Chap 2

     The café had just opened by the time I joined in, and Rael followed two days later. Little was said when we ran across each other. I just voiced out any hint without gusto: “oh, hey,” and he only nodded in reply.

     Our workplace was neither big nor small, expensive nor cheap, not too sparkly and not too shabby, but simply an average one. A fine and decent kind of average. The type you wouldn’t mind or think about but nonetheless wouldn’t forget.

     Although I received a monthly allowance from my father who worked overseas, it wouldn’t hurt to work for an extra income.  Besides, I always wanted to have the experience of earning my own money, mainly because I thought it’d make me feel independent, which it didn’t. Still I continued on with the job, to look independent at least.

     Mr. Morton, the owner, alone managed the shop until Rael and I arrive from school. There’s another guy (so I heard) but he worked only in the morning. Regardless, between noon and mid afternoon, the shop was next to empty. So I’m sure Mr. Morton handled it fairly by himself. School hours ended at four. Since neither of us had clubs or participated on any after-school activities, we would head straight to the café without a word to spare. It was more or less a fifteen minute walk, and we’d arrive there just about the time when customers started filling up.

     I liked the job. More than liked it to be exact. Somewhere amid like and love, that’s where it stands. But maybe I just liked to have a job. Who knows?

     Carry and sort deliveries, do the groceries, stay at the counter, take and serve orders, wash dishes, etc. Rael and I took turns on each of these, while the owner, who was a small, stout, sober fellow with a bald head and gray beard, stayed mostly inside the kitchen. Apparently he had a certain ingredient added to his coffees, for which he took careful steps to conceal, especially from me. He always cast me those suspicious eyes, but then again he always had suspicious eyes--naturally suspicious eyes. A frown was permanently engraved on his aging face. Everything around him seemed distasteful, that is to say, the whole world seemed distasteful, but barely did he comment on what he thinks. He was the silent type as well. And together we formed a melancholic trio.

 

     Through the kitchen a backdoor opens up into an empty alley, a narrow space formed in between two massive building ends--the building where our own café was situated and another building opposite. On one side comes a dead-end, blocked by another building rear, while the other side led toward the main street, and we occasionally used this way to go in and out of the shop.

     It was down by the alley, when we were wasting our lifespan for cigarette’s sake, that I made the biggest mistake of my life. I was leaning against the building wall, sitting on the ground with bent legs, content at marveling the twinkling sky above. At the farther side of the same wall, Rael was there leaning too, cigarette in hand, but standing. The night was bright. A full moon shone together with its disciple of stars. I could glimpse at them through the two towering building which sandwiched us.

     “Hey, Rael,” I said, puffing smokes in the air. “Have you ever wished something new would come your way?”

     A full twenty seconds elapsed before he answered. I thought he had ignored me at first, but then I realized he was mulling it over.

     “What kind of new are you referring to?” It occurred to me that this was the first time he questioned.

     “You know, something out of the ordinary. Or something uncommon.”

     “Uncommon is nothing new to me,” said he. “But, yes, other than that, I do want something new.”

     “Did I hear that right--uncommon is nothing new to you, you say?”

     He nodded, ever so slightly that I thought he only adjusted his head. But an affirmative was definitely given.

     “What kind of uncommon are you referring to?” I sent this line back at him.

     “Well, that is, if killing cats is considered uncommon.”

     “Hmm, uncommon enough…” It could’ve been his casual tone or my lack of attention, but in any case the whole weight of the matter slipped my grasp.

     “Wait a minute,” I later put in. “You kill cats?”

     The same small nod again. Now I was growing with interest.

     “Why do you kill cats?”

     “The same as why we smoke.”

     “I smoke so I could die early.”

     “Then dying early it is.”

     I laughed, not because killing cats to die early is funny, but because I can’t believe he humored me. “C’mon now, seriously, why kill cats? Had a bad childhood about them? Some personal issues? Tell me. Why?”

     He inhaled and exhaled the last of his smokes, dropped it by ground, and crushed it with his feet. Before speaking, he stared for awhile at the eroded cigarette stick, as if choosing his words from it.

     “It’s an addiction,” he began. “Like cigarettes, as I have said. An obsession I’ve developed since… twelve, maybe. No ill feelings against them, it’s just a little hobby of mine.” His eyes still on the ground, at the cigarette butt. Then he tucked both hands into his pockets.

     “Any kind would do,” he continued, “stray or domestic (mostly strays), adult, kitten, and even newly born ones. At times one would wander around the house and ignorantly come to me, some I’d run across on streets, but for the most part I haunt them, from alleys and corners, baiting them with food. If no strays is found, then it’s straight to the pet store. Yes, I’d buy one, just so to kill it. And let me add that it’s not just cats, a variety of animals included: dogs, rats, rabbits, birds--any pet the store can offer. And let me add again, that not only do I kill them, but also torture them, in the most gruesome, unique, and artistic way as possible. I guess now I’ve become pretty good at it. That’s what I’m earning my money for, to buy and kill pets. Now you know. I hope you’re satisfied, because if you say another why, I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you too.”

     I was taken aback by this unfamiliar approach, during which no emotion portrayed his tone and expression. For some odd reason he seemed rather talkative. By far this was the longest conversation I’ve had with him, not that we had many, and I wouldn’t call them conversations either, for they were simply small, impassive exchanges. So basically this was the real and longest talk we’ve had, the first time he uttered more than two sentences.

     Besides killing and torturing animals, what surprised me the most, however, was how he had the guts to make a threat, even if it’s a joke. Very unlike him, and it didn’t mix well with his plainness. His words apparent with threat, but his voice and face showed no sign of it--dull as usual.

     But not often was I able to witness another side of him, so I decided to dare his nerve. “Okay, then, how--how do you kill them?”

     I half-expected him to let loose, but then again, he’s still Rael after all.

     “Rather than tell you, I’ll show you. Come with me later,” he answered with usual calmness, unaffected.

     Now here was another thing I wouldn’t be seeing everyday, and I must say, it drove me a little excited.

     “Sounds like fun. Count me in,” I said.

     I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you too. For some unknown cause, those words suddenly echoed in my head. Instinct perhaps. Now I began to wonder if Rael really meant it when he said it. But the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. The idea only produced an inward chuckle from me.

     The two of us stayed there for a little while longer, in silence. It was probably past nine. We had already tidied up the shop and were all set to close. Shutting the roller shutters was all that’s left, although we still had to wait for the boss while he counted and calculated his income. No doubt checking if we stole any from him.

     Afterwards Rael started off across the alley, simply saying, “Buy cigarettes.” I watched him walked along the gloom, his hands still tucked inside his pockets. Peculiar fellow, I thought, though I couldn’t help admiring him. Never once had I seen him yield to emotion, even when he delivered that long narrative; even when some punks in class would tease him; even when some cheeky girls would jeer at him. His composure I found surprisingly admirable, always remained the same, never-changing, like a droid, programmed only for what is necessary.

     I heaved a sigh, threw my own stick, and went inside the café.

 

     As I entered I found the boss over by the counter, fumbling through the cash register. “Hey, kid, come here for a sec,” he gestured with a genuine frown. The boss looked annoyed.

     “Yep?” said I inquiringly, approaching him. “Any problem?”

     “This goddamn machine, it won’t budge.”

     Ah, the goddamn machine. I had my own share of problems with it. I guess we finally reached this point. It was an old model; time to time we had difficulties in trying to open it. We had gotten used to it, though, and usually, banging it on both sides was all that needed to do the trick. I did what I could, but to no avail.

     “If this piece of junk still won’t give me my money, get me a hammer and we’ll pulverize this into dust,” blurted the boss.

     He and I were both bending down at the goddamn machine when a presence disturbed our attention. A tall, gaunt, haggard man, about thirties, wearing thick dark clothes, came to our view as we lifted our heads. He stood by the other side of the counter. It seemed to me he tiptoed his way across the hallway, for I hadn’t the faintest notion of him approaching, nor did I hear the door open. I don’t know how long he’d been standing there either. So when and how he reached his current position, I fail to fathom.

     He showed all signs of agitation. His breathing was unstable, deep and suffocating. His eyes red and restless, unsettled where to look. I could tell from first glance that the man was in a state of delirium.

     “I’m sorry, mister, but as you can see we’re already closed.” The boss obviously read suspicion on this person’s manner.

     Out of nowhere the man pulled out a gun and aimed at us.

     “Give me the money!” demanded he.

     By reflex, the boss and I drew back.

     “Whoa, easy there fella. You--“

     “Shut up!” interrupted his shrill voice. “Shut up or I blow you’re brains out,” he threatened with a frantic wave of his gun.

     I stepped back a little more. This guy was too crazy to bluff. I gave the boss a questioning eye, who in turn gave the robber a straight eye, the frown still in his expression. Then I glanced over at the window glass, hoping that some passerby would notice us. But unfortunately, as to our preliminary custom when closing, the roller shutters had already been pulled half-way down, and a few passing legs was all I could see.

     “Just give me the f*****g money,” insisted our robber.

     “Listen pal,” said the boss resolutely, if not stubbornly. “You don’t have to do this, you have to be better than this. Life must be bullying you, I know. I can tell. I’d been there. I used to be a lowlife f****r too--been to jail a couple of times, done things I never should have done--but let me tell you, son, that in the end the past don’t just go away. You probably don’t give a s**t now and think I’m just an old man blabbering to save his skin, but I guarantee you, everything will get back to you. And when they do, you’ll think and say: Damn, I could’ve done better. It’s already too late for me, but you…”

     For a moment I thought I saw compassion behind that solid frown.

     “…you still got choices to make,” he went on. “Don’t choose this one, son,” a gentle plead coming from the boss’ not so gentle voice.

     Now it was clear.

     My regard for the boss turned into something else, something more. Although his face still displayed the familiar frown, his dark, weary eyes, which were glued intently toward the robber’s own, expressed genuine concern.

     In spite of it all, a shot was fired.

     A warning shot, that is. The bullet ricocheted among the utensils behind us. I at once checked myself for possible damage, and thank god I received none. Physically none. It was my mentality instead which received damage. Fear slowly started to build inside. This affair now had its complete effect. I took serious considerations now than how I did in the beginning. My heart pounding, my adrenaline pumping.

     The robber uttered rough and foul words that I couldn’t discern, while the boss, never backing down and still going for reason, exchanged with him. Ridiculous, I thought. As he was about to fire another shot, I stepped up. Warning or not, I couldn’t risk it.

     “Wait, wait, mister!” I pleaded. I felt pathetic hearing my own voice. “We want to give you the money, really we do, but it’s stuck. The cash register won’t open. We’ve been trying to, but really, we can’t.”

     The robber eyed me as though he’ll eat me.

     “I’m not lying. Just see for yourself,” I added in defense.

     The boss tried protesting but I just told him to shut up.

     “Yeah, just shut up!” agreed our robber. With that, two against one, the boss had to shut up.

     Now the robber ordered us to move aside to a corner and kneel. We complied. Then clumsily like a drunk he scaled over the counter, all the while with his gun remained pointed at our direction. In vain was he able to open the goddamn machine. To his dismay, he mouthed another flurry of incoherent words. Still he tried, but without any success. The more he failed, the more determine he became. And the more determine he became, the more oblivious was he to his surroundings. That cursed machine really got into his nerve. He was literally pounding the thing like a gorilla.

     The idea came.

     He was at least five paces away from me, but I was quite confident with my speed. After all, I was at the prime of life, and my athleticism is something to be proud of, considered superior among boys my age. It would probably take less than a second for him to notice, before that I must get a hold of his gun, if not then at least the arm which held the gun.

     I deliberated my plan. I’ll dash toward him with all the speed my legs could allow, grab his arm as though the world depended on it, and leave the rest to the boss. I’ll just concentrate my strength upon securing that arm.

      The plan almost set into motion. Stealthily, I positioned myself for a dash. I glanced beside to see if the boss understood my attempt, but to my surprise, he was as white as a sheet. And adding to this were strange sounds coming from his throat, as though breathing under water. Then I realized. A stroke! No later did he hit the floor unconscious, leaving me in a very difficult position. At that moment I wished I was the one who had the stroke, because before me a raging animal seemed hungry for kill. The robber, the way he banged that goddamn machine with the base of his gun, the manifestations he had undergone, the ferocity, the hostility, all concentrated to destroy, sent chills down my spine. Soon his attention would turn to me. I had to make my move while chance was still there for the taking.

     Too late. That dreadful entity was already facing me with a new look, an upgraded form of aggression, as though not only his face but his whole being had altered altogether.

     A rush of emotions passed over me. Do or die. Kill or be killed. Life and Death. Fun and Excitement. This was what I wanted, right?

     Definitely!

     I was all pumped up and ready for action when a pair of hands suddenly emerged from behind the robber’s neck, each on either side of him. One of which held a knife, the other just bare. The latter grabbed, gripped, and hoisted the robber’s chin, while the other, with the knife, sliced his throat clean. So quick and so swift was this executed, and so sudden and so unexpected had this occurred that I suffered a delayed reaction from it.

     In that interval of absent thoughts, a brief scuffle ensued, and before I knew it, the robber was down on the ground, undergoing an inevitable death. Everything happened in an instant, within a span of not more than five seconds. From the robber’s throat, where a deep cut slightly revealed the inside flesh, blood came gushing out nonstop and continued to spread over and round him like wildfire. It was barely obvious on his dark clothes but it claimed a strong scarlet color amidst the white tiled-floor. With twitching legs, he grunted, coughed, and choked as death slowly consumed him.

     The robber laid motionless, face up, with wide open, horrorstricken eyes and mouth, an agonizing expression which he left before completing death. Before my very eyes this gruesome event occurred, yet as I looked, my mind couldn’t quite absorb the whole scene, maybe because I couldn’t believe my eyes.

     Those canny hands undeniably belonged to Rael, who, now standing nonchalantly gazing down at the gory corpse, was also smeared with blood, but not his own.

     His face, his clothes, his hands were all touched by blood. Everything accounted for murder, save for one. Only his expression remained untouched. It was blank, as if his recent action concerned him none in the least.

     Dumbfound, “What the hell,” was all I could say.

Author's Note

the next would probably take awhile because I'm working on another story. It's just that I can't seem to focus my literary energies into a single piece. :(

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Wow Gripping tale !! Loving it..What next??