The Torchbearer ✓

Chapter 7

Russo hopped nervously from one foot to the other in the elevator as it ascended.

The receptionist had informed him that he could not simply speak with The Torchbearer without notice with a healthy dose of smugness and amusement.

He responded by leaning close and growling at her face from a distance of a few inches.

"Tell her that John Russo wants to speak with her. Now."

His Italian fire mixed with Scottish aggression made for a fearsome combination and the young woman felt the brunt of it.

I doubt my breath was great either.

Needless to say, Russo was promptly ushered into the elevator and told that The Torchbearer awaited him.

Now...What do I tell her?

He would have to lie of course. She wouldn't suffer his carelessness. It wasn't so much the murder, it was the near miss with the policeman and Russo knew it.

His stomach rolled uncomfortably as he analysed the holes in the bullshit story he had devised. It was poor, but Russo thought there was a chance.

"Floor number ten." The elevator proclaimed, and the doors slid apart to reveal a lavish office.

The walls were decorated with a rich red wallpaper, the colour of roses. Russo saw two huge mirrors with golden frames that had the likenesses of various animals etched into them hanging on the walls left and right of the room he now entered. The carpet was thick, cream-coloured and left faint imprints where he stepped.

A mahogany desk was before him, on which was only a few pieces of paper and a fountain pen stationed in a display case. A high-backed wooden chair with velvet-like cushions rested partly under it.

In the chair sat a small Indian woman wearing the business attire of smart black trousers, black leather shoes and a modest orange cardigan. She wore her dark brown hair in a French braid that stretched down to the bottom of her back. After reading to the bottom of a particular piece of paperwork, she placed him under the inspection of her obsidian eyes.

She returned the page to the desk, leaned back and crossed one leg over the other; adopting a comfortable sitting posture.

"Hello, John. It's been a while. Years in fact." Said Priya Dhaneshwari.

Not allowing him time to respond, she continued.

"You know, I'm tired. I've been the centre of attention too much of late and it's wearing me down. I've been talking so much these last few days, my damned jaw aches! I'm not young anymore John." She paused and raised her eyebrows at him slightly.

She looked like she could be in her late thirties, but Russo knew better. She was closer to sixty

If she expects me to laugh at that statement, she's getting nothing. I messed up today but I'm smarter than you think.

As if sensing his mental resurgence, she crushed him.

"Yet it would seem that it's not only myself that has been the centre of attention recently. I've caught wind of your little... incursion this morning, John"

"I-"

"You have failed me and there is no excuse." She leaned forward now and the corner of her lip began to curl, pinning him with her eyes.

"You failed me." She repeated.

A scenario that Russo hadn't allowed himself to believe could play out was now unfolding right in front of him. A thick wall of dread crashed down on him as his mind raced.