PERSONAL JUSTICE by Ramlee Awang Murshid

43

QUEENS, NEW YORK

14 October 2000 - 9.34 p.m.

HILMAN obtained an American Arms PIC-22 by successfully disarming a man who claimed to be the country's secret agent. He slipped the fully loaded gun between his waistband. 

Without wasting anymore time, he hailed a taxi and directed the driver to go to New York Hospital. 

The black-plated pistol was a .22 LR caliber with 8+1 bullet magazine. The pistol was also equipped with an internal safety pin.

Hilman had to wait a long time for Dr. Cohen to appear. The heat from his unrestrained anger provided him with the heat against the cold Manhattan night. He was fortunate because Dr. Cohen appeared driving his Ford passed the hospital's facade. Hilman hailed a cab and directed the driver to follow Dr. Cohen's car up to Queens.

Queens is Manhattan's neighbour connected by several bridges and tunnels. And tonight, Dr. Cohen crossed the Queensboro Bridge. In fact, he crossed the bridge every night after work to return to his house at the outskirt of Queens, approximately 10 kilometers from Queensboro Bridge.

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NOW, 15 minutes had passed since Hilman stood just across the street to Dr. Cohen's house. The weather was getting cold with the temperature between 8 and 18 Celsius. Hilman inhaled deeply and started to walk. 

Hilman stood still outside Dr. Cohen's door. He knocked on the door repeatedly. At the same time, he pulled the gun out from his waistband. The rattling of keys were heard from inside. Hilman kicked hard on the door before it fully opened. The impact pushed Dr. Cohen, who was behind the door, a few steps backward. He was surprised to see a man at his door, with a gun pointed at him.

Hilman entered quickly. The door was shut close. Showing a stern face, Hilman shouted. 

"You... sit down!" 

Dr. Cohen hesitated. 

"I said... sit down!" Hilman roared.

Dr. Cohen had no other choice. He sat down like he was told to. Then Hilman sat facing Dr. Cohen. He held a gun tightly in his hand. Dr. Cohen sat speechless. 

"I just want to know why are you doing this to me, doctor."

"If you want money, I'll give you... just take all the valuables in this house... but just don't shoot me." Dr. Cohen said haltingly, pleading with Hilman. 

"I want my life back, doctor," Hilman said. 

"Who are you?" Dr. Cohen didn't recognize who the man was. 

"Don't you recognize me anymore, doctor?" Hilman laughed cynically, taunting. Dr. Cohen blinked off and on.

"My God!" Finally, Dr. Cohen recognized Hilman. "What do you want?" Dr. Cohen asked, petrified. 

Hilman stood and stepped closer to Dr. Cohen. 

"Who gave you the order to falsify my documents in New York Hospital? I never took alcohol. But you stated in your report that my blood contained a very high alcohol level. I've been accused because of you and... you put my daughter in a serious condition," Hilman said.

Dr. Cohen gasped.

"Err... you were drunk at that time," Dr. Cohen said without looking at Hilman's eyes that looked like a lion eyeing its prey.

Hilman bit his lips, controlling his anger. He hated being falsely accused. Jeslina's face played in his vision.

"Then... you'd rather die."