1. Daksh

The mobile’s ringtone was unnaturally loud as it tore into the silence of the night. He jabbed it viciously and mumbled a reluctant apology. Damn Honey! Why was she calling him at this time of the night? There was a frosty nip in the air but that was the least of the things which made him uncomfortable. An ominous niggling was making itself felt in his gut. He had not been to this part of the town for a very long time and had the choice been left to him, he would have opted for some other place. Anywhere except this godforsaken hole. But then he was not the one calling the shots.

He stretched his legs to ease the stiff muscles. The two of them were hidden from view by a string of time-worn boulders which marked what had once been the cradle of natural water springs. Apart from these, the only thing that could be seen was a line of eateries and temporary shacks which brazenly sold shawls and artefacts from Kashmir to tourists. Not that there was any dearth of customers; for the gullible visitors were desperate to lay their hands on takeaways from their mountain rendezvous. Happily turning a blind eye to the fact that their purchases were neither indigenous nor did they qualify as memorabilia from their destination state.

At this late hour, the entire area was abandoned, the makeshift shops wrapped up in yards of blue plastic and secured with nylon rope, while the owners returned to their little hovels in the sleepy town. The probability of meeting another vehicle on the 3km stretch of road at this time of the night was next to zero. Not a bad place, come to think of it, for the kind of task that had to be done.

They had been waiting for the better part of an hour in a silence which hung heavily. There was nothing even close to camaraderie between them. He shifted his weight, the uneven contours of the jagged rock biting gleefully into his butt. Besides being hard, it was icy cold.

Winters had set in early this year. The cold metal of the revolver he had thrust into his waistband made matters worse by poking rudely into his ribs. He wondered how Bond of the 007 fame managed to waltz through each scene with a dozen firearms secreted all over his body. For him, carrying even one was getting more cumbersome by the minute. Pulling it out, he placed it on a flat boulder within easy reach. It had cost him a hefty sum but the bootlegger had stuck to his price.

Even though he was not the one doling out the cash, he had haggled. Frankly, it was good money gone down the drain. When they had no intention of using it and were carrying it only as a decoy, even a toy pistol would have served the purpose.

He cast his mind over the events which had propelled him towards this night. The past two weeks had been packed with surprises, especially Kiya’s volte face.

Nothing had prepared him for the contingency that she would call his bluff and cut him off. A wrong decision.

A very wrong decision. The ungrateful harridan owed him that much after everything he had done for her. She should have given him the money. It wasn’t much he had asked for and there was plenty in her coffers. Well, she had only herself to blame for what was coming to her.

She had left him no option but to switch loyalties. As did the scumbag they were braving the cold for. He was looking forward to confronting the hoity-toity creep.

For all his stuck-up airs and holier-than-thou attitude, he was just a miserable skunk who would sell his soul to the devil if the price was right. The expression on that podgy face when he saw who he was dealing with would be a reward in itself. Daksh’s harsh features contorted into a mean smile at the very thought.

The phone beeped. He scowled. Not again! It was the sixteenth message from Honey.

The freezing look of censure from under the blue hood made him squirm. The girl was getting on his nerves. Why did she have to keep a track of him all the time? He had already landed himself in the cauldron for revealing too much to her. A pain in the wrong place. She was quite capable of following him up here to see who he was with. Women meant nothing but trouble and who knew it better than him.

He steered clear of women as a rule but it had been a novel experience when Honey had singled him out. She was attractive and he enjoyed the envious glances of the others who vied for her attention. It had been good while it lasted but now he had to get rid of her. Once tonight’s job was done, he would make a clean break from her.

The temperature was dropping by the minute and he would have given anything for another swig from the fancy silver hipflask slung from his partner’s belt.

Partner. The word had a nice ring to it. Finally, his worth had been recognised. Rubbing his hands together, he longed fervently for another gulp of the fiery contents but was darned if he was going to ask his companion for any favours.

As if by a miracle, the flask was pushed under his nose and for a moment he wondered if he had spoken aloud. He unscrewed the cap hurriedly and lifted it to his mouth. The liquid cascaded down his throat, a hot flame following in its wake. Wiping his mouth with the back of his palm, he tilted his face for another gulp and the hand holding the flask froze in mid-air as his eyes collided with the barrel of a revolver. His revolver.

Instinctively he reached out for it. It wasn’t where he had kept it. He was baffled. This couldn’t be happening. And if it was some kind of a joke, then it was in very poor taste.

‘Bubblegum. . .bubbly bubbly bubblegum. . .’

The blood turned to ice in his veins. Slowly comprehension dawned and the missing pieces fell into place.

A firm finger pressed down on the trigger and in infinitesimal slow motion, he toppled over.