Seven Hours

Present time, The Blanc Casino, London,

  The half smoked Chesterfield fell on the ground. The echoes of the gunshot were still audible. Jaime's white coat got stained crimson. A thud and Jaime fell on the ground. The barrel of the Glock, held by Tyler, was still letting out smoke. Tyler held it in the same position, as he had done when he pulled the trigger. The scent of gunpowder was strong and prevailing in his nostrils. He was remorseless; emotionless. His cold eyes stared blankly at the point of the door, where a moment ago, was Jaime's head.

Two hours ago,

  “Name! I need a God damn name!” shouted Jaime over the phone to the security officer at the control room. “Who was that who dared to slap me in front of all these public? Haven’t you got your security cameras? Did you get anything from them?” Jaime was sweating. He was angry, and burning. When, for the third time, his correspondent said that there was no trace of the person who hit Jaime, he threw the phone against the wall. His wife was trying to calm him down. No, that wouldn’t help...

Three hours ago,

  THUP! A great hand hit Jaime’s face with enormous force. Before Jaime could stable his senses and see who slapped him, the man was already gone. All the people inside the Casino fell dead silent. For the first time ever in their life, they someone brave enough to slap Jaime Leiter. Jaime’s ears turned red in shame. His body shivered with anger. He couldn’t get sight of that man. He shouted, “Who the hell slapped me?” But no reply came from anywhere. He pulled out his Glock and fired in the air, and then shouted the exact same words, again.

  “Who the hell dared to slap me?” he roared as loudly as he could. Getting no answer, he pulled out his phone and dialed the control room of the casino. “Find that damned thing now!”

Four hours ago, somewhere in the streets of London,

  “Clean the mess,” Jaime said coldly, still staring at the corpse.

  The bodyguard said something the other guys, who were just standing behind him, witnessing the whole process of the murder. They cleared every last bit of evidence very efficiently. Jaime returned to his car.

His assistant was already sitting on the front-seat of his black Mercedes. He took a seat on the back. The driver turned the ignition on.

  “Any appointments?” asked Jaime to his assistant.

  “No, sir,” she replied.

  “Well then, first head towards home, then we’ll move to the Casino,” he said to the driver.

Seven hours ago, Cambridge Street, London,

  “Seven,” said the assistant, “There are seven of them.”

  “Hmm. Where will he be?” asked Jaime.

  “In the fourth chair; directly in front of you,” answered the assistant. “You shall be able to get him after the team arrives.”

  “I’ll give you the cue, to send them in.”

  “Okay, sir.”

  “Did you get his details?”

  “Yes, sir. His background is clean.”

  “I know that. He worked as my bodyguard, before the robbery. I asked you, did you get any details about his appearance and stuff? Has it changed?”

  “Err...wait let me check,” she swiped on her iPad, “Ah! Yes, he had grown a French-cut beard, and he wears blue-iris contact lenses.”

  They were outside the newly opened Jefferson & Co. Building. Jaime holstered a Glock and opened the entrance door.

  “Sir! Wait, it’s not time.”

  “I know... I know very well.”

Six hours ago, Jefferson & Co. Building, London,

  Jaime took the seat in front of Jefferson. The meeting started. The economic downfall of ‘The Grey Company’ was discussed. After then came the discussion about the economic developments of the fastest growing coffee chain in London, ‘Milk & Sugar’. After that came the crisis of ‘Robert & Sons’.

  All these discussions went on but Jaime didn’t utter even a single word. Suddenly he stood up and pushed back his chair noisily, so that it grabbed everyone’s attention. A faint noise of boots echoed through the corridor. It grew louder and louder until there was a group of fourteen strong. They were wearing complete black and each of them held a UMP. In an instant the room was surrounded by these men. One of them was Jaime’s bodyguard. Jaime nodded to him in appreciation. He nodded back.

  Jaime walked over to Jefferson. Without giving Jefferson any time to respond, he slapped Jefferson tightly. Jefferson’s cheeks turned red. He tried to hit back but he was overpowered by two of the men in black. They dragged him out of the building. Jaime turned towards the sitting men, and smiling faintly, said, “Sorry for you inconvenience.” He followed the men in black, out of the building.

Present Time, The Blanc Casino, London,

  Jaime had slapped Tyler’s father, Jefferson, in front of six most famous and respected executives in London. And after kidnapping him from his own office, he shot Jefferson in the forehead. All these happened in his presence, but he couldn’t do anything because he was Jaime’s bodyguard, and was outnumbered at every instance. But now Tyler could fill his arms free again. He had his revenge. He knew that there was no escape now. He lifted up the Glock and rested its barrel at the right side of his own forehead. He closed his eyes and anticipated the sense of freedom. He pulled the trigger.

Two hours ago, The Blanc Casino, London,

  “We’ve located the man, sir,” said the casino-security to Jaime. “He’s in the parking lot.”

  “Good. I will deal with him myself.”

- Kritaarth

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