Silhouette

XX

Thomas has not stepped out of his hotel room in three days. He has spent half of that time sitting by the window and watching the street below for signs that he is being watched.

He watches the television for something, anything that would help him make sense of what has happened. But there is nothing about Bergman Incorporated or Oladotun’s death. He still remembers the men who came after him. He remembers the terror squeezing his heart as he fled from them. He still feels it deep down in his gut like the effects of a drug that hasn’t worn off.

Thomas scratches his jaw and opens the fridge. He opens the last bottle of water and raises it to his lips. There is a sharp knock on the door and he jumps, spilling water on his shirt.

He slowly drops the bottle on the floor, unplugs the lamp and tiptoes to the door. Grips the slender base of the lamp in his hands. Puts his eye on the peephole. The man on the other side is noisily chewing gum. He is in the hotel’s staff uniform. “Who are you?” says Thomas.

“The towel and shirt you asked for,” says the man. He raises two white bundles in his hands.

“Oh.”

“Are you opening the door or what?”

“Put them down.”

Thomas watches the man bend, his head disappears then he stands up again. He blows up the gum, it seems to swallow up his face.

“What again?” says Thomas. He grips the lamp tightly in his hands.

There is a loud smack, then the man says, “Er, your change.”

“Keep it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Now go away.”

Thomas watches the man roll his eyes then disappear from view. He presses his ear to the door and listens to the faint footsteps until they disappear. He counts to twenty and opens the door. He slowly lets his head out and checks both sides of the hallway, they are empty. He swiftly lifts the bundle off the floor and locks the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, Thomas walks out of the hotel, head swiveling left and right. He steps just on the edge of the sidewalk and watches the throng beside him. There is a TECNO phone shop up ahead just by the traffic light.

Thomas walks into the shop. Stops by the glass doors and looks back at the street, there is no one after him. He buys a small phone and a sim card with the rest of his cash and calls Maggie.

“Who is this?” she says.

“It’s me, Thomas.”

There is a sharp inhale. “Where on earth have you been?”

“Listen to me,” says Thomas. He goes to the doors. Three men are walking past the shop. Thomas holds his breath, he doesn’t release it until he sees them get into a car and drive off.

“Are you there?”

“Yes… yes. Something is going on… I don’t know what it is but some people are after me. Some very dangerous people. I need you to-- ”

“What are you talking about? Where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you.”

“Just listen to me, damn it. I know why Oladotun was killed. And these people are after me for the same reason.”

“What? I don’t understand you. Who is after you?”

“I don’t know. I have to figure that out.”

“Okay. Can you tell me why they are after you?”

Thomas pauses. “No, I can’t. You could be in danger just by knowing.” He scratches his jaw.

“This is all very weird and strange but please tell me you didn’t do it.”

Thomas frowns. “Do what?” The operator tells him he has a minute left.

“Kill Oladotun. The police think you did it. They came by yesterday.”

“Wait. What? Kill? I… I didn’t… How could they… He was my friend.”

“Of course I know that. But what do you want me to think? Oladotun is murdered, the police show up and suddenly you go AWOL.”

“Jesus,” Thomas whispers. His head is spinning. He knows he is going to collapse if he remains on his feet. He slides down the wall and sits on the cold tiled floor. One of the staffs shoot him a look. “Tell me you believe me.”

“I’ve been your secretary for five years and I know you can’t kill a cockroach.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“Which is why I think this smells fishy, as fishy as a five day old fish.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I think you should run to the police. Go to their headquarters, if possible. That way there is a lower chance of an informant of these people – whoever they are – ratting you out. Oh, and call your lawyer.”

Thomas manages a smile. “Remind me why I hired you.”

“I have picked up a lot of things over the years. Most of them from watching TV.”

There is a loud beep and the line goes dead. Thomas pats his pockets, he is out of cash and his credit card is with his wife. He grimaces at the thought.

Thomas goes out into the street. He waits for the traffic light to go red before crossing. There are dozens of green cabs speeding to the other side of town. Thomas raises his hand to hail one but it is full.

He doesn’t see the men angling towards him before it is too late.

Someone taps him on his right shoulder and he turns. The man smiles. His teeth are small, baby-like and white. They remind Thomas of a shark’s teeth.

The second man is by his left. He isn’t smiling. There is a red scar on his cheek. They are both in business suits.

Thomas has had nightmares over the past few days. And these men are in every one of them. He looks around, no one is glancing their way. They look like normal people having a conversation on the street. Thomas closes his eyes. He knows this is it. This is the end.

The one with the scar raises his shirt up. There is gun between his body and his waistband. “You will walk between us saying nothing and smiling.”

“Who are you?” says Thomas.

“Just errand boys,” says the one with the baby teeth. He slips his hand beneath his shirt and moves behind Thomas.

Thomas feels something hard, sharp and cold press into his back. “Please, don’t kill me. I have a wife. She is going to have a baby. He will need his father. I would love to take him to school, to soccer games, to visit my annoying aunts, to—“

“I asked you to smile, but you are rambling,” says the man with the scar. “Now move.”

Thomas wears a large grin and allows the men’s shoulders to carry him to a black Honda parked a few feet away. They open the door, push him into the car and follow him in. There is a third man seated in the driver’s seat.

Thomas is barely seated before the car starts and pulls away.