My Own Worst Enemy

Chapter 4

While driving, the cab driver took a peek at his rearview mirror and looked at Samara, who was just zoning out the car window. There was no facial expression on her. The driver could not decipher whether she was okay.

He looked at her uniform and saw the name tag on it.

"I thought Azhar is a guy's name. I didn't know even ladies can be called Azhar," the driver said.

"What business is it of you to know my name?" Samara asked.

The driver sensed the raised, angry tone of the question. He looked up at the mirror again to see Samara staring at him, "Nothing. I was just curious."

"Are you staring at my boobs? Want to see my cleavage?"

"No, ma'am! Not at all! I was just trying to strike a conversation. I didn't mean anything," the driver confessed.

"Didn't mean anything? What mean to you anyway? What does life mean to you? What does living mean to you?" asked Samara.

"I'm sorry?"

"How long have you been driving?"

"5 years. My son and his wife are looking after me. I was just bored at home. I didn't know what to do, so I took up this job to earn extra cash. That's about it," the driver said.

"So you don't even know what to do with your life. So bored of it. Just killing time," Samara replied.

A moment of silence went by.

"Stop the car," Samara demanded.

The driver did not ask any further, knowing that it was better to end that awkward situation. He stopped the car at the side of a random highway, where no building was sighted.

Samara walked out of the cab and walked to the driver's window. The driver winded down his window. He was not even going to ask about his fare.

"Do you smoke?" Samara asked.

"Sometimes," came the reply.

Samara passed him a lighter. "Strike it"

"Why?"

"Strike it three times in a row."

"What for?"

"Just do it."

"What would I be getting if I did it?"

"A chance. Life is boring for you anyway. Your son and his wife are making your living. You don't need it. Strike it" Samara raised her voice a little and gave a dead, empty stare at the driver. Her eyes were soulless.

The driver gulped a load down his throat. He went ahead to strike the lighter, knowing that he was screwed.

Strike one; the flame came out.

"Good, two more left," Samara asked.

Strike two, the flame came out and swayed slightly in the wind.

"Good, one last time. The decider now," said Samara.

A cold sweat trickled down on the side of the driver's forehead. Eyes focused on the lighter. He tried his best to hold his thumb steady. He had a feeling that this was not going to end well.

Strike three, and the flame came out once again without fail.

"Nice. It seems Chance preferred you this time," Samara said. The driver looked back at Samara, wondering what just happened and who is this lady in a police uniform.

"Keep the lighter," Samara said to him as she started to peel away. "Don't just throw it away on one side. That lighter means everything to you now. Keep it properly. Somewhere safe"

Samara walked over to the bushes on the side of the highway. The driver watched her strut away from his cab, leaving him alone in sweat. The driver brought the lighter up again and struck it to try his luck. There was no flame. He threw the lighter aside and drove off immediately.

Having walked further down the highway, Samara reached the car accident site. The police had cleared everything from the place. It was clean but not quite. The tree had the marks of the crash. The roadside divider still had a dent and scratch marks. Samara looked for anything that could get her attention, but no. It was wiped out clean. The darkness of the night and her not having any light source did not help her either. She gave up looking and took out a GPS device from her pocket to see what went wrong. She had come to Singapore using the GPS device, and it has never failed her.

The GPS showed another new set of coordinates. Frustrated, she moved from the site and walked along the highway.

After walking for a distance, a lone white Mitsubishi Lancer drove past her and stopped in front of her. Samara saw what the car did and stopped walking. The car reversed back to her location. A young chap was driving it, and he winded down the front passenger window.

"Excuse me. Just wondering if you could need my help or something? I can give you a lift home?"

Samara did not reply but sized him up like a snake does its prey with her eyes.

"Just wanted to help a policewoman. It's a long walk to the next exit," the young man said.

"Sure. Can you step out and come over to my side, please?" Samara said.

"All right," the young man murmured, and he got out of his car and walked over to her without having any second thought.

Samara gently touched the right side of his face and held it.

"What are you doing?" the young man asked. He was confused.

"Just keep still, please."

She slowly pulled Azhar's gun from the holster, placed it at the confused and puzzled man's forehead, and blew his brains out. Residual blood flowed out of the hole on the forehead, and he dropped to the ground. Samara dragged him over to the bushes on the side and left him there to rot as she took his car and drove to the new coordinates.