“Alright, I have mine under my jaw. Let's do it on three.” He said. She was taken back, felt like he was mocking her. She wouldn’t let him talk her out of it; not with his protocol threats at least. “So 1…” he said.
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‘One last call’, he had decided. A career offering advice over the phone was not taking him anywhere. The wretched place had no sense of professionalism. With liquor flowing at ease and smoke filled in every employee’s lungs, it had a semblance of a Vietnamese toddy shop. He couldn’t complain. At times, that was the only way to get through the day.
“Hotline, how may I help you?” His gruff voice had lost emotion. He had stopped faking any after a while. A young nervous lady, with a voice reeking of cheap whiskey on the other end would be his last call. “I have a gun to my temple.” She said, “And I have no reason to live.” The protocol dictated he calm her down. He would activate the tracer and indulge her in discussion till they track her down. It wouldn’t take more than half an hour. But he was in a hurry tonight. “Have you taken the safety off?” He inquired calmly. “I know how to handle a gun, OK!” came the slurred reply.
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He locked his finger on to the trigger. “Two…” he said. She was waiting for the last count. The loud bang that followed deafened her. Her country pistol slid off her hand.
It took them just half an hour to find her, lying in her own vomit, alive. He had never let any of his callers pull the trigger. His last call was no different.
Good one sir!
ReplyDeleteYou build up the suspense so subtely.
ReplyDeleteI can see traces of a good writer in you.
Never knew I had such a gifted writer sitting next to me in class!
Thanks Prabhjot.. :) Nice to know that you blog too.. Will check it out..
ReplyDelete