01-04-2023, 06:48 AM
Sammy looks at Hari, and Hari points at the back of the SUV.
He opens the door and a large black dog jumps out.
When the dog is on the ground, the animal is almost at his waist.
And Sammy is no small man.
“Fucking…” he says, looking at the animal. “What kind of dog is this? Looks like a fucking cheetah or something.
He makes shooing motion, “Get him the fuck away from me.”
Hari laughs uncontrollably. He holds his sides and shakes with mirth while Sammy looks on, less than amused.
There is something weird about the way Hari laughs. He makes a noise as he inhales, a snorty-screechy sound, and the exhale is almost soundless.
Repeated over and over.
The dog looks straight ahead after sniffing his crotch, and his shoes, and apparently deciding there is no threat from Sammy.
Sammy notices one more weird thing.
The dog is wearing thick, pink socks on his feet. Paws. Whatever.
But, weirdly, only his front paws are covered.
When he finally catches his breath, Hari says, “This is Nakul Bhai’s special doggy. It is a Doberman and Labrador mix I’m told, but what do I know of dogs? But he has one special gift, or rather, I should say, ability. And that’s the reason Nakul Bhai has him.”
He winks elaborately.
His demeanor is not that of one who has shot and killed and concealed the body of a man not fifteen minutes ago. His manner is carefree, debonair even.
And Sammy is not loving it. Not that he expects Hari to be somber or anything, but the breezy, even buoyant air Hari affects bothers Sammy.
Sammy wonders why or how he had missed the dog when they were stuffing poor Arvind in there.
Sammy can sense what Hari is driving at with his comment about the dog's special abilities, but plays dumb.
“Great guard dog?” he ventures, in reply to the unasked question.
Hari laughs even more.
His cackles seem to say he expected this kind of stupid ass remark from Sammy.
The noise of Hari's laughter has started to grate on Sammy’s ears, and he feels weird, like he might do something he would later regret.
He reins his temper, something he has become rather good at.
He hasn’t ever killed a man, not in cold blood like the man Hari. Hari is a stone-cold killer.
But Hari is riling him and testing his patience to the point he, Sammy wouldn’t mind taking Hari's head off.
Hari stands almost a head shorter. Well, maybe half a head.
And Sammy surely outweighs him by at least twenty kilos. That's pretty significant.
Suddenly Sammy makes up his mind. “You sit in the car. I’ll take the dog up.”
He feels the urgent need to see what this special skill the dog has.
But before that, he feels the imperative to do one more thing.
The dog has been pretty docile so far, but its size is intimidating.
He grabs the dog’s leash, and ties it to the iron grill fronting the stairs.
“Get in the car,” he says with urgency in his voice. “There’s something you need to know.”
Hari looks at him uncomprehendingly but moves to obey.
There is something about Sammy’s tone and posture that Hari instinctively obeys even though he is senior to Sammy in this business. They haven’t even met before, and they only know each other through Nakul Bhai.
Hari hurries to the driver’s door and gets in.
Sammy follows around the back and opens the front passenger door.
He flings it open.
As Hari turns to look at him, he fires twice into his head from a distance of no more than three feet.
Thud, thud.
As loud as a cough, but not readily recognizable as gunshots.
Hari slowly keels forward and slumps over the steering wheel,but thankfully does not press the horn.
Sammy mentally thanks Arvind for bringing the silencer with him.
Together with his 22 caliber pistol, the sound suppression is really good.
He doubts it would work as well with a 45 caliber.
He examines his work.
The bullets have entered the man’s head, one at the temple, and one just below the eye, and there is no exit wound.
There is barely any bleeding. That's the good thing about a 22. Not much mess. But still decent results.
Sammy shuts the door, walks around, glancing left and right to see if anyone is paying attention, and finds no one other than the tea shop man, who is busy making tea.
He opens the driver’s side door, and pushes Hari over.
As the dead Hari slumps into the passenger seat, he snags on the middle console.
Sammy manhandles him over the knobs and stuff in the middle and slides him over.
When he is done, he is sweating and out of breath.
One last thing. He sits in the seat, pushes the man forward and pulls the gun out of the back of his waistband, and adds it to his own collection.
Three guns now. His own, Arvind's and now Hari's.
He exits the car, unties the dog, and goes up the stairs.
He opens the door and a large black dog jumps out.
When the dog is on the ground, the animal is almost at his waist.
And Sammy is no small man.
“Fucking…” he says, looking at the animal. “What kind of dog is this? Looks like a fucking cheetah or something.
He makes shooing motion, “Get him the fuck away from me.”
Hari laughs uncontrollably. He holds his sides and shakes with mirth while Sammy looks on, less than amused.
There is something weird about the way Hari laughs. He makes a noise as he inhales, a snorty-screechy sound, and the exhale is almost soundless.
Repeated over and over.
The dog looks straight ahead after sniffing his crotch, and his shoes, and apparently deciding there is no threat from Sammy.
Sammy notices one more weird thing.
The dog is wearing thick, pink socks on his feet. Paws. Whatever.
But, weirdly, only his front paws are covered.
When he finally catches his breath, Hari says, “This is Nakul Bhai’s special doggy. It is a Doberman and Labrador mix I’m told, but what do I know of dogs? But he has one special gift, or rather, I should say, ability. And that’s the reason Nakul Bhai has him.”
He winks elaborately.
His demeanor is not that of one who has shot and killed and concealed the body of a man not fifteen minutes ago. His manner is carefree, debonair even.
And Sammy is not loving it. Not that he expects Hari to be somber or anything, but the breezy, even buoyant air Hari affects bothers Sammy.
Sammy wonders why or how he had missed the dog when they were stuffing poor Arvind in there.
Sammy can sense what Hari is driving at with his comment about the dog's special abilities, but plays dumb.
“Great guard dog?” he ventures, in reply to the unasked question.
Hari laughs even more.
His cackles seem to say he expected this kind of stupid ass remark from Sammy.
The noise of Hari's laughter has started to grate on Sammy’s ears, and he feels weird, like he might do something he would later regret.
He reins his temper, something he has become rather good at.
He hasn’t ever killed a man, not in cold blood like the man Hari. Hari is a stone-cold killer.
But Hari is riling him and testing his patience to the point he, Sammy wouldn’t mind taking Hari's head off.
Hari stands almost a head shorter. Well, maybe half a head.
And Sammy surely outweighs him by at least twenty kilos. That's pretty significant.
Suddenly Sammy makes up his mind. “You sit in the car. I’ll take the dog up.”
He feels the urgent need to see what this special skill the dog has.
But before that, he feels the imperative to do one more thing.
The dog has been pretty docile so far, but its size is intimidating.
He grabs the dog’s leash, and ties it to the iron grill fronting the stairs.
“Get in the car,” he says with urgency in his voice. “There’s something you need to know.”
Hari looks at him uncomprehendingly but moves to obey.
There is something about Sammy’s tone and posture that Hari instinctively obeys even though he is senior to Sammy in this business. They haven’t even met before, and they only know each other through Nakul Bhai.
Hari hurries to the driver’s door and gets in.
Sammy follows around the back and opens the front passenger door.
He flings it open.
As Hari turns to look at him, he fires twice into his head from a distance of no more than three feet.
Thud, thud.
As loud as a cough, but not readily recognizable as gunshots.
Hari slowly keels forward and slumps over the steering wheel,but thankfully does not press the horn.
Sammy mentally thanks Arvind for bringing the silencer with him.
Together with his 22 caliber pistol, the sound suppression is really good.
He doubts it would work as well with a 45 caliber.
He examines his work.
The bullets have entered the man’s head, one at the temple, and one just below the eye, and there is no exit wound.
There is barely any bleeding. That's the good thing about a 22. Not much mess. But still decent results.
Sammy shuts the door, walks around, glancing left and right to see if anyone is paying attention, and finds no one other than the tea shop man, who is busy making tea.
He opens the driver’s side door, and pushes Hari over.
As the dead Hari slumps into the passenger seat, he snags on the middle console.
Sammy manhandles him over the knobs and stuff in the middle and slides him over.
When he is done, he is sweating and out of breath.
One last thing. He sits in the seat, pushes the man forward and pulls the gun out of the back of his waistband, and adds it to his own collection.
Three guns now. His own, Arvind's and now Hari's.
He exits the car, unties the dog, and goes up the stairs.
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