The Final Good-bye

"Dear Gomez", Moorthy scribbled, in his shaky handwriting.

“Heard you are in town.
Enjoy your birthday.
You will never hear from me again.
Good-bye
J.M.”

With trembling fingers, he scribbled the note, folded it into two, and enclosed it along with the gift in the cardboard box. Then he covered it in a gift-wrapper, hired a cab to the Hotel Presidency and handed it over at the reception, avoiding the suspicious glance of the hotel clerk. Afterwards, Moorthy went back to the run-down stingy apartment which he had rented for the day, poured himself a couple of drinks, walked across the damp floor to the window and looked down, watching the street which had already begun to darken.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the Hotel Presidency, Antony Gomez, fists-on-hip, dressed in all his royal finery, flanked by suit-clad secretaries, surveyed the elaborate arrangements made at the plush roof-top restaurant for the grand birthday celebrations.

"Good. Excellent" ,he said nodding his shiny, bald head, reclining on the couch, grinning to his henchmen who flanked him, heads bowed in polite affirmation. The artificial golden tooth glinted menacingly, reflecting the yellow light of the chandelier.

"Is the guest roster finalized?" ,Gomez enquired.
"The Governor wont turn up" ,one of the men said, stepping forward.
"The old bumpkin", Gomez pounded his fist on the table. "Let him rot in hell. And the others?"
"All the rest will turn up on time."
"Good."

There was a knock on the door, and the hotel boy came in. One of the men walked up to the boy, collected the gifts and handed over to Gomez who would take a look and proceed to toss them, one by one, onto the pile of gifts that was stacked at the corner of the room.

The shaky handwriting and the initials scribbled on top of one of the packets made Gomez sit up and take notice.

“J.M….Oh..It’s from old Moorthy!” , exclaimed Gomez, slicing open the packet. “I thought the old fool was still in jail.”

“Heard he was released a month back”, said Johnny, one of the secretaries.

“My, there is a letter inside”, Gomez grinned, handing over the letter to them. “Read it for me, Johnny.”

Johnny read out to him, and looked puzzled. “What does he mean” ?

“To hell with what he means. Good riddance”, Gomez said, wiping his sunglasses on his shirt and replacing them back on. “If I hear from him, it is always the same, the same ‘I have no money’ story.”

Along with the letter, there was another cardboard box inside. As he opened, Gomez gleamed. A bottle of beer was inside. “Tiger Beer”, he said, grinning, “the old rat, he still remembers my taste.”

Johnny smiled weakly. “But boss, don’t we owe him some money? The man must be broke, the letter looks like a suicide note”, he said apologetically, almost as if he sensed the outburst that would follow.

Gomez stood up, glowering. “Bullshit, Johnny, Bullshit!”, he shouted, downing the beer in large gulps.

“This business, this business of ours”, Gomez went on, “is not for the sissies and the weak-hearted. It’s for men. Real, tough, men. The fool would have lost money anyway. If not for me, someone else would have swindled him of his money. Even if it was not for him, I would have still reached where I am now. Do you doubt that, Johnny? Don’t people always get what they deserve?”

Johnny nodded his head, remembering with a tinge of guilt about how they had deceived the unsuspecting Moorthy into signing a deal with them. The deal was an underhand one, and had Moorthy’s signature on it, leading to his arrest and a seizure of all his assets.

That had been the start Moorthy's decline and that of Gomez’s meteoric rise.
Johnny could do nothing. He shrugged his shoulders.

Gomez continued, “Let the fool go and die, that is best for him. This Brahmins, they are not made for business. We jews, we have it in our blood, don’t we, Johnny? You drinkin’ some beer?”

Johnny declined. Gomez finished off the beer, kept it aside, and reclined in his chair, muttering curses under his breath. “Let him go and die.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Back in his lodge room, Moorthy stood still near the window, watching the dark street. He paced back and forth in his small room, and stood near the window again, wringing his palm. Then he saw a sudden burst of light and traffic through the dark street.

Two vehicles were rushing across towards the Hotel Presidency. He sensed what had happened, picked up his duffel bag, paid the lodge bill, tip-toed out and walked with firm steps along the dark road which led to the railway station. The train was scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes, and would take him out of the state.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few minutes earlier, Gomez had got up from his chair, clutching his stomach, his face contorted into a grimace. As Johnny looked on clueless, he staggered a few steps forward and had doubled over, headfirst into the wash-basin.

The guests, who had arrived and had started to help themselves to the feast, looked shocked and ran helter-skelter.

As someone rung up the hospital. Johnny ran upto Gomez and lifted him up from the wash-basin.

“The bastard, it was the beer, it was the beer”, Gomez had mumbled incoherently, before his body became motionless.