Random acts of Violence: Episode Seven.

His eyes were closed as he soaked in each drop of the rhythm, his fingers tapped the painted surface of the table in time with the clave. Tap.. Tap.. Tap. Tap.. Tap. It didn't matter where he was, what the circumstance, music never failed to transport him back through history. Each beat, each horn, each voice reminded his body of what it had spent so many years doing. Dancing.

It was how they had met all of those years ago. He had eyed her across the room early on but didn't make his play until later in the night. He wanted the perfect song to introduce himself to who had already mentally nicknamed 'the future wife'. And he wanted to study first, learn all he could, understand her completely before he made an attempt. He knew he had only one chance.

The night wore on and he watched her as she danced with all of the men chasing after her attention. He watched her feet spin and her body move like lava in time with the music. No matter how quick the tempo, she floated timelessly above the dance floor as if the music was emanating from her directly. After each dance, man after man tried their luck and offered a drink or more, and each advance was politely rebuffed with a smile and a slight shake of the head.

The lights dipped and he took it as a sign, he had a feeling that the moment had arrived, there wasn't a second to waste and he felt himself dart across the darkness until he stood directly in front of the future wife.

He didn't smile, he didn't speak, he just put out his hand in offer. He hoped this looked cool but in truth, he was scared that if he spoke, only nonsense would spill from his tongue. She took his hand and he knew for certain. He had a feeling she knew too.

As he led her through the heat of the crowd, the first beats of the song drove through the speakers. Cumbia, perfect. He stopped and spun slowly to look at her as he reached a free space and she closed the gap to him. A little closer than he had expected, but he was not complaining.

The first steps are crucial he knew, it was here they would test each other the most. In these basic steps all of the experience of a dancer can be felt, if you know what you are doing. And they both knew. It was here he could feel the flow of her body and the weight shift and here he could feel how she read his signals. Again, perfect.

He stepped and the rest of the dance and song blurred into each other as they moved in unison as if they were as one and instead of her floating above the dance floor, they floated together. The song came to a close as they finished, her head resting on his shoulder and she gently whispered into his ear.

"It took you all night, but you studied me well."

That was many years ago. A different life almost and times had change a lot since those days. The country they had shared now lay in economic ruins, the stress of real life off of the dance floor was too much for a young family to bear and what had begun as a fairy tale was slowly driven into the ground by reality and the pressures a corrupt government forces upon a population.

No matter the love they felt, no matter the love they shared in their child, the relationship just could not survive. Perhaps it was doomed from the outset for when two people as passionate and polarized as they come together, sparks are bound to fly. Life may have just thrown more gasoline onto a raging fire.

His fingers stopped drumming the table as the song played its final bars and was swamped prematurely by an advert for an American soda not many could afford to buy. Times were hard now, every penny counted and everyone was doing all they could just to survive. He had just enjoyed one of life's luxuries, a moment lost in music. The cost was a life lost in time.

A blue pickup pulled to the front of the cafe. He licked his lips and wet the back of the mouth with the last of the strong coffee he had been sipping at while waiting. This is them, he thought. The lights flickered and the radio went dead. Another blackout.

The door of the truck swung upon and a very large, rough looking character stepped out as if from a clichéd movie about drug cartels. This is Venezuela he thought, no movie needed. Once a thriving economy, a stand out jewel in South America, the government mismanagement had driven it into the ground and the criminal elements were all that now profited. And he was now prepared to add a little more to their tally, but he expected a return on his investment.

He looked at the cashier and was reminded of what he was paying for. She was beautiful and looked just like her. Dark hair and even darker eyes like the pools of oil that had been sucked from his country. He watched as her father came from the kitchen, a mix of fear and disappointment in his eyes. He recognised the look.

The look of a father who despite best efforts, had failed to do what a parent is charged with, protect their children. He did not know the man, but he knew his story as it was a story that had been repeating for years. Climbing debt led to desperation and so many parents had been forced to do the same, sell their children into indentured service.

They were told they would be maids in the US and after they had paid the debt to the Company, would be free citizens and have a better life. The parents chose to believe this but most realised that it would be unlikely to be a maids job their child would perform.

The door pushed noisily open as it knocked and rang the little bell to warn of a customer. Just past it, the sound of the tropical rain splashing on an already full ground could be heard. This was his cue. He stood slowly and moved to the register. The girl smiled, and asked if he would like another coffee. He nodded and she turned to take the pot of coffee that was quickly cooling with the hot plate off.

A mirror hung behind the register and he saw what he had become. An old man stared back, white hair and deep lines. He looked in to his own dark eyes and saw their was still the glimmer of mischief there, his threadbare raincoat gave him the appearance of one close to homelessness, or a wandering magician, down on his luck.

The coffee came back and he dropped a few coins into her hand. He looked at her a moment and said, "You have lovely eyes, they remind me of someone I haven't seen in a long, long time. She is beautiful also." The girl blushed and he was reminded again of what he was about to do.

He looked into the mirror again and saw the man behind him impatiently waiting over his shoulder. He looked to the father that had shrunk against the wall, staring at his feet. Like in most cases, the girl did not know that this day was not like every other day, she did not know the deal that her father had made in a misguided attempt to save her from poverty.

He whistled slightly and the father looked up. He motioned slightly with his head and he came like an obedient dog in a daze. Reaching into his coat he pulled a sealed envelope and handed it to the man. He then spoke low, slow and smoothly.

"Inside is a USB stick and a page of instructions. There is access to enough money there that you will be able to cover yourselves and run for a while. Get far away, start again. Never tell her what you planned to do here today. Love her each day, but never tell her no matter what. Understand?"

The man nodded, confused. "Ho.. How did you know?"

"I am a wizard." came the reply with a playful smile.

He looked again in the mirror and the massive guy that stood behind now moved in closer and said, "Get out of the way old man, I have business here."

The lights flickered back on and music from the radio again filled the room, the heavy drums of Samba. He felt his shoulders roll and his neck loosen its grip on his old skull.

He reached again into his cloak as he turned to face the man who's business was to take another girl into slavery in a foreign land. "Today my friend, you shall not pass."

The man was at first taken aback and then a look of amusement crossed his face but fire burned in his eyes at the gall of such a man and the lack of respect he was shown. He raised a hand to strike and teach this rebellious old man his place in the world, a place of weakness, but the blow never came.

Instead three shots rang out like beats of the music and embedded themselves into his chest. Without so much as a word, he slumped to his knees, wide eyed but holding a vacant stare, until his large head slumped forward and then as if in slow motion, the whole body thudded heavily to the floor.

The old man shook slightly, violence was not his nature. It tore him inside to have to resort to such devilry. He looked at the body and then turned once more to the girl and said, "You remind me of my daughter. Now, run, both of you. Do not come back."

He looked to the door, two men were rushing from the pickup, guns drawn. He closed his eyes and absorbed a few more beats of the drums. Again, even here it transported him away. He pictured his wife on that dance floor, he pictured his family, he pictured all that had been lived and all that had been torn away.

The door flung open and the ball chimed loudly. He did not open his eyes, he just listened to the beating drums call him. He raised the revolver to press under his chin and whispered to himself.

"Live on my terms, die on my terms."

His finger squeezed the trigger.

Taraz
[ a Steemit original ]

This is the seventh in the Halloween series: Random acts of Violence.

This is dedicated to @por500bolos who is one of my longest and most eager supporters at Steemit. Even though he faces challenges in Venezuela each day, he is always posting at Steemit with a smile, a sharp wit and a unique style. Normally I go 100% powerup but I will make this 50/50. All liquid will go to him from this post and will hopefully buy him a little more breathing room and perhaps a decent cup of coffee.