Miserable and Proud

The agonising cry of a cell phone sent Raghu's heart pumping in the dark. When it rang three times he picked it up and said, "Hello"

"Raghu Ram Kothari? You wanted to speak to the Don?"

"yes...is it you"

"No. He will meet you in the morning 6:30."

The gruff male voice hung up the phone unceremoniously. Raghu stiffened and slowly kept his cell phone down. He had been waiting to interview the Don. For six years he had tried and failed to meet him, the guy wanted in eleven countries, on the red notice of interpol, the undisputed champion of the Mumbai underworld. "The wait ends six hours from now." he mused. Six years, six hours and 6 AM. 666. Even the gods mocked him. 

He clicked the light on and went to his kitchen returning to the bedroom with a glass of whiskey. He downed it in one go, lit a cigarette and sat down at the edge of his bed. The tiny alarm clock said 12:30 when he checked. He had drunk three glasses and smoked five cigarettes when his phone rang again. The clock registered the hourly beep at five in the morning. "Yes... ok... at the Kihinoor mall? Third floor, second office to the left! Ok. I'll be on time. Ok!" He noted the instructions on his wrist and hurried to get dressed. It was time.