I stood there for some
time, not knowing what to make of the words just uttered by my erstwhile friend,
and what to do next. However, I decided to do the most sensible thing at that
moment. I went in heading for the bar. As I pushed my way through the revolving
glass doors I came to a standstill again looking at the spectacle.
The bar was spacious,
rectangular in size, with a full glass wall giving a view of the street outside
and a wood-paneled wall on the other side. To my utter surprise and shock, the
whole interior was filled with thick layers of smoke rising up to the false
ceiling. How on earth they are allowed to smoke inside, I thought in dismay; my
mind taking an overview of all the steps taken by the public authorities in
recent years to save people from exposure to passive smoking. What amazed me
next were the customers there.
Most of them were young
boys and girls. Almost everyone was smoking, throwing out rings of smoke
upwards. Some were looking up squealing in ecstasy while a few others were bent
over the tables, jerky and sneezing; some were staring around with total
disinterest and glazed eyes; some were either howling or moaning or plain
crying and some others were swaying from side to side in their merriment with their
bodies hitting or brushing against other bodies. I didn’t take long to
understand what was going on.
It was obviously a drug
bar, and I was astounded as to how this could be done so openly and in such a
brazen manner. My first impulse was to dial the police if any in this strange place,
but somehow my mobile phone and I became poles apart in the happenings so far.
A few addicts became aware of me standing uncertainly in front of the entrance,
and they stared at me, as if trying to evaluate me; a few seemed to jeer at me
while some others communicated to me pitifully, ‘give us sustenance...give us
sustenance...please!” My amazement fast giving way to fear I made a hasty
retreat.
Out of the bar I walked
disoriented and aimless for a few minutes, not at all bothered about the streets
or the landscape or the skyline. Suddenly again, I found myself in front of a
restaurant which, to my great relief, looked like a traditional one with two
rows of neatly arranged desks and chairs and normal looking waiters moving
around taking orders from customers scrutinising the menus. However, something
else was waiting for me inside.
As I entered the open
doorway heading for an empty table the manager behind the cash counter moved
around in great speed, and walking past me slapped a waiter busy taking orders
unawares; he repeated his unprecedented acts on three other waiters, slapping
them with fury and vehemence. As I was destined that night I stood transfixed
there, one more time. Now, the manager was shouting like a madman.
There was a moment of
absolute silence in the restaurant following the manager’s acts with customers
and staff alike stunned and immobilized. From the incoherent words of the
manager I surmised that sometime back the hotel owner’s daughter with a few of
her friends visited the restaurant for dinner, and one or more waiters
misbehaved with them, not knowing their credentials or simply ignoring them.
The daughter and group left in a huff, and the manager got a resounding bashing
from the owner over phone. So he acted upon it immediately. However, before his
action fully justified his fury something more dramatic happened.
Three goons with guns
ready and pointed in their hands entered the restaurant. One of them stood
guarding the entrance, one aimed his gun point-black at the manager’s head and
the third one took position at the rear end. And I was like a duck sitting
pretty amid the strangest scenario. This cannot go on any longer as far as my
safety is concerned, I decided. I was an accidental bystander and therefore
there was no reason why I should compromise my safety. I started moving towards
the entrance slowly as a heated exchange of words was taking place between the
manager and the gun-toting goon.
I almost made it. But
unfortunately, just at the final moment of exit I accidentally brushed against
the goon standing there, and his gun fell to the ground. Before the goon could
react to that I acted impulsively and with a good presence of mind. I instantly
stooped down, picked up the gun and handed it over to him with a sweet smile.
The bewildered thug also managed a grin, and as I made my last move to exit he
said to me in a rather paralyzing perplexity, “You gotta be a good man! But
many good guys gotta die sooner than others! Nah..?” he hollered in great
merriment over his own humor. “Enjoy the
night, goodbye!” I smiled weakly back at him and slowly moved out. The goon
leaned out of the entrance to watch me, still giggling.
About twenty yards
ahead the road turned right, and if I was able to round that corner I would
finally move out of his sight. I watched many movies and read many thrillers
where the villains appeared to be very suave, sophisticated and benevolent, but
at the climax they used to murder the victims mercilessly. Those twenty yards
seemed to be an eternity as I started moving slowly ahead measuring every step
and at the same time keeping an absolute outward calm. The imminent probability
that he might put a bullet through my back any time was a horrific thought that
refused to leave my mind.
Nothing happened for
about ten yards. I quickened my pace only by a fraction now so that it didn’t
get noticed, suppressing my extreme desire to break into a dead run, and just
vanish round the corner...and escape...
(To be continued...)
(To be continued...)
