I reached the Clock Tower at the appointed time. The wind swept streets were deserted and semi lit. My best pal, J had promised to meet me at 9 pm but I knew from past experiences that he was never punctual.
I glanced at my watch and then at the turret clock that gazed down at the sleeping city. The needles on its massive face stood poised at 12. That was strange. My Audemars Piguet couldn’t be wrong. My phone too had somehow gone dead and there was no way I could verify the time.
I shrugged. Perhaps the clock hadn’t been wound. I suddenly recalled how in this labyrinth of a city, life always crawled past at a snail’s pace. I grinned. Boy, was I glad I had moved out !
Twenty minutes later, a car screeched to a halt. The steady flash of headlights bore into my eyes. I winced and headed towards the car. I could see him through the windshield.
“Hey, J,” I called out cheerily. “Come on out.”
He didn’t. I knocked on the window pane and peered through the glass. He was on the phone. My eyes strayed to the back of the car. A man lay on the rear seat, with blood flecked lips and gash above his brow. I froze and turned towards J.
“The job’s done,” he murmured into the phone. “Send me the money.”
The still man at the back seemed to be mocking me. The face was mine.
Image : Szymonek Pogranicny (Unsplash)
