Chapter 2 - Duty

K hated alarms. Those annoying bastards. He had decided a long back that when he finally found the people behind those hiding alarms, he would beat them with something blunt and heavy, just to take a long time doing it. The alarms were useless anyway. The honking of the BEST buses was the only thing that could wake him up. The move from Calcutta, he decided, was a good one. Living on the edge of the Cuffe Parade slum, the last remaining large anonymous shanty town after the "redevelopment" of Dharavi, He felt atlast the security felt from anonymity.

He uttered an expletive and then slowly got out of his bed, cursing. Six in the morning was an unearthly hour, but then he had a job to do - a promise to keep. A promise that was two years old, almost to the day. He quickly washed his face in the clunky basin. The cracked mirror on the wall distorted his face. It wasn't a bad face but the years of hardship were begining to show. The lines on his forehead ran deep giving him a brooding look - almost melancholic as if there was some pain deep inside that refused to go.
Although the events of last night were as fresh in his mind as the cigarette burns on his palm, he simply couldn't remember the sequence. Of course, there was her face. There was the machete, the dance and the blood. But what came first was a mystery. The Valium wasn't helping either.
As he looked into the eyes staring back at him in the mirror, there was a fleeting desire to get one of those fancy new face transplants. Like those his former employer, the Tsubaki Corp, made. The term employer was used lightly here. His work description fitted more closely to that of a hired gun than a formal employee. The Tsubaki corp, when they set up base in Calcutta, in a partnership with 1200Mics Nanotech, was hailed as the next Maruthi Suzuki or the next Hero Honda. The greatest of Indo-Japanese collaborations. Unfortunately for all, but fortunately for him, the rosy picture turned out to have more thorns than petals. A year later, the Indian arm sold its stake and moved on carrying with it the techonology that had single-handedly revolutionised the plastic surgery industry. It took the Tsubaki Corp ten years and many conveniently hidden shady deals to finally catch-up. It was his job to keep them hidden. It was just too bad that he had royally fucked up.

But just as the desire had risen, it fell out. He couldn't change his face. It was like burning your diary. The record of your life. But he sincerly hoped he could erase the memories of last night, whatever remained of them. He decided to make his way to the Statue of the Stoned Angel. It wasn't officially called that. But the name stuck in tribute to one decadent night, the single largest inebriated party started only via mass messages. The promise waited for him there.
The single dark room was dark except for the small lights that flickered on the giant screen and above the various tables. K could not see the face of the men seated around the table. The lone puddle of light from the ceiling fell on him like a cage. The twinkling lights and looming shadows of the six men made him feel hazy. Yet he was strangely awake. His hands moved surreptitiously and rested on the comfortable bulge of his Derringer. He knew he wouldn't be needing it. This was going to be quiet business - hopefully.
The Derringer was old and had seen many a battle. It was almost an heirloom. There were better pieces out there, but K preffered this one. There were memories associated with it. And for a brief moment, he thought about the past - so far back in time yet so clear - the first time he had picked up the Derringer in Calcutta. A friend had given it to him as a parting gift. There were tears in the friend's eyes that he furiously fought to hold back. They had parted under that single dim yellow bulb. That was two years ago - almost to the day.

The sound of chairs scraping against the rough cemented floor jolted him out back into reality. The empty chair at the head of the table was not empty anymore. The owner of the joint sat there. The Statue of the Stoned Angel was just one of the many places he owned. The Statue of the Stoned Angel was a timeless place, in the sense that no one really remembered when it actually opend its doors for the first time. It was a pub and everything in between. People came in for a drink, people came into look for buyers and sellers for various contraband. Many a deal was made on the tables. Countless sums of money had been exchanged under the tables. Hookers hung around with their pimps looking for prospective clients. It was a bazaar for the illegal. If you couldn't find it here, chances were you couldn't find it elsewhere in the city.
The owner spoke. He had a smooth gravelly voice. K had heard it before. A chill ran up his spine. It was indeed a bad day when a man like him forgot a voice.

"We have met before" said the voice.
"Yes" said K quietly.
"But you are unable to place me" the voice seemed amused.
"No" he lied

The silhouette came closer to the light. And K gasped! He felt the cold hard metal of the Derringer – his Derringer on his temple. The man had not lost his touch!

"So what do you plan to do now?"

"Think," said K in a whisper.

"Then think you shall!"

And the world went dark.