Dinesh shah was an impatient director. He didn’t want to wait around the whole day just so some nitwit fake gun maker held him up for his special gun. He had ordered the damn thing a week ago and it still hadn’t come.
“Sona,” Dinesh called for his assistant. A wiry girl in her mid -twenties sauntered into the room.
“Call that idiot Vasudev.”
“I did, sir. He’s sending someone over in a half hour.”
“A half hour,” Dinesh grunted. “Ok, go and take care of other things.”
The film crew had stuck out at this God-forsaken place the last couple of days. Dinesh had completed other portions of the movie, while they waited for the gun to arrive. And now he just had this one scene left. He didn’t want to waste any more time and money.
A while later there was a knock on the door.
“Come in.” Dinesh lit his 5th cigarette and leaned against the table.
The door opened and a man, probably in his thirties, peeped in.
“Are you Vasudev’s man?”
“Come on, come on, I don’t have much time.”
The man came in with a bag. He headed straight to the table and pulled out a couple of instruments.
Dinesh picked up the model he wanted and looked at it hesitantly. “This the one?”
“I know what that is. But..is this how it’s supposed to look?”
The other man nodded and shrugged.
It was a reverse gun. The main character of the movie was supposed to kill himself with it. It had the handle of a regular gun, only the barrel was pointed backwards. Dinesh gloated over the fact that it was a first in Indian movies. Nobody had pulled this sort of a stunt before.
He held it in his hand and pointed it at the other man, who stepped back. Dinesh chuckled at the man’s naivette.
Dinesh walked to the mirror and posed in front of it, checking out how it would look on his character. He cocked his head to a side, straightened his shoulder and pulled the trigger. A quick second earlier he’d seen the man slink away. But it was too late.
The loud explosion from the barrel smashed the mirror to smithereens and Dinesh’s face burst open like a melon. There was silence and a whole lot of smoke, for a good three minutes before the door burst open and his assistant ran in, letting out a scream loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
Aside from the crew that crowded around the dead director, there was a man who’d just arrived, with the real consignment this time, and looked nonplussed. He let go of the fake gun he was holding in his bag, and wondered how the director got himself killed with a real gun.
Outside, the man who'd arrived earlier, got into an auto rickshaw and pulled out his cell phone.
“It’s done,” he said and hung up. He loved the fact that he didn't have to lift a finger this time. Was the first time he'd pulled a stunt like this.
He smiled. The auto rickshaw guy was looking at him through the rear view mirror and smiled.
"What happened, sir? You seem happy. Did you meet a star back there?"
"Hmm? Ah, no.."
"Ok, meet the real stars then," said the driver, turning and pointing a gun at his passenger.
Before the other man could do anything, the auto driver pumped two quick slugs into the hitman, got out and walked away.
He pulled out his cell phone and said. "The score's even now."