struggle

Victoria school Prelims 1 2010

 

Topic 4.

 

The morning sun shone through the opened curtain and on to my face. I sat up groggily and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I was not exactly a morning person. Swiping my hand phone off the table, I checked for the messages, groaning. My wife, Megan had brought the children to school and gone to her mother’s house to take care of the Grand old lady. Stumbling out of bed, I hurried to wash myself up.

 

Two hours later, donning a casual tee shirt, and comfortable shorts, I sat down and powered up my laptop, beginning to write the crime reports for the months, periodically sipping strong, black coffee from the large mug in front of me. Out of the blue, there was a frenzied pounding on my front door. Taken by surprise, I tipped the coffee mug a little too far, a stream of scalding coffee scouring the inside of my nose thoroughly before slipping down my throat. Sputtering and swearing, I opened the door, then stopped cold in shock.

 

            A man, hair matted, face black with grime stood in front of me. “I need to come in now!” he whispered, “there are people after me!” his expression grew more and more urgent, I just nodded mutely, opening the metal grille. I had not even opened the door fully, when he streaked past me into the living room. He cowered against the wall, the whites of his eyes showing prominently against the diseased hue of his skin. I hurriedly latched the front door, but not before seeing thugs screaming vulgar Hokkien streak past the apartment door. I clicked the door shut and turned to have a good look at my unexpected visitor.

 

            The man sunk to the floor, panting heavily from the exertion, as though he had been running for hours, rather than the short distance of the living room. Blood leaked slowly from one nostril, and he wiped it away hastily. He was dressed in rags, so encrusted with grime that the cloth seemed able to stand on its own. His skin was covered in festering sores, which the flies that plagued our kitchen gleefully swarmed. However, he did not seem to mind. “Do you recognize me, Sergeant Malcolm?” the man rasped. Each word was laborious, and his breath was irregular. I recognized the symptoms of a tuberculosis infection, but that was all I recognized.

 

            “Sorry, but I do not think I recognize you.” I replied, alarm bells ringing away in my head. Who was this dirt encrusted man? My mind was still too shocked by the recent events to focus on anything else. My fingers itched for the service pistol that hung in the holster in my room. Then, as I took several deep breaths, I began to see past the grime. “James?” I whispered. “What happened to you?”

 

           My old platoon mate gave a wry, knowing smile, revealing a rotting set of teeth, of which many were missing. “I am divorced from Elena, Malcolm. Not even a single penny from that marriage.” He spit out the word, as though it tasted bad in his mouth. As he spoke, the smell of strong spirits flooded the living room. The man could have become a professional fire breather if I had a match. “I joined a gang, after the proceedings, sent men after the lawyer that helped to legalize the divorce.”

 

            “That was you?” I asked, inquisitively. I had sent several good men on the raids, and only a few had come back unscathed. Malcolm gave a smirk.

 

            “I became quite high up in the gang, became the number two, in fact. Ran a loan sharking business, which was very profitable. Even bought and owned a strip club along Geylang. Some of your rookies partied there sometimes.” I must have reacted, because he smirked again. I remembered having told those rookies off, particularly for their actions in Geylang. “You must have seen the news though, the arson reports? Burned.” He was speaking to himself, reminiscing, lamenting. I found myself nodding along. Many people’s lives had been lost in that tragedy. “Razed to the ground and not a soul left there. Not even mindy.”

 

            I let the comment hang, watching him as his weak frame struggled to pull in another breath of air. “They tried to kill me, Malcolm!” he was half shouting now, and I involuntarily took a step back. A purely reflex reaction to a dangerous person. I did not last this long in the police business by throwing myself headfirst into such situations. James pulled himself up from where he was sitting. Then, his demeanor changed nearly completely.

 

            “I need a hundred dollars.” He growled menacingly. I nearly could not believe my ears.

 

            “James. Sit down; we need to talk this over.” I used my persuading tone.

 

            “No. I need the cash now.” James’s flat out refusal caught me off guard and I sank into my chair. “I’ll come by tomorrow and listen to your speech.” The sarcastic tone of his voice did what nothing else could have; convince me that my old army buddy had gone over the edge. I sighed and got up, motioning that I needed to get the money. James nodded. I got up walked slowly and deliberately to the bedroom. Already, my hand was in my pocket, dialing my office number. By the time someone had picked up the phone, my heart was racing frantically. “Hello? Is that Cindy? I need a patrol down at my house-” I froze, as a thin, piercing laugh filled the air.

 

            “Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm.” James chuckled to himself, limping weakly into the room. His hand clutched a kitchen knife, and in his hands, it looked uncannily like a combat blade.  “You could not just let me have the hundred dollars, could you?” I ducked, as he lunged forward with an animalistic yell. I ducked in the nick of time, the blade thwacking solidly into the wood and concrete wall.  The parquet at the point of the stab had parted, and I had no doubt that if that blow had connected, my head would no longer be attached to my shoulders.

 

            I struck out, knocking his legs from under him, before yanking the drawer open, and pulling out the M26 service Taser from the drawer. I aimed for James’s head, then pulled the trigger, just as James looked up. My gun jerked and hissed, as the two projectiles launched out of the gun. The first went into his right shoulder, the second burying itself in his chest, then, fifty thousand volts of electricity sped down the wire and into his body. I felt a moment of regret, as his face crumpled in pain. then, I noticed something sticking out of my shoulder. The hilt of the kitchen knife. James always had been a card sharp. Then, the haze of pain surrounding me went black, as my officers streamed into the room.

 

            The hospital smelt faintly of both detergent and blood. I winced as I scooted up to the chair near Megan, and together, we watched the thin silver sliver of the moon that peeked from behind the clouds. Megan wordlessly gave me a hug, and then looked at me with her you-did-the-right-thing face. I grimaced. We both knew that my struggle with myself if what I did was the right thing would never be over, as the crescent sliver of moon smiled into the room.

Reviews

[The_Dreamer]

Great piece! It is not often that the mixed culture of Singapore appear in stories like these! Wonderful story!