The Witness

A Story by Siva

The next time you see an old woman who needs help crossing the road...

It was a hot Sunday afternoon. Families were home, curled up on the sofa, gently coerced into a siesta by the hypnotic hum of the air conditioning. The familiar tinkling of layers of ice cubes whispering parting cold words to the lemonade, before a swift but certain demise. The streets were empty, except for a few cars that had been forced to vacate the comfortable confines of their garages , as they trudged to supermarkets for forgotten milk.

An old lady paused mid-step ,peering up at the honey comb patterned light which had turned green just as she had approached the kerb. It was easier to cross in traffic than without. Traffic, with all its chaos brought with it a certain dependability, cars were slow and their drivers alert, hands at ten o’clock and grimaces attentive. The open road, with the wind in your hair, accelerators pressed and brakes ignored, is much more dangerous. It peers at you, through dark doe eyes, as it weighs out the cleanest option for a gory kill.

The old lady was joined suddenly by two young gentleman, one on either side. The man to her left, tall and upright, young looking but wore a dark grey suit to add a few professional years, suspicious for a Sunday afternoon, more so at noon when the sun does its worst. The man to her right was dressed more appropriately. The words “punk a*s” embellished his faded pink tee shirt, the jeans may have once been blue, but like the old lady had seen one too many years. She giggled to herself as she scanned his t-shirt and simultaneously mouthed the word a*s, marvelling at how bold the kids were these days.

“Will one of you kind gentleman help an old lady cross the street”, she coaxed the boys, allowing her head to tilt in both directions, giving them an equal opportunity to jump forward. Suspicious Suit gurgled a sound, the kind that doesn’t mean anything but buys the gurgler a few more minutes of time. Punk A*s gallantly stuck out his left hand and arched it towards his hip, allowing the lady to interlock hers, and steady herself. “Thank you, you are a good boy”, she said louder than required, pronouncing a subtle sentence for the Suit, guilty of gurgling inappropriately. Punk A*s appeared perturbed by her kind words, like when you tell a beggar to take a hike and he blesses your soul before walking away. The signal switched to red, the cars slowed down, as the trio walked over the white bars towards the other side. She thanked him once more, as he walked hurriedly into the bank. The Suit got into his bright red car which had greedily accumulated heat on its leather seats, and sped away from the old woman. A minute later, she heard a few loud cracks, which made her heart stop and pause, before it continued to beat. She turned around to see faded jeans pound the pavement as it bolted in the opposite direction before turning into an alley.

Three police cars pointed at nothing, forming the petals of some invisible flower, lit up in flashing reds and blues. “Did you see someone leave the bank? The security cameras had a glitch and didn’t record anything. He shot the guard from behind and got lucky nailing the teller right between the eyes. We need to know what you saw”, questioned the handsome officer.

“It was so sudden, I heard gunshots and for the life of me, I had no idea what was going on. There was a man, I saw him run out of the bank away from me. But I got a good look at him. I would never forget his thieving eyes, the nerve of that man, to hold up a bank in broad daylight. If I saw him again, I would knock him out with my cane, I would.”, she paused to take a deep breath.

“A dark grey suit is what he wore, and tall, I think I saw him get into a red chevy and speed away. No manners I tell you, kids these days”