City break: Chapter 1

Chapter 8

“What’s the story here Harry?” I asked. Akira threw me a quizzical face, “You know this guy?” Harry interjected before I had time to answer, “I like your accent buddy. You Irish people have a way with words." He looked at Akira, "And, I guess you like his accent too Akira?” I looked at her, “You know him too?”

Akira marched assertively towards the door. "SIT DOWN LADY!" Harry’s command was accompanied by the swift flick of a switchblade.

Immediately I knew he was a psycho, a MAD MAN as well as an ad man. "No need for that Harry, put it away," I said, while guiding Akira to the bed, where we joined the maid, who blessed herself. He was a strong looking man for sure, but I could take him down I thought, just not with that blade on him.

“Here – this is yours,” he threw Akira’s Blackberry at her. “That old lady at the subway needs to take better care of folks property. Yep, I've been following you guys.” Akira shot me a knowing glance.

Without taking his eyes off us, he picked up an ipad, and nodded at the wall to our left – ‘Dr Ryan Williams’ name projected onto it. “Your Father Akira. He didn’t like my proposed ideas and designs for the hospital re-brand, said he’d voice his disapproval at the pitch. I can’t have that, so…” He paused, and hit the ipad with a firm finger, “…I deleted him.” His name disappeared from the wall. He thumbed again and more names appeared. “The hospital board went ahead with the pitch all the same.” He pointed at the wall, “They’re all staying at this hotel. They’ll be making their decision real soon.”

“You fucking loser,” said Akira, calmly. I tensed, ready to spring on him. But surprisingly his reaction was passive, “No, you don’t understand, your father was an ideas killer. He didn’t like creative people like me. Nodding at the wall, he said, “If these people don’t like my work, I’ll delete them as well. I’ve got it all rigged up, if the mail’s positive, great, if it’s negative, then – BOOM.” He made an explosive gesture with his right hand.

I recognised the ping of an incoming mail. Harry mouthed the mail as he read, then said, “They’re not going with my ideas.” He nodded his head in disbelief,  “I’m real sorry to involve you in this guys, but it has to be done. His finger poised over the ipad.

A dull thud as the ipad hit the floor and hovered towards our feet. Harry’s arms fell to his side and he dropped to his knees, almost elegantly. He fixed us with a blank stare. Then – like rich red claret from a tap, blood began to spout from a perfect hole in the centre of his forehead. 

Satisfied he was gone, the maid put the revolver onto the linen trolley and said, “Relax, I’m an undercover cop from NYPD – that was a close call. We’ve gotta sit tight while the bomb disposal people make this place safe.” She took a sheet from the trolley, placed it over Harry’s corpse and said, “You’re done deleting good people – you freaking psycho.”