replied.
They looked at each other with past memories running in their minds, like two brave, brawny Bear Brooding at a very silent funeral. Jazz music was playing in the background.
‘What have I not done so far? Why shouldn’t I be the next in line? Do you think I am not fit for this? I heard you have proposed M for the position! Is that right? But why?’ J asked.
K touched J on his shoulders to calm him down and asked J to take a seat first and have dinner with him before answering any of his questions. J shrugged away K’s arm and went and stood in front of the window. He was frustrated. He was fuming. All the effort he had spent so far was in vain. If he does not take the mantle, he will drown in debt. There is a big crowd waiting for him. Waiting to take him to a fame which no one could understand. The same crowd could bury him alive if he did not take the mantle. He turned and lunged forward with the Knife he had in his hand. He tried stab K right where his heart was. But swiftly as a deer, K dodged and grabbed the classy whiskey glass and brought it down on J’s skull. It all happened within a few seconds. J’s tall slender legs trembled and his hair wobbled. He looked Revengeful, his emotions raw but his eyes in shock. He let out an agonizing groan, collapsed, hit his neck at the edge of the dining table and dropped dead on the ground. J was dead. Blood was flowing on the floor from his head.
For K the whiskey glass had been a defensive move to save himself. He had come prepared for a different scenario. But everything happened in a flash. The instinct of a man who had been groomed in uncertain times had re-surfaced in K. A drunk J was vulnerable. A hit in the temple had delivered the blinding blow. The aftermath of the shock had rendered J unstable and the dining table did the rest.
K walked past J’s body. He made himself a nice glass of whiskey and sat on the chair. A tear drop found its way down his cheek. He took a sip of the whiskey. A deathly calm settled in him. Then something stuck him odd. He had not heard his servant all the while. Where was he? It was dinner time. If all had gone as planned, he should have been having dinner with J. Putting the glass down he took a tissue from the dinner table and started wiping the blood stain off his white flannel shirt.
That’s when he heard a familiar click. It was the click of the .32 automatic colt pistol. The Walther had an inspired inscription ‘TCB’ which meant taking care of business. This was the same inscription made by Elvis Presley in his Walther PPK as well. So much so to K’s craze for Elvis.
Well coming back to where we left, why did K not have a comfortable feeling of dark dining rooms? This was the point. His eyesight was bad. He couldn’t see clearly in the dark now a days. He didn’t want to admit this. It made him feel weak. He had hidden this successfully for a month ever since he tripped and fell in this very same house one day when it was dark.
But what K could not guess was who was holding his own Walther PPK at him. Who knew he would bring it today? How was someone else in the room and how long was the person in the room. Was he in the room even before K and J arrived? Why was he pointing a gun at him now? If only M was here, he thought. Why did he have to do this alone? He should have brought someone with him. A big mistake. But then what would he tell them? That…He was off to kill his own son so that his illegitimate son could file his nominations tomorrow to contend for the elections? That he despised his own son more than himself to have had an affair and was keeping his second family a secret to both his son and to the public? That he was planning to dissolve his party and have no contender so that his illegitimate son M would win hands down and take the mantle?
Coming back to his senses, he thought could it be the servant? Was his servant actually a spy of J? Slowly but steadily the shadow of the person holding the Walther crossed him. It went towards J, the gun still pointing at K. It was a hooded figure. Dressed completely black. It crouched, hand still steady holding the firing position at K. Checking the pulse of J, it stood up and slowly removed a silencer and screwed it on. Who was in the hood? K thought of striking a conversation after realizing a cold sweat trickle down his forehead.
‘What do you want? Do you want money? Do you want my car? Take anything you want from here. I am already in the pain of losing my son. Do not add to it. Please I beg of you’ He said.
The hooded figure shrugged. In the faint light he could still see only darkness in the hood. The fear of not knowing who it is in front of him engulfed K more. Was it all his sins that had taken a form and was standing in front of him? He had made a lot of enemies for himself as time passed by. But which one would come home to kill him? And why?
The hooded figure lifted the Walther and walked closer to K. Very carefully, it took the shot from the right side of K. The silencer coughed. The bullet found its mark. K’s body went limp. The hooded figure carefully stepped aside making sure it did not step on the blood or the glasses from the whiskey glass. Slowly unscrewing the silencer it blowed into it to cool it down.
The rain had stopped. A sudden flash of lightning from outside revealed the face inside the hood for a fraction of a second. It was T. She had come to kill K and J. She had been sick and tired of the marriage with J. Her love for M had taken her to varied heights. M’s only problem was K and J. They had been ruling this country and were famous enough to not allow M to win. Her blind love for M made T do whatever M wanted. M wanted K and J Dead. He wanted it to look like a fight between the father and son for power. Little did T know that she had to kill only K and it would already start looking like a tussle. She carefully planted the Walther PPK in K’s right hand. Then she removed the gloves. And slowly walked away from the Dinner table.
She picked up her phone and called M. No response. He must be tensed. She will meet him in person and share the news. She slowly tiptoed down the staircase and wore her helmet. Her bike was waiting round the corner. She had to sneak out unnoticed. She walked towards the backdoor crossing the bodyguard’s limp body who’s drink she had laced with poison. She always used to sneak out of the backdoor to meet M at night. This time she was sneaking out for good. She clicked the door open. A tripwire triggered a deafening explosion setting off the burglar alarms in nearby cars. The house was in flames. J,K and T were all dead.
M was smiling somewhere in a penthouse.
Revenge is a dish served cold.