Thief's Paradise

Thief's Paradise

  Author: Marlowe Sr. (author of Phantasy)

  Copyright 2013 Marlowe and Hellowriter.com. All Rights Reserved.

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  DEDICATION/ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

  Dedicated to my friend and ever-reliable advisor Renee Benzaim, who encouraged me to pursue this path.

  "Cripes. I was just beginning to think that you'd not come."

  It was 11:30 am. The man was dressed in the kind of expensive suits that tells a casual bystander that he must be a hot-shot corporate guy; however, in reality, he was anything but a stand-up fella. The curious cat that I was, I bluffed him that I was a film school graduate intending on making a short film on him. No wonder, he was excited as hell, so I offered to meet him at 10:00 am sharp.

  "Hey sorry. I was just holed up into this crazy guy's house for over an hour. He pointed his piece at me and threatened to shoot me down. What am I supposed to do then? I managed to get him off-guard just in time, snatched away the gun from him and shot him in the abdomen. Then I escaped through the window."

  The venue was the riverside of our city. On one end of the broad street here, there was the river, cool and calm, while on the other end, there was this jewelry shop, with a cellar whose nine-framed casement windows were always shut. It was their little warehouse. I took my seat on the outer sill of one of the windows that faced the river directly. Beside that building there was this wide sidewalk, where my foot rested, and beside that sidewalk, there was this huge dumping ground; thankfully, it was at such a corner that your nose won't get affected by it if you sit in a strategic position.

  "So, what's up?"

  "Well, I've been sitting here, waiting for you, getting bored...since you asked."

  "Well, I hope I am not too late. What was it you wanted to ask?"

  The river was generating cool, 'hair-raising' breeze. Lots of people were standing by the riverside in a reclining manner, enjoying it. There were all kinds of people, old and young, love birds, school kids, etc.

  "You know? There was this guy I knew who was in a similar profession as I am. Some guy just like you came over and told him he wanted to make a movie on him so he was really pumped up about this. The day after the movie was released, he got arrested. You won't believe how bizarre luck can be."

  "Don't worry. I will change enough details to make sure they don't get you...not at least through my movie. And in any case, I got no beef against you, as long as you don't rob me, that is. I don't care about what you do, or how you do it. I am as objective a guy as folks like you can ever hope to get."

  "Oh. Ha ha. That sounds great."

  "One thing I'd like to ask you is: do you do what you do strictly for money or is there any other kind of secret pleasure involved in it? I mean, do you experience any kind of exaltation while doing your job?"

  "Pleasure? What pleasure? Nope. It is strictly for money. Strictly for money, YES."

  Just then we noticed a group of kids carrying the carrion of a street dog. We could see that they dumped it into the dumping ground, after which, they swaggered away.

  "Did you ever shot anybody down?"

  "You mean, did I kill anybody?"

  "No, not necessarily 'killing'..."

  "Sure, I did. I did shoot people who got in my way. I even killed a couple of fellas. I am not too happy about the murders, I can tell you that. It's all part of business, heh. What can be done about it? When I find myself in such situations I often wonder what my mother would have said about it."

  "Your mother?"

  "Yeah. I was very close to her. She died of angina. I was so close to her. I kind of felt depressed after her death. I didn't know what to do in my life. I really didn't know anything else beside safe-cracking. Eventually I figured out that I must continue to do what I have done so far."

  The breeze was, unfortunately, getting polluted due to the carcass's foul odor; nevertheless, we continued to talk, unmindful of this new change in the weather.

  "Kind of funny that when MY mother died, I didn't feel anything at all. I kind of felt numb inside. I was sadder at my father's death though. By the way, what kind of safes can you generally crack?"

  "The most common ones and even some of the complicated ones...at least some of them. Jimmy, Abloy protec2. I learned how to rip open the Jimmy recently from my master."

  Just then, I saw a group of scavenger birds swooped down on the dead carcass, ready to devour it - they were buzzards!

  "Hey, where do these birds of prey come from?", he looked a bit disturbed, "Fucking vultures."

  "Oh yeah. I have never noticed them around here before. Then again it is not that often that I visit the riverside."

  "I have seen crows all over the city. But the vultures?? They really give me creeps you know. Hey, couldn't you just shoo them away?"

  The buzzards started poking their bills deep into the carrion and devouring its flesh bit by bit. They were literally fighting among themselves for their share of the pie; I noticed some dried blood still visible in the various parts of the carcass.

  "Relax man, what's wrong with you? They would eat what they want to and then get out of here anyway. You just sit tight and watch."

  "I can't."

  "Why?"

  The buzzards had by now devoured about half the canine's body.

  He got up, now even more deeply disturbed. "Either you shoo them away, or I am outta here", he pointed his thumb on the opposite side and started shaking as he talked. He walked a few steps away from me, then a few more. After that he started shouting, "Hello, please somebody please get rid of these fucking birds. Can you help?" Noticing a cab approaching the area, he stood in the middle of the road, hoping to stop the cab but then the driver ducked him by swerving the car on to the right.

  "Damn IT.", he started pulling off his hair, "Can't anyone get rid of these...?" He was proceeding slowly, very slowly, toward the river - I don't know if he even had realized it. A couple of people came to him and he talked with them for some time, then he got all crazy and started shouting at the crowd of people standing by the riverside, "Someone please shoo away these birds from here.", he said, as he approached people one by one, "Please you?, "Can you?", " Please, someone please."

  Out of pity, I got up from my seat, took a small brick lying around, approached the vultures and threatened to throw it at them. When, out of fear, one of the birds puked at me and then flew away, I thought that I was lucky that I was not too close to them. I ditched the idea and went back to my seat on the window sill.

  Seeing his antics, the couple walked away from him. He then sat on the short, three feet high brick fence of the river. "Someone either get the birds AWAY from my eyesight or I JUMP."

  A crowd of people started proceeding toward him, some from the crowd even yelling "Don't do that. Don't do that. Don't be a fool." The man got red-faced and yelled back at them, "Don't approach ME you fuckers, approach the BIRDS. Are you deaf? If only you all...all of you walked toward the birds they would fly away in no time."

  The crowd didn't seem to give him any heed. They continued to walk toward him, in slow steps. Still sitting on the fence, he started moving his body backwards, bit by bit. "Hey, I am sorry for all that I have done to you all. I am really, sorry. Please, now, for Christ's sakes, get rid of the birds, will ya?"

  The crowd continued to approach him and soon they were pretty close to him,
even as he continued moving his body backwards. Eventually the sound of a loud splash was heard, followed by an equally loud groan.

  After sometime the crowd cheered when they noticed the man's dead body floating on the water. I looked above and saw two buzzards flying across the sky above the river. I kept looking at them, wondering what direction they were headed to!

  MARLOWE'S STORY

  Well, I don't have much to say about myself. I have been writing since my school days (short poems, stories, etc) but never could make it big in the offline world due to competition. Then later on in my life I discovered the awesome world of self-publishing. It took me some time to get back in gear but hey it was worth it, and here I am.

  What inspires me to write? Hmm, pretty hard to answer that one. Hmm, maybe the dream of becoming rich and famous one day. :-) Seriously, although I consider myself to be a jack of all trades, I feel that writing is the only thing I can do, and do well, without any restrictions. There is no limit here that I can't cross, no boss whose rules I have to play by.

  I am a slow writer and more of a seat-of-the-pants type. One I am done with my book I'd regret about not having a proper plan or method etc., but when I am about to write my next book I am back to square one again. Creature of habit, you can say.

  I pretty much want to slip into my characters, put myself in their shoes and think about 'Hey, if it were me instead of him or her, then what would I have done/said in a similar situation?' That apart, because my characters are pretty multi-dimensional, it takes quite a lot of research before I can sketch even ONE character fully.

  Although I've been writing for a long time, I wouldn't have been here had it not been for a friend: she really convinced me (I don't think it was her intention but anyway) to join the world of self-publishing. She is a pretty good writer herself (actually I think a better writer than me) and doing well in the publishing world. I mentioned her name in my book Phantasy because it was she who helped me in the arduous task of formatting my book.

  For wannabe writers, I have just one thing to tell them 'Write your heart out. Don't give a damn about what people would say about it.' I believe that the future of self-publishing is bright, although not everything about the self-publishing world is as rosy as it looks on the surface. There is quite a struggle and investment involved ahead, if you really want people to read your ebook, that is.

  THANK YOU.

  Thank you for joining men on this crazy journey.

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