Mike felt a sudden chill run the course of his nervous circuit. Without a fight he carefully deposited the keys on top of his car and proceeded to sit in the back, gently prodded by the guy holding the gun to his lower back.
-"I am only going to say this once my friend. You will be very quiet, and not make any attempt to draw attention to yourself. If you do, I will squash your balls myself, and I will tie you up like a piglet, and then throw you in the trunk." The man holding the gun cordially advised Mike, in a thick accent.
An inexorable feeling of dread, made Mike's blood pressure drop when it dawned on him that these two men did not simply intend to rob his wallet. Keeping a low profile, from the corner of his left eye he stole a glance at the front mirror.
The driver could be considered good looking, clean-cut, and sharply dressed. He gauged that he must be in his late twenties. Their eyes met for a moment in the mirror.
The driver’s eyes were dark and intense, with an eerie brilliance to them. Perhaps he was under the influence of cocaine. He kept up the intense eye contact without pause, even as the traffic rushed forth.
Mike was the first to break eye lock, if only to save the whole lot. What did his eyes speak to them? Mike bemused. That he was about to shit in his pants? He had to maintain his cool. These looked like professional thieves; surely they would simply let him be, once they got some cash.
-“Listen guys, I have some cash on me. Please take it, and let me be. Please don’t hurt me.” Mike pleaded as he felt his stoic resolve crumble with each additional mile the milometer showed traversed.
There was an exchange in a foreign tongue which Mike did not recognize; they seemed to be speaking Russian amongst them, by the few words that he could make out.
-“OK buddy, give me your wallet please?” Asked the man seated to Mike’s left holding the gun aimed at his midriff. He spoke as casually as politely asking him to pass the salt.
With clammy hands Mike searched for his wallet, and then handed it over. He was sorry to have spoken. Now they had not only his cash, but also his home address.
There was another exchange in the foreign language, as the guy counted the money and the contents of Mike’s wallet.
Meanwhile, Mike looked at the car next to them as they waited for a light to turn green.
He observed the car with normal people going about their business, perhaps they were just returning from a visit to their families.
They seemed blissfully unaware that everything was so precarious that it could tumble down like a stack of cards by the hand of fate. That nothing in life was guaranteed, not even another day to live.
Suddenly he remembered what Monica had said to him that morning. That he was a scrooge for not letting his employees have that Friday off with pay.
Yet, he was frugal with himself too. He did not go out and blow his hard earned money in ultra-fancy restaurants or in sumptuous vacations.
Mike basically lived to work. He not only worked at his company, but also took a lot of the work home too. The only vacation trips he took, melded into business pursuits too.
He had sacrificed his personal life he mused, even neglecting his family in the process. Yet, could he be blamed for wanting to secure their financial well being? No, that had not been enough to his wife, and daughters. His divorce had made him dive even deeper into his work.
Mike now felt a tinge of regret for not giving enough time to his family in the relentless pursuit of money. If something happened to him tonight, what use would all that hoarded money be for? His ex-wife would probably use it for plastic surgery, and the pursuit of younger men.
-“OK buddy, now we will make a quick stop at the ATM, and then we will go to get some dinner to go, OK?” The guy next to him said as nicely as inquiring what he wanted to order for dinner.
To be continued….
