The last ride
Like every other part of Pune after midnight, even a hyperactive Koregaon Park curls in to bed and goes silent as the clock ticks time off the night. The roads get less busier, there are fewer people and the only life that roams the area past midnight are the strays.
- - -
He walked out of the third lane, with his backpack, puffing at a few David-Offs to keep warm. Reduced to a zombie. Stretching his arm out, he stopped the first rickshaw that came towards him, got into it, and asked the driver to make a U-turn and keep driving. Putting the meter into action, the rick sped off in the other direction, straight on.
Inside the rickshaw, he took the weapon out, and started to sharpen it.
‘Kuthey?’
Nothing. The rickshawaala repeated his question a couple of times, but the passenger had no response at all. He was still sharpening the knife, the fatal metal-meets-metal sound that rung loud in the darkness. By then, the rickshaw driver had enough, and looked back at Sam. He was arguing and abusing frantically now, but there was still no reply.
The driver finally gave up, flipped the meter back to its original position, and as it read ‘For Hire’, jerked his thumb, gesturing for the passenger to leave. It was the end of the ride.
But the knife had gone in.
The ride had ended a lot earlier.
