Chapter XX2
Midnight Madanmohan couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Squatting on the little ledge under the fourth floor windowsill, he had re-read all the messages from his ubercranium’s mailbag in the last two hours.
He peeped, spotted Bob and Tuco, MAD’s chief operative, rapt in attention as a man dressed in military livery, read out from a notebook.
The radium needles on Midnight’s Rolex would meet in less than 15 minutes. “Well, it’s time to interrupt Bob’s little soiree. The hour’s approaching,” Midnight mumbled as he loaded his peashooter with the cereal clip. 13 minutes to go. This was Midnight’s biggest solo project ever. After this, he had promised himself, he would start recruiting.
He invoked the spirit of his grandfather Kamraj Dennis - an Indian American biotechnologist who headed the CODE’s biochemical research projects. Dennis, before he disappeared, was working on CODE’s ‘breakfast’ project. His team had developed cornflakes that were dried on an ultraviolet film of the mashed Cicare, a highly toxic wild berry that thrives in Amazonian wilderness.
The breakfast was to be part of a Citadel Intelligence's arsenal in political assassinations. A flake fired from a peashooter would offload the highly toxic Cicare that would then swim through the bloodstream destroying everything on its way. Death came swiftly and left no trace. Only the smell of popcorn.
The project never took off, Dennis disappeared and no amount of Citadel Intelligence ferreting traced the 'breakfast papers'. Till Midnight, a small-time felon based out of Coimbatore, received it by an anonymous speed post. Only a message was scrawled thus on the first page of the papers:
“By midnight, under moonlight,
When vampires roam, the killer’s cappuccino will foam.”
Midnight, to this day, maintains that the message took the blinkers off his mind’s eye. In the years since, the Internet had made him a celebrity, his website cerealkiller.com (After Hybrid's famous reference to Midnight after the latter cleaned up a CHETA area nest at former's behest) was often inundated with fan postings and requests for internship. eBay now sold Midnight memorabilia – key chains, jackets, Zippos, cereal bowls.
If Murder Inc. ever went public; Midnight would make a killing on from his ESOPS.
However, it was the sobriquet ‘Midnight’ that gave him his mystique. The job would always be done at the stroke of midnight (Reader note 6: All times are local).
And now as Bob stifled a yawn as his security advisers wrapped up their daily briefing and his little cuckoo clock announced the hour, the athletic frame of Midnight stepped in from the window, the peashooter ready.
The nozzle cut a silent arc in the cigar smoke-filled room and Bob watched his Security Council drop dead, a cornflake for every council’s jugular.
“You are lucky your dead dont bleed,” said Bob, mildly amused. "My carpet would have been ruined. That wouldn't have been funny for you.“
Midnight now looked around. He could have been in a photo studio, just like the ones he had seen around Coimbatore Municipal bus stand. “Looks like you've got the family tree in here,” he gestured to the rows of poster-sized portraits on all four walls. An etching of the family insignia dominated the ceiling.
“30O years and all the bastards did was a little more than fill up this wall,” Bob sighed.
“Well, at least they left you Kraal to rule,” offered Midnight. “Now, let’s get your whiny ass outta here. There’s not much time. I’ve got the amphibian docked at the jetty.”
****
Two hours later, Basha heaved himself over Bob’s window, chopper between his teeth. He stepped over the Kraal’s security council and read the little post-it note on Bob’s pillow -“Po da Dai”. Meanwhile, Pappachan savaged the Queen-sized bed searching for popcorn.
He peeped, spotted Bob and Tuco, MAD’s chief operative, rapt in attention as a man dressed in military livery, read out from a notebook.
The radium needles on Midnight’s Rolex would meet in less than 15 minutes. “Well, it’s time to interrupt Bob’s little soiree. The hour’s approaching,” Midnight mumbled as he loaded his peashooter with the cereal clip. 13 minutes to go. This was Midnight’s biggest solo project ever. After this, he had promised himself, he would start recruiting.
He invoked the spirit of his grandfather Kamraj Dennis - an Indian American biotechnologist who headed the CODE’s biochemical research projects. Dennis, before he disappeared, was working on CODE’s ‘breakfast’ project. His team had developed cornflakes that were dried on an ultraviolet film of the mashed Cicare, a highly toxic wild berry that thrives in Amazonian wilderness.
The breakfast was to be part of a Citadel Intelligence's arsenal in political assassinations. A flake fired from a peashooter would offload the highly toxic Cicare that would then swim through the bloodstream destroying everything on its way. Death came swiftly and left no trace. Only the smell of popcorn.
The project never took off, Dennis disappeared and no amount of Citadel Intelligence ferreting traced the 'breakfast papers'. Till Midnight, a small-time felon based out of Coimbatore, received it by an anonymous speed post. Only a message was scrawled thus on the first page of the papers:
“By midnight, under moonlight,
When vampires roam, the killer’s cappuccino will foam.”
Midnight, to this day, maintains that the message took the blinkers off his mind’s eye. In the years since, the Internet had made him a celebrity, his website cerealkiller.com (After Hybrid's famous reference to Midnight after the latter cleaned up a CHETA area nest at former's behest) was often inundated with fan postings and requests for internship. eBay now sold Midnight memorabilia – key chains, jackets, Zippos, cereal bowls.
If Murder Inc. ever went public; Midnight would make a killing on from his ESOPS.
However, it was the sobriquet ‘Midnight’ that gave him his mystique. The job would always be done at the stroke of midnight (Reader note 6: All times are local).
And now as Bob stifled a yawn as his security advisers wrapped up their daily briefing and his little cuckoo clock announced the hour, the athletic frame of Midnight stepped in from the window, the peashooter ready.
The nozzle cut a silent arc in the cigar smoke-filled room and Bob watched his Security Council drop dead, a cornflake for every council’s jugular.
“You are lucky your dead dont bleed,” said Bob, mildly amused. "My carpet would have been ruined. That wouldn't have been funny for you.“
Midnight now looked around. He could have been in a photo studio, just like the ones he had seen around Coimbatore Municipal bus stand. “Looks like you've got the family tree in here,” he gestured to the rows of poster-sized portraits on all four walls. An etching of the family insignia dominated the ceiling.
“30O years and all the bastards did was a little more than fill up this wall,” Bob sighed.
“Well, at least they left you Kraal to rule,” offered Midnight. “Now, let’s get your whiny ass outta here. There’s not much time. I’ve got the amphibian docked at the jetty.”
****
Two hours later, Basha heaved himself over Bob’s window, chopper between his teeth. He stepped over the Kraal’s security council and read the little post-it note on Bob’s pillow -“Po da Dai”. Meanwhile, Pappachan savaged the Queen-sized bed searching for popcorn.
posted by smokestack at 8:15 AM
<< Home