Death in Late Afternoon

Death in late afternoon.

Harry felt a jolt of rage coursing through his pudgy body when he saw his red Mustang up close. He was in a hurry to get to his girlfriend's apartment to take her out for dinner. Today was her birthday. He had wanted to leave work sooner than this, but at the last minute, his boss walked in and gave him a new assignment. The bastard didn 't leave. He just sat there and talked on and on. Harry got antsy and nervous like Hell, but he didn't have the guts to tell the boss that he had to go somewhere, kind of like right now. By the time the boss strolled out of tbe office, Harry just about had enough time to get to his sweetie. He called her and explained to her that he might be late. Now, not only he would be definitely late, but he must scrap the dinner plan altogether. He called her again : "But damn it, Harriette though her name suggests otherwise, she was not hairy, definitely not like her beau, the hairy Harry), it's true. You can drive over here and have a look. I don't think the tow truck will be here sooner than you. I've got to go. I hope I don't have to replace any tire."

He took a good look at the tires. Two of them were all way down, flat as a pancake, courtesy of a roofing nail imbedded in each. He was infuriated and perplexed. Somebody must have been very mad with him. Somebody from the office, but who? He tried to recall if he had pissed anybody lately. He came up with a blank. He got into the well-tinted car and turned on tbe AC and looked at his watch. He had to wait at least for twenty minutes more, at this hour when everybody was on the road, wanting to get home. The rear passenger door was suddenly yanked open. A man got in and barked an order at the same time. "Sit still, don't turn around. Your name Harry Sheethed?". No sooner than Harry said, "Yes, what you w...", three shots from the Colt 45 fitted with a silencer rang out in quick succession. The killer obviously planned ahead. The trajectory of the shots was downward. None of the bullets went through the windshield. Most of the back of Harry's head was gone. His torso stayed straight for a few seconds then slumped to the side, on the right, not to the front as usually depicted in the movies. He tucked the gun in his holster and got out of the car. He took a casual look around. There was nobody in sight. He strided towards a tinted silver grey Maxima sedan which was stolen this morning from a long term parking out at Houston International Airport and fitted with a fake license plate from Arizona. He would drive it back to the airport, dump it there, get into his own car and get out of Dodge.

He got in the Maxima and eased out of the parking lot. His phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled.

"Well, was it done yet? I'm getting nervous."
"Done. You owe me twenty more. Start the wiring procedures."
"Very good. Thank you. Of course, you'll get the money right away once his departure is confirmed. Tell me, what did he say when you mentioned my name."
"He cried and begged for mercy."
"Good! He should have never pissed me off." The other man bragged triumphantly and shut off his phone.

The Maxima driver chuckled and said to himself, "Ego and vanity. Vanity of vanities. All is ego. All is vanity. Oh my Lord, I thank Thee for endowing humans with ego and vanity". His eyes blazed with emotions and his head swayed with the gospel music blared from the radio, "In Thee I believe." and he pressed on the pedal when the light turned green, the color of money, of proceeding right straight ahead, and the Maxima turned right and merged---quite abruptly--with the freeway traffic, towards the airport. The sun swung low in the horizon, temporarily blinding him. He raised his hand to shield the glare when his car was knocked violently from behind, catapulting it to the rear of a gasoline tanker truck in front of him. Just before he passed out, he saw a big flash of intense lights everywhere.

Wissai
June 21, 2010.