Fashionably Foolish

Stut presses the accelerator hard. The car jerks and zooms ahead, leaving the road rules behind. Fear builds up through his body like a twister, engulfing all other senses. He screams out with joy. This is the best time he would have during the day. Safely incubated in his car, he can afford to be reckless. Eminem blasts into his ear - Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted-One moment. Would you capture it or just let it slip? Nodding aggressively, he honks. 

The neon ‘Charlie’s Bar’ flickers ostentatiously from the right corner. Stut carefully pulls up and switches off the stereo. His jaw drops. 
“B-Beer,” he says to the bartender, looking intently at his hands.
The bartender slaps a beer mug onto the counter. Stut slips the bills and takes his mug to the corner table.

As he is digging into the menu, two burly shadows invade the table. He turns around and sees two big men, with tattooed heads and bulging ‘guerrilla’ stamped arms, scanning the bar. Their narrow yellow eyes stand apart from their fleshy red faces. It is possible that some might think them twins at a first glance.

The right one drags a chair and presses it close to Stut’s. Even before speaking he brings down his fist on the table. Stut understands – he is perpetually angry, a no-nonsense-guy. The second big man moves to Stut’s left, making him feel trapped.
“Where is your sister?” the seated one whispers with clenched teeth.
Fear melts into anxiety. “W-Why?”
“Your sister has something we need. Got it?”
“So, why why don’t you ask her? Look, I- I, she doesn’t talk to me.”
The seated monster looks at his twin. “Bret,” he says casually and leans back on his chair.

Bret bends forward so low that his nose almost touches Stut’s.
“She stole our chip and disappeared. You won’t tell us where she is, you will have to die.”
Stut laughs nervously. The big red face backs off.
“You don’t understand. Okay, just listen, okay? I am telling you the truth. I swear. My sister stopped talking to me when we were children. I was awkward and … stupid, she thought. The kids would make fun of me. So, she kind of disowned me. It was bad for her growth, she said. I don’t even tell people I have a sister. I don’t know whether she wants to own me. I haven’t talked to her for years.”
Both monsters smile pleasantly.
“She is right. You ARE stupid. Do you think we will buy this shit?” the seated monster spits the words out of his mouth.
“Why are you doing this to me? Tell me, did she ever talk about me?”
“Do we look as if we deal with family histories?”
“Look, I have told you the truth. If you don’t believe me, then what can I do?”
“Enough talking. Let’s get out M,” Bret says.

On the street, both of them were walking so close to him that he could feel their muscles moving as they walked. 
“See buddy, you tell me what to do. There is no need for this,” Stut says to M.
“Get the chip.”
“Okay. Okay. I will talk to her. All right? What is this chip? I mean I will have to ask her.”
“She knows,” they chorused.
“Got it. It is a computer chip.”
“You are smart!” Bret says admirably. M’s sharp gaze brings him back to the professional mode.
“I don’t need to tell you what will happen to you if you go to the cops.” M spread out his hands. “I use these.”
Bret gulps.


Stut flips the pages of the telephone directory. Maria Turner. Maria Turner. Come on. Turner. Turner. “Yes! Got it.” He presses the buttons on his phone.
“Hello. Is this Maria Turner?”
“Yes.”
“Hey Maria. It’s me.”
“Me who?”
“Your brother, Stuart.”
“My brother? I have only one brother and he is sitting right in front of me. Who are you?”
“Sorry. Wrong number.”

He bangs the table with his fist. How could he find a sister whom he hasn’t talked to for ten years! Their mother had died long ago and they had no father. Whom can he ask? He wishes he wasn’t such an introvert. If she had stayed with him he could have guided her to the right path. He wishes he wasn’t so awkward so that she would have stayed.

Two days pass by and still no chip. He weighs down possibilities. I can leave the country. No. I can go to the cops. No. I can fool them. Yes. I can fool them.
His mobile starts ringing.
“Hello.”
“Did you talk to her?” It was M.
“Oh! Well, yes, she… she called up. She needs time.”
“How much?” he barks.
“Two… two days.”
“Don’t dare to play smart,” and the phone went silent.

Stut quickly got to work. “Damn you. Let’s do it,” he says to his laptop. “Hello. Yes, it’s Maria. I have a cold. What do you want? Yes. I have the chip. How much will you pay? This is business okay? How much? 10,000 dollars. This is the last time I am calling you. Good. Okay. Leave the money in the garbage outside house number 54, Kent Street tomorrow at 9 a.m. I will leave the chip in the letterbox at Central Park. I have my boys; so don’t try to fool me. If I do not find the money at 9 sharp, I am selling the chip to you-know-who.”

He separates every sentence so that he won’t have a problem while playing the recording over the phone. He adjusts the tone and the pitch. At the end it sounds like an authentic Maria’s hoarse voice. 

Two days are over. Stut doesn’t go to work. He is pacing the room, anxiously waiting for the call from the goons. The phone bursts with the Eminem tune. Stut picks it up.
“Hello.”
“Where is she?” It is M again.
“Ya, she she told me to tell you that she will call you today.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“A-t  w-h-a-t  t-i-m-e?” M pressed it through his lips.
“Oh sorry. Afternoon afternoon. She didn’t tell the time. Do I tell her to call you on the number from which you are calling?”
“Do it. If she doesn’t call, you will be dead by morning. Tell her that,” and he hung up hard.

At two in the afternoon, Stut was at a PCO with his laptop. Drops of sweat were rolling down from his forehead. He looks all around him. No. There is no M or Bret. He steadies his laptop and slowly dials M’s number.
“Yes,” M’s voice booms on the phone.
Stut clicks. “Yes, it’s Maria.”
“Maria. Maria. So you called after all. For the life of your brother.”
“What do you want?”
“You and the chip.”
“How much will you pay?”
“Do you remember; you stole it. Don’t try to act smart Maria. The day we find you …”
“This is the last time I am calling you.”
“Wait wait, what’s the hurry? Okay. Take 5,000. It’s not worth more than that.”
“10,000 dollars.”
“Whoop. You have grown bitchier.”
“This is business okay?”
“Where?”
“Leave the money in the garbage outside house number 54, Kent Street tomorrow at 9a.m. I will leave the chip in the letterbox at Central Park. I have my boys; so don’t try to fool me. If I do not find the money at 9 sharp, you will never get the chip.”
“If we don’t get the chip, we get your brother.”
Stut hung up fast. He didn’t have any more dialogues and he didn’t need anymore. The deal was done.

Back home, Stut gets busy. He buys a computer chip, locks it inside a small red box and hides its key beneath the box’s velvet cover. He books a seat on the flight to Mexico for 9.30 a.m. tomorrow. He tells the pizza delivery boy to drop the red box at the letterbox at Central Park not before 8.45 a.m. He packs his bags and books a cab for tomorrow.

At seven in the morning, he takes his bags and leaves for the airport in a cab. When he reaches, he tells the driver to wait for him in the parking after tipping him generously. He takes a bus to Kent Street. After picking up the suitcase from the garbage, he takes a bus back to the airport.

“The flight to Mexico will leave shortly,” came the announcement.
In another ten minutes, he was on the flight, looking down upon the earth from the skies.

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