From a dream I had some months ago…
It was a hot day as was usual for Chennai in mid-May. I had parked my car near the Valluvar Kottam bus stop and walked towards a juice shop. I was in the middle of an important delivery but couldn’t resist the temptation to stop and have some fruit mixer with badam kheer in the 70-30 ratio as is common.
I got into my car and had only driven a few meters when I saw a famous but very familiar figure standing at the end of the long bus stop. It was Stephen King. I asked him what he was doing here and if needed a ride home. I, of course, mentioned that I was a huge fan of his work and more importantly his work ethic. After all, the man has churned out 65 novels, if you think about it, it’s a book each year since he turned 10. He looked a little worn out. I assumed it was probably due to the sweltering heat but little did I know what awaited us at his home.
To be continued….
Mr. King’s home, it turned out, was not too far from the bus stand. I remember driving for about 10 minutes and during the time, he clearly wasn’t in the mood to be chatty. I didn’t care, I was in too much shock while simultaneously delighted to be in such illustrious company. Once we got there, he thanked me for the ride and stepped out of the car. I was just about to start my car when I noticed that he was walking staggered. I got out and put one hand around Stephen’s shoulder and insisted that I walk him to his flat. He nodded. He swayed initially as I supported his weight before we started to ascend some stairs. I took a look around for the first time and noticed the dingy state of the flats. I vaguely recall a name like “Bharathi apartments”, you know one of those generic Chennai building names. I couldn’t believe someone so accomplished would live like your regular Uncle.
We eventually arrived at the door to his flat on the second floor. He thanked me again and said I’d done enough and should carry on with my own affairs. However, I didn’t want to risk him falling so insisted I support him to his room. He didn’t protest. As the door opened, I was shocked again. It was opened by a goon. The man was portly and was sporting a long beard. But it was the manner that really gave it away, he gave an intimidating look. If it was part of his job, I must say he did it with aplomb.
I pretended to not notice and explained that Mr. King here was feeling faint and I’m simply helping him to his room. The goon didn’t say a word and simply let us in. I sat Stephen down in a chair in his study. I explained to the goon that Mr.King needed A/C and if he wouldn’t terribly mind closing the door and to get him some water. The goon looked annoyed but obliged. He got us some water and shut the door, but not before I noticed a couple more goons in the kitchen watching over Stephen’s wife and a girl I assumed to be their daughter.
I gave Stephen some water, and asked what the heck was going on. He took the bottle, hands shaking, took a few swigs and began his story.
To be continued…
If you, like me, expected his story to be as long as his novels, it wasn’t. He only said that his latest books didn’t sell and that he ran afoul of an unsavory loanshark. For someone whose books flirted with the supernatural, his own story turned out to be most banal, a done-to-death one. I guess that’s life. At this point, however, I had stopped listening and was eyeing some first edition books lining the shelf of his study. The Shining, It and Pet Sematary especially caught my eye. Oh did I tell you, I’ve never read a single Stephen King novel. That’s right, I only knew about him from the movies that were made based on his books. Of course, I daren’t say that to him but I don’t think he would have cared much given the situation.
I was about ready to leave at this point and asked if I could borrow a few books and also if he’d be kind enough to sign them. He started signing them over my soothing words about how it’ll all blow over. He half smiled when he was done and waved a resigned wave. I left the room and stepped out of the flat. The goons didn’t care who came and went but their presence did give the house a deathly aura.
On the way to my car, I thought about the fortune these books would fetch me on e-bay and smiled. I got into my car and out of nowhere this feeling of guilt enveloped me. I couldn’t leave that family with those goons. Even though am outwardly cynical, I’m mushy on the inside and all my years of training to be the opposite apparently didn’t work. What I was about to do was an enormous risk to my own life as you’ll see.
I got my phone out of my pocket and against all instinct, dialed 100. I reported what I saw. The police inspector, on the other side of the call, answered that nothing they could do will help. Even if they did arrest the goons, they’ll post bail the next day and Mr.King’s situation would only get worse. I thought about my next actions carefully. I imagined at least 10 scenarios in my mind and none of them felt remotely safe. Finally, I did what I thought I had to do, consequences be damned. I went into the trunk of my car and pulled out a single, taped up thingy from my duffel bag. I went up to Stephen’s flat again. The goons were familiar with my face now and just let me through, I didn’t even have to recite my carefully prepared lie. I went into Stephen’s room and prepared him for what lay ahead. He was stunned initially but by the end simply nodded with a grateful expression on his face. I dropped the taped up thingy, stealthily, in one of the goon’s bags by the tv stand in the hall and then slithered out the main door.
I again dialed 100, mentioned that I went back for my keys and had noticed something that could make some news. The officer listened and immediately said to expect a fleet of Jeeps in a few minutes. I quickly hurried out the apartments, bought myself some tea at a nearby stall and waited for the action to unfold.
It was all over in the next few minutes. The cops came and arrested the goons, dragging them by their collars and loaded them one by one into the jeeps. I went back in to get my car, breathed a huge sigh of relief and opened the trunk. I took the signed books from the passenger seat and placed them along with the numerous bricks of cocaine I was transporting. It was a lifetime of riches but could have easily been a lifetime sentence if some curious cop had noticed the obviously reinforced back tires meant to carry the same bricks for which the clueless goons were being arrested. And as I slowly closed the trunk, my eyelids gradually opened to take in the gentle rays of the morning sun…..
End.
