Drugged Love (On Hold)

Chapter Eighteen, Part Two

"You have done well. You are now ready to take on bigger responsibilities."

Ishan was perplexed less by the offer but more by the fact that he was sitting face to face with Elena's father. The absurdity of the meeting was yet to completely dawn*/ upon him when Zakir had called him and said that the 'boss' had wanted to see him at his residence.

He wanted to refuse, he did refuse but Zakir told them it was not a good idea. Zakir had sounded just as nervous as Ishan was, facing this man who was built like a boulder, and had a ruthless face which was intimidating with the grim look that never left it.

"Dress well", Zakir had suggested. So he'd worn a shirt and tucked it in and set his hair with hair gel. He was surprised that he looked a college graduate rather than a high school senior.

Omar Carlos George. When Zakir had told him the name, he recalled that he had heard it several times, but only with the steel business that the world knew he did. It was the perfect way to launder money from him. Earn from the drugs and show it as steel earnings.

The man's tone had every indication, that the offer was non-negotiable. It was inclined more towards being an order than a request.

Ishan wanted to refuse. For the past two months, he was just doing deliveries, lying in the lowest rungs of the drug chain hierarchy. But now the boss wanted to give him 'bigger responsibilities'. He had wanted to leave this a week ago, and now he was being pulled in deeper. The thought that bigger responsibilities bought bigger dangers with them was making him weak in the knees. He shifted nervously, trying to clear his throat but he knew no level of firmness would diminish this man's resolve.

"I'm sorry sir, with all due respect. I can't do this", he had to try. The attempt was polite yet firm.

Mr. Omar laughed hysterically with a laugh that could put psychotic serial killers to shame. Then, he slammed his glass of whiskey onto the glass table, spilling some of the drink onto the table.

"Do I look like a man who takes 'no' for an answer. I'm a very dangerous man, Ishan", his soul-chilling stare aimed directly at Ishan. The man's eyes looked wise. Ishan knew they held stories being witness to crimes which could give anyone a hard time sleeping at night.

Ishan knew that he was in no way bluffing. He was every bit as dangerous as he seemed, maybe even more so. This was his empire, keeping it ahead of competition was his only passion. He'd kill a man for that without a second thought if he had to.

"Don't worry about the money. You'll be rewarded generously", he continued.

Maybe this was not as bad as it seemed. Maybe the responsibilities were not as dangerous as they seemed, Ishan thought as he tried to pacify himself against his dying will.

"What do I have to do?" he said while his mind screamed "Why do I have to do this?"

"You'll still be making deliveries. But you'll have to go down at various city borders to check some of the shipments that come in. It will be just a weekly visit", he signaled one of his servants to refill his drink.

"How would I know what to inspect for?" Ishan was confused.

"Zakir will tell you everything about it. And you will be paid at the border once everything has been done. If there is any problem, you report directly to me. "

One of his several servants came forward and handed him a phone. It had a grey body and a small 2 by 2 inch screen and number keys. It looked centuries old. It was starkly similar to the one that his dad had.

"This is a secure phone. Anytime you need to call me, you will use this. It has all the numbers. Understood?" the man asked clearly unimpressed by the amount of time this meeting was taking.

A secure number which could not be traced, Ishan thought. He didn't know why these people trusted him to the extent that they would give him a secure number with all their contacts. All he had done was make some deliveries. Was the drug empire in this city failing and they were desperately short on personnel? He felt trapped in this fortress and just wanted to be done with this meeting.

Ishan nodded as he held the phone in his hand

"Good. That will be all", Mr. Omar said distastefully.

Ishan got up and started to leave.

"Wait "Ishan heard the heavy voice and turned around.

"Do you study somewhere?"

"Yes sir. I am a student at Stepping Stones High School." Ishan said and noticed Elena's father's purse his lips and the creases that appeared on his forehead. He dare not mention Elena. If this man came to know that he was in touch with Elena, he could do anything.

It was clear that this man didn't want his drug business to reach his house. He was relieved that he didn't remember him from their brief encounter outside Elena's house.He waited for the man to say something. When he didn't, Ishan left the mansion.

Ishan walked home with slouched shoulders and a gaze which was transfixed on the ground. The cold desolated streets didn't help, neither did the phone in his pocket. Its presence reminded him of all that he had done to get into this mess.

All the left over strength in his body was making a dying attempt to stop him from breaking down. He was fighting a losing battle against someone who was using him again and again. He wished he could run away from this god forsaken city, from the nauseated town where teens were battling with their addictions everyday. The thought of his mom and dad and his sister gave him some respite, and there was someone else. When all he wanted was a shoulder to cry on, he had only himself.

As he was midway to his home, his phone, his own phone interrupted his thoughts which lingered on the edge of insanity. He saw the text with blurred vision from his teary eyes.

Meet me tomorrow?

~Elena