Siddhi To The Rescue

Siddhi slipped her hands into the pockets of her thin sweatshirt and yawned audibly as the cashier scanned her groceries at the check-out till. The cashier looked up and said, “Long day at the library, eh?” He had a cheeky grin that didn’t quite look like it belonged on his boyish face that was framed by a shock of chocolate brown hair.

Siddhi blinked vigorously several times, trying to keep herself awake, before nodding grimly. “Have a paper due tomorrow.”

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“I’m starting uni next year. And I’m already dreading the deadlines.”

Siddhi nodded again, too tired to add anything to the small talk. How’d she manage to get such a chatty cashier at 2 a.m.? Then again, she was probably his first customer since he began the graveyard shift. She’d assumed a lot of students frequented the only 24x7 Costco close to the university at this hour, given the innumerable deadlines and submissions the professors liked to foist upon them. But she thought wrong. She was the only one in Costco. At 2 a.m. On a passably warm summer Tuesday (now Wednesday).

The beeps of the bar-code scanner were somehow amplified by the cavernous interior of Costco, making them collectively sound like an ominous UFO from a cheap sci-fi film that was coming in to land.

“What’re you studying at the uni?” asked the chatty cashier. Really? He still wanted to make conversation? Could he not see that she looked like a reanimated corpse that hadn’t surprisingly lost all its hair yet and was definitely in no mood to talk?

“Art history,” Siddhi mumbled.

“Cool. So you cover the history of art?”

She sighed loudly. “Yes and no.” She didn’t particularly feel like elaborating.

How long was this going to take? She wasn’t buying all of Costco. Siddhi tugged at her sweatshirt. Was it that extra layer of thin cotton or was it actually warmer inside? It was never this warm during the day, even in the winters when the heating was on. She looked up at the high ceiling and wondered if it was newly lined with asbestos.

“Fifteen seventy five,” said the chatty cashier. Siddhi dug into her handbag for her purse. She paid for her groceries and tossed them all in one large carry bag. “Have a nice night,” the cashier said and winked at her. Ugh. He was definitely mocking her. There’s no way he was hitting on her when she hardly looked human in a ratty t-shirt and a pair of stained jeans.

As she trundled out of the exit, Siddhi fished in her handbag for her car keys. As soon as she got back to her flat, she was going to make herself a quick bowl of porridge oats and then crash into bed. Breakfast for dinner was her favorite kind of food, and at 2 a.m., well, she was technically eating a very early breakfast.

Siddhi shuffled down the narrow lane some ways behind Costco. She was less than ten meters from her car when she stopped dead in her tracks. In her car, her blue Nissan Micra, sat four dark figures, barely illuminated by the weak yellow street light. The sight of them seemed to slap her awake. Their silhouettes from the back of the car revealed short hair on all of them. They’d fired up her music system and a dull wub-wub-wub was emanating from her car. The figure in the driver’s seat—her driver’s seat—was headbanging. Meanwhile, in the back seat, a man with spiky blonde hair had just stuck his head out the window and lit up a joint. What the other two were doing she couldn’t tell.

Fear gripped at Siddhi’s insides like a python its hapless prey. Hijackers. Car thieves. No-good thugs. They’d laid claim to her car. They were probably waiting for her to return so they could rub it in her face before starting the engine and bolting into the night.

Who could she turn to for help? The night security guard at Costco? There was no way he’d abandon his post. He had to man his desk all the time. How about that cheeky, winking, chatty cashier? Ugh. She had no desire to ask him for anything. Besides, as the only cashier in Costco that night, it wasn’t likely he would abandon his till either. Should she call the police? These lowlifes might push off before they showed up.

No, it was up to Siddhi and Siddhi alone to reclaim her car. Could she neutralize them with pepper spray? Yes, that might work… but then she remembered she’d left it in the glove compartment. Siddhi cursed herself. She could call her father, but what could he do all the way in Birmingham? Think, Siddhi, think. She was one puny and tired 19-year-old university student and they were four hardened criminals. She’d have to use every last drop of energy she had left to think up a way to rescue her car.

She turned around and headed back towards Costco in a brisk walk.

Her father’s words came back to haunt her. “You’re going to live in Ellington?! Do you want to be robbed on the daily?” True, this area did have a bit of an edge. And yes, university students were the most common targets. But rent was cheap and the location not far from campus. She’d used these arguments as her ammunition, knowing how much her father loved saving money. In the end, she’d won. And how. For her “extra safety” her father had bought her a used Nissan Micra so she’d never have to walk anywhere unsavory alone. Oh, the delicious irony.

Siddhi breezed into the Costco and paused for a moment before heading towards the cutlery aisle. She needed a weapon. An intimidating weapon. An effective weapon, if things got heated and she needed to use it to cause some serious damage. She pulled up her carry bag to her shoulder so her hands were free. She picked up a meat cleaver and stared at it. This should do. She could threaten them with this.

She hurried towards the check-out. As she zoomed past the children’s toy aisle, something caught her eye and she stopped. It was a plastic gun, dangling from a hook, its barrel sealed within the plastic blister packaging. Siddhi ran a finger over the rough surface of the exposed butt. What if those thugs had a gun? What good would a meat cleaver do then? She’d be dead before she could raise her knife. No, she had to fight a gun with another gun. She slid the gun out of its hook and made her way back to the cutlery. She popped the meat cleaver back where she’d found it and picked up a pair of kitchen scissors. Now she was ready. Almost.

At the check-out, Siddhi headed to a self-service till. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing the lone, cheeky cashier once more. What would he make of her second round of purchase? Siddhi scanned her new weapons in hasty, jerky movements. She paid for them with her debit card and made her way out of the automatic doors.

On her way to her car, she cut through the gun’s packaging with the scissors. Bloody, effing, inconvenient packaging! She wrenched open the plastic and drew the gun out. She stuffed the packaging and the scissors into her handbag. They wouldn’t be able to tell the gun was plastic, right? Not in the dim street light. Feeling her courage double, she quickened her pace. But as her car loomed in sight, she began to feel her legs wobble like jelly. This is your car. You are its defender and protector. Besides, your father will have a fit if it’s stolen.

The windows were all rolled up now. The inside was clouded in smoke. Ugh. Weed smoke. Her car must be stinking to the high heavens. She’d have to empty an entire can of air freshener. She adjusted the straps of her carry bag and her handbag and went around towards the driver’s door.

Siddhi took a deep breath.

BAM! She kicked at the door. The thugs inside turned. They were all men. Siddhi raised her gun. “Get out!” she yelled. “Get out now!” Their eyes widened in surprise more than fear. Their hands fumbled around the door locks and slowly, the four doors of the car clicked open. “Hands in the air!” Siddhi cried. “And no funny business!” She wasn’t trying to emulate a corny Hollywood action film, but in that moment, she couldn’t help herself. “Shut all the doors except the driver’s door!”

Three doors slammed shut in the balmy air. Their sounds echoed through the empty road.

“Move away from the vehicle!”

The thugs scuffled away, their hands up. “Move! Move!” Siddhi waved her gun at them.

“Lady,” one of the thugs drawled.

“Silence!” Siddhi barked and swung the gun towards him.

“Whoa. Hey. We dun wan’ no trouble.”

Siddhi inched towards the open driver’s door. She flung her bags inside and stepped in. She slammed the door shut and locked it. Immediately all the other doors locked themselves. Siddhi let out a sigh of relief. She’d done it! She’d single handed rescued her car from four goons! This was a story for the ages! Wait until her flatmates heard her tale of bravado!

The thugs were still hanging around her car. Why were they still there? Why hadn’t they scattered yet? Did they not believe a woman could take control of her car? Ugh. These sexist pigs.

When she tried to put her key in the ignition, Siddhi found a key already in there. Strange. How did these thugs get a copy of her car keys? Rather, how had they made a copy? Had she left her keys somewhere vulnerable and accessible to these rogue types? Siddhi searched her memory from the last two weeks. Where had she gone, apart from the university and back to her flat, and once last weekend to Costco?

Siddhi’s eyes trailed up from the steering wheel to the road ahead as she remained lost in thought. She barely noticed the car parked in front of her. Another blue Nissan Micra. What a coincidence, she thought vaguely before diving back into her memory. But something about that car kept tugging her back to the moment. She gave the car another look.

Another blue Nissan Micra with a familiar license plate and number. Siddhi stared at the number for a full 30 seconds before cogs in her brain clicked and turned.

The Micra in front of her was carrying her number plate.

The blue Nissan Micra, parked in front of her and carrying her number plate, was her car.