Chauffeur

The car rolled up on the sidewalk. It was old, on the right side were a bunch of scratches, the windows were caked with dust, on the left window in the back, there was a heart and an arrow through it, drawn in the dust. The engine stopped with a loud splutter. The exhaust pipe belched a heavy few seconds of fumes.

There were men smoking cigars in undershirts, their chests stained with sweat, chickens clucking, the smell of fish, and moisture all around. Children, girls with bangs, boys with bowl cuts, both of whom had their heads down, books in their hands, going home. One store was selling a bunch of fruits, orange mandarins, yellow bananas, bright red apples, another had vegetables. Green and white shallots, green onions, red onions, white onions, yellow ones. The smell of fish was everywhere. Pervading the air, everything reeked of it.

Chattering, a hum in the air, the humdrum of activity, and the sound of voices talking, constantly. Faster than they could be understood, yet they were. Understood.

The door to the car slammed open, and a man wearing a chauffeur's hat hurried out and around the car to open the door to the passenger side in the back. The humdrum stopped with a snap. The men stopped talking, almost as immediately, the children stopped walking, wooden shoes no longer clacking on the pavement. The fish still smelled but they were dead, they did not understand the severity of the situation. 

The passenger got out calmly, slowly, as if both relishing the effect she had and as if she were oblivious to the tension in the air. Bright red heels, long dark stockings, heavy fur coat, it was as if this were not one of the hottest days of the summer, coiffed hair, big brown sunglasses. One of the men gulped and rushed inside. Before she had finished stepping out, he was back with his boss.

The butcher who stepped out of the cold shop was sweating as soon as the light touched his bald scalp. He was wearing a white apron, in his right hand hung a knife as long as a man’s arm. Half of it was stained red, dried, caking red. He took one look at the woman and sighed. A deep long sigh, breathing out more tension into the already saturated air.

He went up to her and offered her his hand. She took it, and they walked inside his shop, to his office. The men stared in silence. The children stood confused. They would never figure it out, but they wouldnt think to because of what would happen later that evening. The lucky ones would stay, most of the rest would go back home, because everything was done, there was nothing left to see.

The men resumed talking, more hushed tones, two brave children crept into the butcher’s shop to stand by the door, so that they could listen in. The chauffeur stood by the car. The butcher opened the door for her, the children scrambled. The lady stepped out daintily, sunglasses still on her face, stepped inside the waiting car. The chauffeur pulled out a gun, shot the two kids, got in the car, and drove off. Their blood slowly spilled down the street into the drain.