more ilyas

The lights to the store were dim in the stillness of the cool night. Through the dirty window pane of his beat up honda, Alistair observed the old indian man. He was slowly putting the days taking into an old velvet bag, his mouth moving in an unheard song as he counted the notes into the bag.

Alistair reached into his sweater and felt the cool steel of his revolver. He had run through the plan in his head at least 12 times as he drove to this semi deserted spot. A dilapidated neighbourhood that had once been full of promise, it was now filled with empty mansions and half finished projects that had been abandoned and claimed by the squatters. The police, Alistair knew, were too busy with under table dealings and internal affairs to bother chasing them away. Maybe ten years ago, such a thing might never have happened. Then, Maine had been properous, a growing hub for international business and was steadily becoming the utopia that its founder had envisioned centuries past.

But things had broken down.No one knew why. Slowly, over 5 years, everything loss value. Investors started looking elsewhere, projects were stopped and the world forgot about the little island of Maine in favour of its bigger neighbours. She had become a promise that was never fulfilled. An island which had disappeared from memory.

Crime lords ruled the streets. Money was the key to everything, from expensive Prada handbags to the policemen patrolling the streets. People were immune to the pain of others because they were too engrossed in their own pain to care.

Well almost. Alistair disliked the new man at the head of the country. He had promised the jaded nation that he would cleanse the City state, bring justice and the luster that had defined Maine once upon a time. That meant Alistair would be out of his Job. He checked that the weapon was loaded and put to safe, and braced for action.

The car door swung open and Alistair cursed silently as he put his sneakers into a puddle. He shook his foot furiously to get rid of the water, straightened up, and touched the pistol grip that was had against the small of his back. He took a calming breath, and pulled up his hoodie, partially covering his face with the black material and gently closed the door behind him.

Striding forward slowly, he gained speed as he entered the dim light of the shop. The old man didnt look up.

"We're closed."

With a soft shick, the pistol was out and pointed directly at the old man's right eye.

"I want all your money. Now," growled Alistair as he jerked the gun in the direction of the bag. The old man dropped the bag in his terror, his hands flying up. Alistair could feel the power he had over this small man. He grinned, savouring the joy it gave him.

"Please! I only have a small shop! I have grandchildren to feed, please!" pleaded the old man, his hands shaking as his face was twisted as he begged. "Please, Sir! Please!"

The feeling of power inside him, Alistair felt he could do no wrong. He stepped forward a step, and brought his weapon butt hard agains the old mans cheek. He crumpled to the floor, whimpering. Alistair put the weapon on fire, and once more drew a bead on the man's head.

"The money. Now!"

The old man started to cry pathetically, slowly made a move for his bag which lay a foot away. Suddenly, he stopped, his red, glistening eyes widened as he spotted something behind Alistair.

"Is that thing even loaded?"

Alistair swung around. He found himself looking down at a boy in green, who was studying the cigarette display with interest as his fingers traced down the glass pane looking for the brand that he wanted. Alistair grinned. This one is as good as dead.

"Yeah. Why don't I try one on you?"

The boy continued to smile. A small ahh escaped his lips as he chose a pack of red, opened the glass door and helped himself to a box. Knocking the box on the heel of his palm, he made his way around Alistair and handed the trembling old man a tenner. Alistair looked on in disbelief, his weapon at the boys head. This kid sure had balls. Alistair felt that he had to shoot at least one of them off.

"Oi, im talking to you wiseguy. You better bugger off, or im about to make you holy. Really holy." Alistair chuckled at his wit. But the boy merely smiled. Now he began to light the cigarette, with a lighter on the store counter, and drew in a breath before blowing it out slowly.

Alistair was about to speak when he was interupted by the boy.

" Nice night for a robbery, huh? Pity you came alone. I would have loved to get some practice tonight." said the boy, puffing slowly. For the first time, he looked hard into Alistair's eyes. Alistair gasped. The boy's eyes were a blazing green, hard and steely. Eyes of a warrior. He could have sworn they were brown just minutes before.

"So before i do anything you would regret, i suggest you take your weapon elsewhere."

Alistair frowned. He was the one holding the gun. What was the boy playing at? Never in his whole career had such a thing happened to one of his planned operations. He had always been succesful. Hadn't he already killed 23 men? Men who had tried to stop him because they thought they could take him. They thought they were stronger than him, faster than him. But he was always better. He had always gotten his man. And now, this boy, barely out of his teen, was challenging him.

He had had enough. With a sudden twist, his pistol went flying across the boys face, and he kicked forward simultaneously, wanting to force the boy to the floor where he would be at Alistair's mercy.

His hand stopped an inch from the boys face, but the boy didn't anticpate the kick. He flew backwards, and landed in the dust with a thud. Alistair was impressed. The boy was fast. But evidentally, not fast enough.

"Cocky little kid. Your quite fast for someone your age." he said, sneering as the boy slowly got up." Now lets see you dodge a bullet." He squeezed the trigger.

The bullet slammed into the boy and he flew 5 feet out of the shop and onto the dirty road. There, he lay still.

Alistair looked on in silence. Unable to bear it any longer, the power inside him making him laugh, he exclaimed "HOLY SHIT!" and started to guffaw. He turned to the old man, who had now grasped the satin bag to his chest and lay wideeyed and still where he had left him.

"Geddit? Holey shit?!" Still laughing as tears of happiness rolled down his face, Alistair moved towards the cowering old man, gave him an almighty kick, and picked up the satin bag. The old man was howling in pain, and alistair gave him another one, just in case.

"Shut up will you? Your lucky you don't join your friend out there. So just shut the hell up." Alistair started to pocket his gun, but with the adrenelin running, he fumbled and nearly dropped the weapon. The satin bag though, fell from his hand. Cursing, he bent over to get it, when he saw something green behind him.

He barely had time to straighten up when a blurred fist crashed into the small of his back. As he collapsed and darkness claimed him, he thought he heard the boy tutting.

"Thats not funny at all, man."

****

"Thank you, Ilyas. I thought my time was over." The old man had offered a cup of tea to Ilyas, but Ilyas had declined as he tied up the thug before calling the police. He had been on the way home from school when he heard the commotion. He silently thanked the Almighty for giving him extra classes that day.

"Its alright, Mr. Samy. It was no problem." He checked the bonds on the criminals face and made a face as it checked out. "In a few minutes, the police will be here. They'll take care of it."

Mr Samy sighed. " The police arent any different you know. Just last week that patrolman came and asked me for protection money." He nodded at the trussed up thug." So much for that protection."

Ilyas frowned." You paid him?"

"Of course, i had no choice," said Mr Samy as he spread his hand and shrugged. " He'll ask for more when he gets here."

Ilyas felt sorry for Mr Samy. All around Maine, small businesses were suffering the same thing, and there was no way he could help them all. The few police men who were straight were outnumbered and too afraid to do anything about it.

"He wont come here, " promised Ilyas. " I asked a friend to come instead, and you can trust her. She's one of the last straight cops around."

Mr Samy smiled at Ilyas, and he felt his heart lighten considerably. "Thank you again. You have always been kind. Except ," Mr Samy frowned, " I saw the man shoot you. My eyes arent what they used to be, but im sure im not mistaken."

Ilyas was saved from lying. The man in the chair started to groan and come awake, but Ilyas was faster. He administered another blow to the head, and the man continued to snore.

"I have to go, Mr Samy. You take care." He turned away, thankful that his secret was still a secret.

"You take care too," he heard Mr Samy say. "Your father would be proud."

Ilyas paused at the mention of his father. He knew Mr Samy had been close friends with his father, but he had deceived himself that the old man wouldnt mention his father at all. He felt unshed tears at the edges of his vision, and blinked them away. He turned and gave Mr Samy a quick smile, and continued onwards.

As he walked, he looked up at the stars, and wondered whether his father was looking at him now. he pictured his father looking down, smiling and nodding at his deed, proud of what his son had become.

Tears broke though his barrier, and Ilyas started to pray for his father's soul.