EPISODE 4: TAMBAKUMAN
KILLS A COP
NOTE: NO PHOTOS IN THIS BLOG; ALL PICTURES ARE ADVERTISEMENTS.
Genre - Fiction
Sub-genre - Noir
Length of blog - 900 words
He saw from afar his foreman exit
the construction site. He had given his orders and was leaving for another site
survey or would just go someplace and relax. He was the boss, eh! Who was he to
cross-question him? The break lights came on as he parked near the teashop on
the sloping -bend that exited onto the main road.
It happened oh so suddenly! The
tempo carrying steel rods inside the site started to roll backwards, it hit the
company van smack on one side of the company van. Both the vehicles reeled. The
boss was not in the car. The runaway tempo had not stopped rolling downslope. After
bouncing off the van, it rolled onto a parked bike – on which an unknowing soul
was sitting – it banged the bike. After knocking over the bike and the stationary
passenger the tempo began to careen towards the main road where a steady flow
of vehicles ensued. There were sparks as the tempo hit a pole overhead. The tempo
stopped. The electrical wires entangled had slowed the tempo to a stop.
The boss helped the victim on
the bike to a nearby hospital in a cab. The police arrived. A complaint was lodged
against the construction company. The foreman arrived back after one hour and
got the two damaged vehicles towed off. A mechanic found that the brake-cable
of the tempo had given way.
“Who was driving the tempo”, the
cop asked.
“Let is be sir”, the foreman continued,
“The company will pay for the damages. Why take names and spoil the driver’s
career. The broken brake-cable is proof enough that it was an accident and
fault of no one in particular.”
The foreman was a good man and
whenever the driver’s name was asked for, gave his own name and pointed towards
the grievances being dealt with by the construction company. The cops left.
“Come with me to the cop station”,
the foreman had asked him for help.
The injured biker required some compensation for the leaves he would have
to take until his stitches heal. They entered the police station where the 10-12
people gheraoed the foreman. He went through each one of their faces with calm.
The result of the discussion on the doorstep of the police station was that 100$
was to be handed over in cash.
“Ask for 200$”, a voice said.
All turned towards the voice. But
the foreman had already started to handover the original amount. That voice was
a shrill one. It tried to increase the settlement figure again. After the sometime
the injured person and the foreman along with the shrill voiced man entered the
police station.
A half an hour later, he accompanied
the foreman back to the site. The chatty-from-the-incident-manager told how the
matter had been settled on the original amount. And they had all entered the
police station on his insistence. The settlement was recorded as part of the
complaint. The insurance company informed. On enquiry, the foreman revealed
that the shrill voiced man was one of the plainclothes policemen.
How could he intervene in a two-party
settlement? If he was a policeman, why was he trying to be a mediator? And he
was inclined towards the injured getting a larger settlement. That was him
being a partial mediator. That evening he tailed the shrill-voiced cop. It was
easier than he thought – the shrill voice was a perfect tag. The overconfident peacock
attitude caught his eye as soon as he entered the police station. A stakeout of
the police entrance and right on cue of the second-shift change the shrill-voiced
cop was heading home.
He parked and got into a medical
store. On following him into the huge store, he purposefully came face-to-face
with the shrill voiced cop.
“I seen you handled the case earlier very well indeed”, tobacco had taken away his fluent speech. But he continued to stutter, “You seem to be well acquainted with the ground work. You are a 3-stripe, right?”
“Nah! I’m one of the drivers of
the police vans”, the shrill voice said.
The words made him see red. He
had to bite hard on his jaw to stop an involuntary stutter. The next few
minutes were a blur of red. The acting-cop did not hear the crowbar until blood
was gushing everywhere. The skull had cracked easily, all too easily. It was like this
bluff-of-a-cop had a cardboard instead of a skull. No one had seen the incident
in the dark parking lot. He had felt a tinge of panic as he did not know what
to do next. Then he saw the police van driver’s car. It was directly in front
of where the body lay. He had seen the mechanic fish out the broken brake cable earlier
that day. A simple search and the cut brake wire made the van roll onto the
dead man’s skull.
He was impressed how it was a
perfect match, the blood splatter, the van’s position - the tire marks not disturbing
the blood pattern. It looked as of the vehicle had collided head-on onto him
leading to his death.
The ride home was a happy one.
The crowbar washed and wiped was under his seat. He knew the biased pretend-cop
would not influence anyone else. A small step to uproot corruption from one of
the government’s esteemed organisation, the police force.
--- THE END ---
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