©Copyright Ajeet D'Souza
An overcast sky greeted that uneventful Monday morning, and Mr. Richards, scarcely visible through the thick sheet of rain, was wading his way home. He was drenched to the bone – he had forgotten his umbrella in his hurry. Richards crossed the street and entered his house, briefcase in hand.
Water was dripping all over the floor, but he nevertheless hurried on to his room, shut and latched the door, closed the windows and drew the curtains, though he doubted the existence of voyeurism in his neighbourhood. He shot a quick glance round the room, as if to reassure himself of being its sole occupant. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked and opened his briefcase slowly and carefully examined its contents. Satisfied, he securely locked it again, put it away into a dingy cabinet which nobody used, went out and began to dry himself.
The bell rang. The servant had just returned from the market, having bought the groceries he had been sent off to buy, and deposited the exact change in Mr. Richards' hand. He was a reliable fellow, Mr. Richards thought. He had worked for him for several years. He knew he could trust him for what he had in mind. He did not eat lunch, which his servant found quite odd, but Richards told him quite truthfully that he hadn't any appetite. He went directly for his afternoon siesta and soon sank into a deep, much-needed slumber.
When he awoke, he left the house again, telling his servant that he would be gone for half an hour. He walked at a leisurely pace to a supposedly abandoned shed, where he saw a man sitting with his head in his hands. Pretending to look out of the window, he mumbled under his breath, “Are they ready yet?”
“I've planted them in the basement,” he replied. Hinting to a sack in a corner, he said, “Have an apple. It's in one of them.”
Richards took two apples from the sack and went back to his house. His servant stared at him. Mr. Richards had never gone shopping before. Moreover, he was taking a knife and a plate to his bedroom and was going to cut it himself.
“Shall I cut it for you, sir?”
“No, thank you.”
Proceeding to his bedroom, Richards, shut the door and windows like before, and cut the apples in two. Taking out the small device from it, he placed it in the briefcase. Taking the briefcase along with him, he left the house again.
Mr. Richards was showing a man the switch, which he examined with expertise.
“Can you get the switch fitted into this?”
The man nodded.
“Come back tomorrow.”
“Careful, though, mustn't trigger off the bomb. They're functional.”
He left the briefcase in his care and headed home.
On arriving, Richards suddenly cursed loudly in the presence of his servant, “Damn! I left my briefcase in the office.”
“Should I...” Richards cut him off.
“No, I'll collect it tomorrow.”
Two days later, Richards called his servant into his room. “Shut the windows and the doors and draw the curtains. And bring me that briefcase,” he said. The servant suppressed his uneasiness and obeyed his master's instructions as always. Richards broke the silence.
“Would you kill?”
His servant looked at him with a confused stare.
“For money?”
“I...” his servant began, fidgeting furiously with his fingers.
Taking advantage of his uncertainty, Richards opened the briefcase and showed him its contents.
“How much do you want?”
His servant gasped.
A few hours later, Mr. Richards was showing his servant a map.
“Now this is where you have to be. And this is a secret way out that nobody knows of. You'll get out safely,” Richards assured him. “And this,” - he took out a photograph - “this is the man. Don't worry, it just looks difficult, you couldn't possibly miss with this gun.”
A day later, his servant set out to commit the murder. Mr. Richards was standing at the window, staring intently at the foot of the building where he saw the servant walk in.
The servant made his way through the building, correctly recollecting the thoroughly memorized map. As per instructions, the servant took position, holding the gun he had first seen in the briefcase. His knees were shaking so badly he could barely stand. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, took aim and pulled the trigger.
Back down in the basement of the building he was in, something began to beep.
A smile touched the ends of Richards' lips as he heard the explosion.
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