Hit job

Hit job

Episode 1 – The fateful day

Stories about poor people are of two types; either they are about a poor guy who survives against all odds and succeeds in life to become one of those rich guys that he hated in the first place, or a poor guy who remains poor all through his life, but still finds happiness in his abject poverty. The former is seeped in popular cinema, and latter is the staple for wannabe indie directors who don’t have the budget to portray a rich guy.

This story is neither of the above.

Stories about gang-lords are of two types; either they are about a gang of dangerous goons, each deadlier than the last, who decide to mess the life of the aforementioned poor hero, and end up being beaten or killed by the hero against all odds, or laws of physics and biology. The other type is about two gangs fighting against each other, resulting in the death of one gang, which is usually the more evil of the two. Both are depicted enough times in popular culture.

This story is neither of the above.

Shankar, or as everyone in his street called him, Pappu was walking on the road with a clear limp. The business had been good that day. Three cars had hit him, and he had managed to extract close to ten thousand that day, apart from a free lunch. The cost to be paid consisted of a couple of abrasions on his chest and forearms, and a small injury on his head. He was a through professional, having been a victim of over twenty -five minor car accidents, obviously all of them precipitated by him running in front of a moving car. The usual modus operandi consisted of him falling on ground and acting like his life had been sucked out of him. Soon enough, a crowd would gather and gherao the car driver till he coughed up some money. The money was to be shared by Pappu and party, fifty percent each. It was a good arrangement, and took care of Pappu’s major expenses.

“Ek khambha,” he asked for a bottle of country liquor, “and a bottle of soda. This fucking job is painful. I need a drink.”  He poured himself some drink and drank straight up, without bothering to add any soda. The aching limbs got soothed as the cerebral inhibitory action of alcohol kicked in. Three drinks later, he was ready for another hit job. That was when he saw a black Scorpio near the cross-roads. He loved the cross-roads. You never need to pay people to form a crowd and harass the driver. Well wishers, hoping to help a poor soul hit by a rash, arrogant driver, would always pop up.

He waited patiently, like a lion waiting for his prey. He was a pro at it. The right time and place would always be when the car would be in the middle of the cross-roads. That way, there would be nowhere to run and it caught attention of public quickly. Also, the speed of the car and the resultant damage would be minimal. The signal turned to green, the Scorpio geared into action, and so did Pappu. Bang in the middle of the street, he jumped in front of the car, crashed with the bumper and fell down, wincing. The Scorpio stopped. Soon enough, a crowd gathered around the car. Someone gave a glass of water to Pappu. He stood up, and started swaying from side to side. The intensity of performance was always the key. The more injured he appeared, the more compensation he could extract. But that day, he sensed something was wrong. The driver did not bother to come out of the car, in spite of the crowd around it. He did look agitated though.

Five minutes later, the door opened and a burly man with a long overcoat stepped out. He surveyed the angry crowd around him, and the injured Pappu, and growled just one word in a thick voice, “Move!” People did not budge, as is their wont. He repeated his earlier word, this time louder. Nobody responded. He was the ultimate villain in their eyes, a middle class harassed by bribes, heat and traffic jams. He represented the bourgeoisie who is allowed to run away after the hit. No, not on their watch, they had decided. The poor man will get the compensation, they decided. The man, perhaps understanding their thoughts, decided to play a full-blown villain and took out a gun and fired it in the air. The crowd dispersed, scared. Pappu stood there, stunned.  The man held him by the collar and whispered, “You don’t know who you have messed with!” Saying this much, he got back into the car and sped away.

Chapter 2- Family first

A couple of days had passed since Pappu was openly threatened by that stranger in the Scorpio. He hadn’t ventured out since, deciding instead, to rest for some time and try to get a real job. His line of business now seemed too risky. One non-paying accident taught him what twenty-five paying ones couldn’t- that earning money by faking accidents is a bad idea. For one full week, he went to any shop he could see, who would hire him. He was ready to take any job, as long as it did not involve being threatened by strangers with a gun. For one full week, he was rejected from everywhere.

“This day feels different,” he thought, as he woke up next to his wife. The kids were still sleeping when he left the home, if that is what one would call their ramshackle assortment of asbestos, straws and bricks. It was the best he could afford, and the worst he could dream of. But, that morning, he swept all depressing thoughts aside and decided to jump straight to the job hunting.

“Ek khambha,” he asked for his customary bottle of country liquor from Ramu, the 16 year old who was running the small illegal liquor shop in the locality.

“No soda?’ Ramu asked. He was used to handing a bottle of soda with the alcohol.

“Nahi yaar. The day has been the worst. One fucker threw me out of his office! It hurt everywhere, but the most it hurt was here,” he said, pointing at his heart, “one day I will be the boss of these idiots and show them their place!”

“Waah Pappubhai, you are high by just holding the bottle!” Ramu laughed. Pappu joined in too. His dreams had been shredded into a million shards, each pricking him in every corner of his body. He needed the alcohol to drown the pain. At least, that was what he thought. When he reached his home, pitch-drunk, he saw something that evaporated every drop of alcohol from his body and replaced it with liquid fear. His house was completely destroyed, his wife and kids missing.  He knew who it was. It was the man in the Scorpio. But how had he managed to trace him and his address so quickly? He shuddered to think what kind of man would have guts to openly fire his gun in the middle of the road, in broad daylight, and he trembled with fear, thinking what such a man could do to his family. But, he was yet unaware of the reason. Nobody destroys a man’s life just for a minor inconvenience.

Thud! Something hit the back of his head, and knocked him out. When he woke up, all he could see was darkness, and all he could feel was suffocation. He heard someone speak too.

“So, this rat caused us to fail our hit job?”

“Yes Jaggabhai. This fool ran in front of our car, alerting the target, who ran away. Maybe by now, he would have left town, knowing Jaggabhai’s men are after him.”

“Who is he? Does he work for that Lucky?”

“No idea boss. Why bother? Let’s just kill him straight away!”

“ Shut up Teja. He will be given some Jagga justice.”

The two men guffawed, and one of them hit Pappu on the back of his head. It hurt. He winced. The uncomfortable journey carried on for some time.  The throbbing pain on his head and the weight of worry in his heart made Pappu slump down. He was prepared for the worst. But the worst was yet to come.

They lifted him from the car seat, carried for some distance and threw him on the ground. It felt hard, smooth. And then, in a rough moment, the cloth was removed from his face. Initial light blinded him, so he squinted. Through the half open curtains of his vision, he saw the same man who had threatened him on the road, surrounded by five, maybe six other armed men. He seemed to be in some sort of lair. Someone slapped him, jarring him into full attention.

“Listen you rat! The other day, you caused us to lose twenty five lacs on the hit job. You have any idea what that kind of money looks like?”

“I am sorry sir. Please forgive me…” Pappu pleaded before being cut short with another slap. His cheeks were stinging, his pride was drowned in the gutter with his tears.

“What do you think this is? Some fucking classroom? And you think I am your class teacher?” Jagga laughed. Everyone else joined in. Jagga cleared his throat and continued, “Your apology will not get me my money, nor will it get you your family. You will have to pay me back.”

“But sahib, I have not even seen this much money at one place. How will I repay you? Please have some mercy!” Pappu was almost sobbing.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Jagga whispered in one of the henchmen’s ear, “What we have here, is an opportunity. What can a desperate man do to save his family? Can he destroy another family to save his own?” Pappu looked puzzled. So did everyone else in the room. Jagga continued, moving like a lion circles his prey, “According to my sources, the target has not yet left city. Of course, he knows about us. But he does not know about our latest recruit- Pappubhai!” Saying this, Jagga laughed out loud. Everyone else followed suit, albeit nervously. Pappu was speechless. Ofcourse, what he did was never on the side of law. But they were petty offences. This was murder. He would never bethe same. The merchant of Jagga-ville was asking for his pound of flesh, and he had no option but to cut it out. Only difference was that in this flesh would be a part of his soul.

“I agree,” he said, sealing his deal with the devil.

Chapter 3- Everybody dies….some day!

There was no time to teach Pappu about using guns. They had to go the old fashioned way, and use a knife. The plan was simple- Pappu would approach the target, when he would be in the restaurant, as he was scheduled to do on that day, follow him to the bathroom, and finish the business there. Nervously, Pappu entered the restaurant, knowing that he would come out of it a completely different person.  He located the target, a Mr Mehra, who was a lawyer fighting a case against Jagga’s bosses. He had to be dealt with, and quickly.

“Hello Mr Mehra, I am Dr Shankar,” Pappu introduced himself. The new clothes and expensive perfume were heady and would have distracted him from the job, had he not known what was on the line.

“Hello doctor. Do I know you?”

“Ah yes.  I am the surgeon who treated some of the victims of the mob violence. Thought I could give you some,” Pappu shifted uneasily and checked his surroundings, and whispered in Mehra’s ear, “evidence.” He could see the effect his words had on Mehra. He straightened up pretty quickly and signaled to follow him to the washroom. So far, so perfect. He followed Mehra to the washroom, leaned towards him slowly and in one quick movement, slammed the dagger in his stomach. Blood spurted out everywhere. Before Mehra could call for help, Pappu gagged him. He kept on stabbing him, tears running down his cheeks. He continued to do it till he was sure the man was dead. It was then that he realized, that he had not done a deal with the devil. He had asked devil to take place of his soul. He dragged the body into one of the cubicles, washed hands, changed clothes and jumped out from the window. His job was done. On the other end of the road, Jagga’s men waited for him with his family. He spotted the van and ran towards it. He could see his wife from one corner of his eye.  But what he saw from the centre of his eyes wrenched the air out of his lungs. There was a hole on her forehead with blood trickling out. She was dead! He ran towards her lifeless body that Jagga’s goons threw on the road before speeding away. Clutching the body, he wailed. He wailed the whole night. He had lost everything. Everything. His life, his family, his soul, everything. And it was all done by one very evil man, just to spite him for a small mistake. He took out his phone. It was time for payback.

“Hello Ramu, ek khambha,” he said, his lips curling in a twisted smile.

Jagga’s lair received a carton of country liquor. The gang assumed it was a reward by the boss to them, for the job well done.

Epilogue- All’s well that ends

The newspaper headlines screamed the following morning, “HOOCH TRAGEDY STRIKES MUMBAI SUBURB. TWENTY PEOPLE BLINDED, TEN KILLED IN THE SAME HOUSE.”

Shankar read it, and smiled. Nothing can bring back the dead, but something can avenge them.