Mr.Haughty And His Muslimah

16.The Coast, Company and Consent.

If silence had never suffocated us, how will we have, then, known about the freedom of singing?~

Third Person P.O.V--

The masked man, in backlava, propped his body against the rusty, grim drums that were scattered on the harbour, outside the storage shed. The salty breeze lulled with the stinking smell of fishes. Apart from the chirping of crickets, dronning of the mosquitoes, splashes of soft sea waves rocking on the shore and boats creaking in the background, eerie silence spread in the humid night air.

The harbour was deserted when suddenly, a glassy jet black Mercedes benz pulled up and a polished wingtip leather shoe emerged out. The man was stubby and middle-aged with dark moustache, a deep scar grazing across his left cheek, slitted eyebrow and a tooth studded with a sparkling diamond stone. Even though, evidently it was zero hours at night, the man still adorned his classic dark shades and his bodyguard hoisted umbrella over his head, albeit the fact that it was not raining. And suddenly, the moist air thickened with piercing tension and danger.

As the cryptic man stepped forward, only minimal of his posture could be caught glimpse of, under the faint dim-light,  while other features remained buried under the blankets of darkness. However, the firm cold smirk sitting on his face was very much noticeably striking under the glimmering moonlight.

The man in backlava felt his whole body tense.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at this ungodly hour?" the short man snorted, his tone colored with bitter sarcasm.

"I have some news." The masked man croaked out cautiously, clearing his scratchy tone.

"Then, what are you even waiting for?!" He scoffed, as his expression morphed into grim seriousness

"Hakan." The man in backlava rasped, as he audibly swallowed down his bile and sucked in deep breathe at the testy impatience before gesturing, "Let's have a seat, first."

Sherbet coloured houses gazed at them and the gusty wind caressed them, wisping salt on their exposed skins as they settled down on the wooden deck of the boat.

Hakan planted a cigarette between his lips and his bodyguard ignited it for him with a metal lighter.

"I need more money." The man in backlava said finally, holding his breath.

"And your reason being? Because last time I checked, you already owed me handsome amounts of piled-up debts." Hakan snickered darkly, before intaking a deep puff and then blowing wisps of smoke in spiral.

"I know, and I already told you that I will repay once I get hold of it." The man in backlava, gritted through his teeth.

"And when exactly may that be?" Hakan snarled, his grave tone demanding and eyes darkened with forest of fire.

"Soon. But as of for now, I want to prolong it." The backlava man claimed, as Hakan flicked ashes on the table, arching his eyebrow in question and frown-lines invading on his temple but the masked man resumed with a deep breath, "Because I am willing to work for you."

Hakan chocked on the long drag of smoke and wheezed out fits of dry coughs before chuckling darkly.

"I am impressed with your well-decided move." Hakan said, as a full-blown simpering smile crawled on the edges of his mouth, revealing his diamond pierced teeth and then continued, "But I expect you know this would mean, obliged to do anything I order without a second thought, even if it means going against your desire. It would mean double-crossing your loved ones and if necessary, being called as a-"

"-a traitor. Yes, I know." The man in backlava finished, his tone flat and blank eyes pooled with coldness.

"Very well, then. We have an agreement." Hakan concluded, shaking hands with the man in backlava, as a smirk etched on his face and menacing glints swirled in the depth of his covered eyes.