Write...Edit...Publish.. - the inaugural entry - A Tough Customer

Feels great to be part of the brand new bloghop over at Write..Edit...Publish, created by Denise Covey.  The prompt for this month is vacation, and I am here with a flash, condensed from a much longer story.  

A Tough Customer

The Rajdwar is no ordinary hotel, she feels lucky to have landed this job.  Savera pulls her bag onto her shoulder with a frisson of smugness, and checks her hair once more, pats a stray strand back as she calls out, “Amma, I’m leaving.  Bye—e –e.”

The lobby will be crowded today.  The vacations have just started, so people are either moving out or moving back into the city.  It’s only a filler job, a trainee’s assignment for the weeks of the vacation, but it will polish up her résumé another shade.  She enjoys people-watching, especially children, so it will not be any hardship.  Rather fun getting an insider view of a hotel this large, this luxurious.  There is a swing to her step, a jauntiness to the way her head sits on her shoulders. 

 ***

It has been easy this far. For a city with such a record, no extra security measures are in place. 

“Have they already forgotten? 1993? 2006? Not even a metal detector in the whole place. Really!”  He jostles into place at the queue for the unreserved carriages, holding his single case carefully close, disguising its heaviness with a light, three-fingered grip.   No-one gives him a second glance, another unshaven college kid in a scruffy T-shirt and large shades, going home on an impulse without advance reservation.   He smiles a little.  These people are such fools, they imagine they are invincible, when no-one is.  Well, they’ll find out soon enough, he thinks to himself; and then wipes the smile off his face swiftly. 

The queue moves forward as the train pulls into the platform.  He notes the route, the next stop will be at another end of the city on the long journey east.  He can recollect the map faultlessly, though he has never stepped here before.  The trainers have been strict and his training is superb.

He is in some amount of shoving later, and finds a sliver of an aisle seat by requesting an old man, “Uncle-ji, a little space?”

The man looks at him with milky, cataract-filled eyes, he is old enough to be the younger man’s father, “Come son, sit.  How far are you going?”

He grunts and sits down, opens a newspaper out to discourage talk.  The usual stream of passengers and hawkers of tea and meals, of cheap plastic toys and miracle portions pass through the carriage till the train finally draws out of the platform in long interrupted shudders.  Later, when the train has picked up speed, he walks through the vestibule into the first car, and enters a toilet with his small case.  Inside, he gets quickly to work, and by the time he finishes, a small black oblong shape is clipped below the lavatory opening, well out of sight on the back of the soil tube.  He flushes twice to make sure it is secure and invisible and dry.  He then shaves, changes into a business suit that instantly ages him a decade, and gets off at the next station. There’s work to be done at Rajdwar too.  He takes out a phone and sends a clipped text.  “Gone east.”

 ***

Savera puts down the telephone and looks at the guest, “Good evening, Sir. How may I help you?”

“I haven’t seen you here before.  Are you new?”

“Yes.” She keeps her smile smooth, even though she is bristling a little, “Do you have a reservation, Sir?”

He mimics her tone sotto voce, “No, I don’t have a reservation, and yes I need a room, and I am sure you are full up.  I need to see your manager, is Singh around?  Now be a sweetie and run and get him for me.  I am not a customer you can handle.”

“If you will provide an i.d. Sir, I will do my best.  As you know it’s the start of the holidays and you may not get the choice you want, Mr Singh is a busy man.” Her shift was nearly over, her feet were hurting, it was only her third day at work, she didn’t want to run to the manager bleating like a clueless lamb because she couldn’t face a tough customer.  Deal with this odd fellow, too bold by half, bung him into a room and then straight home.

“Have it your way sweetness.  Here’s the i.d.”  He’s got through this far without a hitch, the room matters nothing now.  He just needs to kill time till the others get in.  Kill time first, and then zoom in for the real thing.

The passport feels light, she looks it over dubiously, but can’t pinpoint any flaw exactly.  She photocopies it and goes through the forms; allocates one of the less-prized rooms.  He takes the key, but she notices that he saunters over to the lobby and sits there waiting.  Anyway, it’s none of her business, she winds up her work, and leaves.

 ***

Outside the streets feel jittery.  The shops which should be open, are closing their shutters early.  She wonders what’s happened as her autorickshaw crawls towards the station.  The streets are choked.  

“Kya baat hai, bhaiya?”

“Pata nahi.  Tirayn ka kuch gadbad .” *

Trains being disrupted isn’t anything unusual, she slumps back into her seat.  But she is stopped from getting into the Samrat Ashok Terminus by a cordon and a senior looking official, “The terminus is being evacuated.”  

Then he looks at her puzzled, young face and drops the offialese.  “Daughter, the city is under attack, go home some other way, get somewhere safe fast.”

“How? What?” her bewilderment knows no bounds, but he just waves her off resignedly.

She walks back into the milling crowds and turns to face the station.  Above the ornate entrance the large news-screen blinks the headlines out in dotted green lights.  Breaking News.  Synchronised blasts in long distance trains.  Rajdwar under siege.  Terrorists occupy landmark hotel.  

Not a customer you can handle.  The words and the passport pages swim into her mind, and she finally realises the flaw in them in one stinging flash of remorse.

WC -1013
All feedback welcome.

* "What is the matter?"

   "Don't know.  Probably a problem with the trains."

India, where I come from, and where I come back to every year for home leave in July-August, has long been a target for terrorists. Many of the vacations I have spent here in the last decade have been disturbed by news of blasts and attacks and high alerts all across the Indian cities. This flash is distilled from all those vacation headlines. 

Updated as per suggestions in the comments.

Read the other entries here:

1.	Denise Covey	8.	Michael Di Gesu ... In TIme ....	15.	Lisa Buie-Collard
2.	Trisha F.	9.	Spunky L. Diane Wolfe	16.	Tessa Conte
3.	Sally	10.	Beverly Fox	17.	Morgan @ Writer's Block
4.	Yolanda Renee	11.	Pat Hatt	18.	H J Musk
5.	Nilanjana Bose	12.	Madeleine	19.	N. R. Williams
6.	Linda Katmarian	13.	Hart @ Confessions of a Watery Tart	20.	Adornments for Dreams
7.	Michelle @ Writer~In~Transit	14.	The Armchair Squid	21.	Roland Yeomans - direct link