Both sides of the Barrel

The Witness

“Pop!” a sharp sound rang in my ears.

I turned from where I was standing inside of an Indian restaurant to try to find the source of the noise. The front wall was completely made of glass, so it was easy to see that the back window of a car parked in front of the restaurant was riddled with a small circular hole. I blinked and:

“Pop, pop!”

Two more holes appeared.

Spiderweb cracks emerged, and the glass poured onto the pavement like spilled water. It took a second for me to connect the noise to what I was seeing. Afterall, I was only fourteen; I’d never heard gunshots before.

“They’re shots, get down! They’re shots!”

The world slowed down and my dad’s shouts hung in the air for a whole minute before registering in my brain. They’re shots. I dove to the dirty carpet.

My dad crouched down with both of my siblings next to him while the owner of the restaurant cowered beside the table we’d just sat at moments earlier. Since we were on vacation in Belize, we were staying at a hotel and couldn’t take the food to go. The smell of Chicken Karahi hadn’t even left the air yet, and so much had changed. This could not be happening.

“Hide in the bathroom!” My dad whispered furiously.

We crawled behind the tables and chairs, keeping our heads low, to get to the bathrooms. My dad ushered us into the tight space, and I took the first full breath since I’d first heard the gunshots.

Then the screaming began.

Ear-piercing and gut-wrenching screams of pure agony filled the congested bathroom through a small vent near the ceiling.

“Anil!”

“Anil!”

I covered my mouth, and horror lanced through me. Was the woman screaming because she was shot? Was someone she knew hurt? Questions crowded my mind, with no way to get answers.

The single door to the bathroom suddenly felt too thin. It was just plain wood. I was sure a bullet would be able to go through it easily if the shooters found us.

Completely oblivious to my panic and fear, my dad laughed lightly in relief as he locked the bathroom door, and I glared at his back. There was a woman screaming her heart out outside; she could have been dying, and he was in here laughing?

I held my face in my hands as if it would fall off. No way. This could not be happening.

“Calm down,” My dad said to me in what he probably thought was a soothing tone.

How can I calm down when I’m about to be killed!? I wanted to shout.

“I’m going to go see if anyone needs help,” my dad said suddenly, and horror was like ice in my veins.

“No!” My mom said with a panicked look.

“That woman might need help, I’m going to go. Lock the door and stay here.” In a flash, my dad was outside.

Please come back safely, I prayed. Worry gnawed at me. He had to be okay. He was going to be okay.

My brother tried to say something but I cut him off sharply, “Don’t talk! Just pray!” I hissed. Fear was a living thing inside of me, it slithered through my veins and took control of my body; of my mind.

We were going to die and praying was the only thing that could save us. I recalled every prayer my mom had ever taught me, keeping one eye on the door as a precaution. I prayed for my life, begged for forgiveness. I didn’t want to die. I had too many plans.

Years passed and there was a knock on the door. Shooters wouldn’t knock, would they? My heart firmly lodged itself in my throat.

“It's me,” My dad said from the other side, and relief coursed through my veins like a dam bursting. My mom unlocked the door, and my dad spoke slowly and quietly, “The police are here and they said that we can leave. The woman is okay—”

“Why did those people kill that man?” I asked.

My dad gnawed his lip. “His wife was holding a huge bag of money when I spoke to her.” A hint of suspicion was evident in his voice. “But she’s safe now and with the police. Just follow me and don’t look at the body.”

All four of us nodded, so in shock that we couldn’t form words. My dad took hold of my hand, and I shut my eyes tightly to make sure I didn’t see the body on the pavement.

The Hitman

“Why can’t we get rid of his girlfriend too?” Chris asks.

I pedal harder, spending up to cut him off on the narrow dirt path. The hedges on our right and tall grass on the left prevent him from straying from the path to cross me.

“Hey!” he yells, brakes squealing.

“Do you want to get paid or not?” I ask. “If you do, we better follow orders. He said not to kill the girl.”

“But why? Can’t we at least wait until he’s alone?”

The car stops at a red light, and I squeeze the brakes to come to a full stop before we reach the end of the tall bushes hiding us.

“I wanna get paid, but I’m not a fan of killing this dude in front of his wife,” Chris continues. “I would rather kill them both.”

My nose wrinkles at his logic, and I smack the back of his head with my palm. “If you wanna get paid, just do what you’re told. You better not ruin this for me. It’s a hella good amount of money for a simple kill.” I self consciously shift the pistol that’s hidden under my jacket, making sure it hasn’t fallen out by accident.

“Look, we’ve been following their car for almost an hour now. If we turn back, that’d be two hours wasted. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll shoot him, and then we’ll leave. Just watch my back.”

Chris nods. I slump on my bike’s seat, eyes trailing the car as green light glints off the hood.

***

The car stops in front of an Indian restaurant. Lights shine out onto the road through the glass walls of the place. Our target doesn’t even bother to park his Nissan Frontier, just turning on the hazard lights in the middle of the street and running into the restaurant.

I release a slow breath and jump off my bike, letting it fall onto the concrete.

Chris stays on his bike, and I glare at him.

“Hey! He’s about to come out of the restaurant. Hurry up,” I hiss, pulling out my pistol.

Chris follows my lead with shaking hands. I scoff and head towards the target’s pickup. The man exits the restaurant, walking back to his vehicle with a bag of food in his hand. I lift the pistol and let out a few shots as he nears his car. He doesn’t make a single sound when his brains splatter across the concrete and the bag falls from his limp hand.

I let out a few shots towards the car, hitting the back window.

“Ant! What the hell are you doing!” Chris yanks my arm back after the fifth or so shot.

“Anil!” his wife starts screaming.

I shrug him off, running back towards our bikes. “Chill out! It was just warning shots for the girl.”

“Anil? Anil!” Her screams ring out into the night while we pedal away.

***

The street grows dimmer as the sun sets below the short buildings in front of us. “When did he say to meet?” I ask Chris, knowing that the man who’d hired us had contacted him directly. Through our friendship, I’d also gotten the chance to make some solid cash.

“It’s time now, he should be here.” Chris, unsurprisingly, doesn’t look nervous now that he’s about to get the money.

“So, what are you gonna do first?” I smirk slightly, imagining tall piles of bills at my feet, though I’d need to spend it slowly so that no one became suspicious of where all the money had come from.

“I’m gonna save some so my daughter can go to college in some other country,” Chris says simply.

I scoff at his noble intentions, though inside I’m reeling. Wondering if I should do something good with money that I’d sinned to earn. What if I donate ten dollars to an orphanage or something? I’m still wondering what’s the least amount I can donate that won’t seem rude when a shadow emerges from an alley beside us. Chris and I both straighten. My fingers flex, itching to reach into my jacket for my pistol. I hope this dude doesn’t go back on his word. Desperation curls through me.

The figure walks closer, and I notice it’s a woman. She’s wearing a long coat and has her black hair open. I relax, leaning back against the wall to let her pass. Hopefully she’ll be out of earshot by the time the man who hired us arrives.

“You guys are in a hurry to get your paycheck,” she whispers in a hoarse and shockingly familiar voice.

I jump away from the wall, and Chris chokes on his saliva.

“You-you’re the one who hired us?” I narrow my eyes, trying to place where I might have heard her before.

It comes to me in a rush: “Anil! Anil!”

“It’s you.” Cold realization dawns on me.

“Who is she?” Chris whispers, though the woman can still hear.

“She’s the wife. The lady who was screaming last night,” I say, watching her nod.

“You did your job,” she whispers, “so here’s your payment.” The woman throws a small black bag at Chris, and he fumbles to catch it.

I quickly unzip it, keeping the woman within my sights. I don’t like how Chris hadn’t even known if it was a man or woman who’d hired him. And the idea of a wife who was willing to pay thousands to kill her husband makes me anxious.

Just as she’d promised, thick stacks of bills lay in the bag. I debate if I should count each stack to make sure it’s the right amount, but Chris saves me the trouble. I watch the woman closely while Chris hands me the bag and methodically checks all the stacks.

“Yep, it’s good,” he says finally after a few minutes. I look at him with newfound respect.

“Great,” the woman’s hands are in her pockets, and her stance is too casual, making me skittish. I just want the money and to go.

“We’re done here,” I declare, “We never saw you, and you never saw us.”

We watch each other for a moment before moving away, both not wanting to be the first one to turn our back on the other.