Overcast

1.

Carlos Gonzalez took a deep drag from the cigarette he held between his fingers.

He blew the smoke out, and as it cleared, the district of Westminster, London, unfurled itself before him. Jaguars and Bentleys zooming along the streets, women carrying shopping bags and chatting nineteen to the dozen, and boys of all ages playing football in open grounds and on the sidewalks were the sights that greeted him ; these were those which defined the capital of England. He inhaled once more, and as he exhaled, he turned to walk towards the living room from the balcony, stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray along the way. The dull ringtone of his cellphone prompted him to pull it out of his pocket and press the green 'answer call' button. He listened grimly as to what the voice at the other end had to say.

Gonzalez paid the taxi driver and walked into the Departures' section of the London Heathrow Airport. He passed the security check without much difficulty, and settled himself in the waiting hall. The screen mounted on the wall showed him that the Avianca would take off at 3:00 hours GMT, and land at the El Dorado International Airport, Bogota D.C., Colombia at 11:00 hours GMT, ie., 6:00 hours COT. He looked at his watch. It was 1:30. He had an hour and a half to kill. He made himself comfortable in his chair and started thinking about his friend, Andres Rojas.

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Gonzalez enrolled in the University of los Andes at the age of 25.

The Board of the University were very impressed by the young man's willpower to completed his education. They sympathized when they found out that his parents had died a few days before he could join Cambridge University, and he had no choice but to forego his education for a few years and take up odd jobs before he got a scholarship to study in the Universidad de los Andes, as its name was in Spanish, or Uniandes, as the alumni called it.

College life is tough, but when you're seven years elder to the rest of the freshmen, it's way tougher. Gonzalez sat in the first bench of the class, listened to what the professors lectured with keen ears, and left as soon as the last bell rang. Nobody interacted with him, and he talked to nobody. Fate would be kind to him in a way, as he had no roommate, but he was ragged just like the rest of the freshmen, though he showed little or no reaction to his oppressors. The other students would later remark that they would see him coming back from bars, drunk, but not out of control, and a few good souls even offered remorse, telling him that drinking down his sorrows would not help, and that alcohol was not the way out.

It was during one such night in the bar, that Gonzalez saw a scuffle between two men. A large, bulky man seemed to be beating the pulp out of a slightly thin, yet well built fellow. It was clearly the former's mistake, as he had shoved the latter off a bar stool, saying that it was reserved for him. Moreover, the bulky man had a few of his goons at his disposal, who surrounded the thin man, preventing his escape. Noble as he was at heart, Gonzalez picked up his bottle of scotch and smashed it over the head of the large bully. Just as the goons got ready to make mincemeat out of Gonzalez, a group of men barged in through the door and started pounding the goons. The thin man got up and punched the bully in the stomach, then delivered a hard jab to his nose and a crushing uppercut to his chin. The bully fell, and was carried out by his goons, who now had bruises and blood stains all over themselves. The saviours carried the thin man out, and Gonzalez paid his bill.

A few days later, while in the bar again, a man pulled up a seat next to Gonzalez and ordered Vodka Shots for two. To Gonzalez' amusement, it was the same man whom he had partly saved the other day. The man introduced himself as Andres Rojas, and after offering his thanks to Gonzalez, they shared some banter over the shots.

"I'm a drug lord," said Rojas, with the nonchalance of a criminal who had clearly tricked the police many a time. "Your actions that day impressed me; they told me about your character, your conduct, your sense of justice. Would you like to join my gang, amigo?"

Gonzalez knew not what to say. Partly he was afraid that if he refused, his head would probably be blown off, but there was a little bit of excitement. Riding with a drug lord? Sure, he would have to work his way to the top, and he might even get caught by the cops, but his frustration with the monotony of his life, and that greed every man has for making an extra buck soon overrode those fears, and with the glee of a toddler who had been offered an ice cream, he accepted.

Over the next few months, along with his education, Gonzalez also paid focus to the other role in his life - the role of a drug-dealer. Delivering/receiving stashes to/from the customers/dealers, evading the cops, and reporting a satisfactory exchange to his supervisor every few days ensured not only green in his account, but colour in his life. Gonzalez felt at perfect peace with the world.

Alas, as the overused proverb goes, all good things come to an end. A student happened to chance upon the briefcase he had stored in his room for delivery later that night, and Gonzalez was left with no option but to 'silence' him, or as the doctors at the autopsy would put it - 'voluntary manslaughter.'

Gonzalez ran. He grabbed the briefcase and ran before any authoritative figure could spot him. Ran away from the University of los Andes. Ran to Rojas.

Rojas was momentarily livid at his carelessness, but touched by his bravery, and his presence of mind even in his situation of fear and panic. He gave him asylum; Gonzalez was not a student any longer, he was now a full time member of the squad.

Over the next few years, Gonzalez rose through the ranks, to become the second in command to Rojas himself. He was feared and respected by the members of the gang, as well as those of rival gangs, and under his advice Rojas amassed great wealth and achieved great fame. Gonzalez had been deported to London by Rojas carry out an international drug deal when the death of Rojas reached him over the phone.

Gonzalez now sat in the airport, waiting to go back to Colombia and ponder over the future of the gang with his fellow members.

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As soon as the Avianca landed at Bogota, Gonzalez hired a taxi and ordered him to drive at breakneck speed to the Hospital de San Jose. His subordinates made way for him as he walked briskly towards Rojas' room, and the nurse abandoned the room when he entered. He looked at Rojas' lifeless body, and as he bowed his head and clenched his fist, he said,

"I will avenge you."