Conspiracy

Eyes transfixed over the motionless fan above my head, as I cushion myself with pillows on the bed. Roof was painted all white with no speckle of dust, may be, it was recently refurnished, I thought to myself.

I was sweating beyond necessary. It was a normal day in my job and I was expected to remain calm. But there was something unusual; I felt I had been set up and the police were on their way to pocket me. My accomplice was nowhere to be found and the only thing saving me was the latched door. I knew outside that door stood my doom.

It had to happen someday or the other as my profession has to use double-crossing blatantly. And the other thing, the most important one, was I had to maintain my record - 21-0; 21 successful robberies in 3 years without getting caught was something I didn't want to break. Even today was a normal day, only thing which was different was me pleading to my wife that this was my last. I knew I lied to her, as I had done time and again. Being in this closed room, I think I should have listened to her. Though I did have a huge list of people who I should have listened to, but I had always thought otherwise.

The police siren had started ringing and the intensity only grew with every second in the clock, which kept staring at me. Staircase started to fill in with commotion and long cries of shock, while the persons in uniform made their way to the fifth floor of the apartment where I stood grounded.

Rolling over the bullets into my semi-automatic pistol, trying to pull the trigger, but my inner conscience told me to wait for that right moment. I fixed my aim onto the door, waiting for it to be thrown open while I waited not to die alone.

All the previous robberies involved no blood but this was not usual. It had been an accident from the very beginning. I never knew that I would walk into a pool of blood that would name me the murderer. The clues I had left pointed the finger straight at me.

The main door started creaking slowly, and the sound of footsteps became audible. The fanatic in me had taken complete control over my senses, and it only made me sweat more profusely. Only the hand with the gun remained still, but the mind, which controlled the trigger, was really anxious. Eyes started to blur, giving indications that I might pass out real soon, but I knew I had to survive, as I couldn’t come to terms to such an end.

I was here to create a legacy, by being that perfect thief, by being the Robin Hood for my people who needed miracles in order to survive.  But I knew that my way was wrong, and eventually, I had succumbed to the greed of the profession, which I repent every single day. I wanted to change this; that was the very reason I had chosen this robbery at the house of the biggest smuggler in the city. But my stars had thought otherwise. The previous wrong doings had to catch up, someday or the other. My own accomplice whom I had trusted with my life now shattered the very trust, which I had broken many times. Here I stand in a room with the dead body of a renowned smuggler, latched from outside by a friend who I felt betrayed by.

Latch was silently removed but I still could hear it, so I pulled the trigger back, to launch what might be my last act in this particular life. As the door was slammed open, I waited not a second, and fired the bullet which stuck directly on to the accomplice’s forehead. As the motionless body transcended, I realized he was only there to help me rather than to get me caught. Even before I could shed a tear, there was another gun shot and this time I wasn’t that lucky. It pierced into my temple, making me motionless like the other bodies in the room, and I fell forward onto the feet of the police officer whose muzzle was still throwing smoke, fresh after its first shot.

Police radio transceiver shrieked voices between the two officers, each congratulating the other over the success of their mission. The officer, who had fulfilled the task on the ground, confirmed that three menaces were all down, and they didn’t have to worry about the smuggler anymore. Their propaganda had worked; they just needed to show it as a gang war which it had seemed to be, but the only thing that differed was that the setup in totality had been planted by the police themselves.

The conspiracy to kill the biggest smuggler in the town needed a blanket to cover up and what could be better than a gang war? The others were collateral damage, where one points the finger towards the other, making the case a closed one and ready to be put into the archives. They knew their plan had worked, but their conscience was still mad at them. And they knew they had no plan to counter that…