Carlos Griffins has it all- fame, fortune, power. At only 42 years old, he has already made a name for himself by being the proud CEO of his agency Griffs Ad, a leading player in the advertising industry. His company started on a small scale but through wise business investments and sheer luck, it began to slowly grow and today, nearly every product and service offered in the market is somehow linked to Griffs Ad. Oh Carlos is the envy of every man, what with a successful career and a lovely wife backing him up, he seems to do no wrong. Gifted with the Midas touch so some say.
As Carlos walks, no swaggers into his office at his usual time he is greeted by polite smiles and wishes of good mornings from his staff. His reply is a curt nod at them and though it doesn't show on his face, he is secretly proud of how his power and authority can make everyone either fear or respect him. But then again, most of the time respect breeds from fear.
At exactly 10.00am, Carlos gathers his papers and heads out of the office. No one questions where he is going, everyone knows anyway. Carlos holds a meeting with a different department at the central building downtown each day and an hour before the meeting, he will walk to the nearby Deli to read the daily newspaper. What no one dares to ask is why. Though there is a joke circulating among the staff that he likes being seen by the public as someone who actually cares about world affairs. Of course, no one has ever told Carlos this joke. They don't think he will understand anyway.
Carlos hums to himself as he leaves the office. He is in a pretty good mood until he suddenly bumps into a young man when turning into a corner. The young man, dressed in dirty blue overalls and with a cap covering his face apologizes profusely but Carlos only grunts and without a second glance, smoothens his shirt and continues walking. No point wasting time talking to such filth and clearly he bumped into me, thinks Carlos. As he reaches the Deli, his mood seems to have improved and he has never once thought of why would the young man emerge from Carlos' private carpark in the first place. No, the incident with the young man ceases to be remembered.
~.~.~.~
The French philosopher, Henri Bergson once said that the eye only sees what the mind is prepared to comprehend. In other words, we only see what we want to see.
Seems like a silly rule we tend to follow, I mutter to no one. I am alone in the washroom after all. As I finish applying powder I examine myself in the mirror. I guess I would say I was born with good looks- eyes as blue as the ocean and not set too near or far apart, high cheekbones, a straight nose and full lips. I flash a smile and see a set of perfectly straight pearly white teeth. But despite all these features that many will kill for, I am still not perfect. Reason? I'm a blonde.
I detest being blonde. Strangers rarely take me seriously, they think I am the stereotypical blonde- dumb and ignorant. Hell, once at a party a man started laughing when I told him that I graduated from Harvard with a law degree. He said to me “That's the best damn joke ever missy”. When I replied that I didn't find it funny, he said “Oh but you blondes never do get the joke!”. I have not seen that man ever since but last I heard, he got caught trying to grow weed in his backyard.
I take one last look at the mirror and straighten my clothes. My hair is tied up into a bun and somehow it makes me look older than my actual age but this is the sort of look I need today as it hardly attracts attention. I want people to think I'm 35 when I'm not even close to that age. I take out a book from my satchel and I leave the washroom. It's already 10.25am.
As I take my usual spot in the Deli and order an espresso, I open my book and begin to read. Well pretend to read actually. I prefer observing the people around me, it's far more interesting and with a book in my hand, most people wouldn't even realize they are being studied. I'm a natural when it comes to studying people, I can describe them by just looking.
I can tell you that the woman sitting with a man two tables away from me is married to a wealthy husband. Of course that fact is most obvious by the 5-carat diamond Cartier ring on her finger. But what you might not know is that the man with her is most likely her lover instead. She keeps glancing around nervously and is constantly twisting the ring on her finger. And when they hold hands, they do it under that table away from prying eyes like mine.
Or how about the arguing elderly couple on my left? Married for years and yes, they probably spent half of their lives at each other's throats. You probably wonder why they remain together for so long but I bet you fail to notice how the husband willingly gives the last piece of scone to her or how the wife shares her coffee with him when his own cup ran out. They quarrel, but that doesn't mean they don't love as well.
Most people focus solely on the bigger picture, the more obvious facts. For me? I look at the smaller details, the tell-tale signs. The things that actually give you clues about one's life, give you a more accurate description. The 'bigger picture' is just a facade anyway. I suppose I have the knack for looking through one's mask and see the real face behind it. Like when you're in court, your strongest weapon is information and it's best to know as much as possible about the clients and also the lawyers. It is a much needed skill in my profession after all, to know your enemy's weakness.
But today my main target is not the adulterous woman. Or even the arguing couple. No, I have been eyeing on someone for quite some time now. Been observing his every movement for about two weeks already. He is now seated several tables in front of me, his face obstructed by the newspaper he is reading. I can tell that he is going through the business section, glancing at the stock market. He wears an expensive grey suit, Armani perhaps. Well the suit sort of complements his receding hairline, now going grey. He cut a fine figure for a man of his age, strong and lean.
As he flips the page, I see his face. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Clean-shaven, prominent jaw, nose is slightly crooked. No it's the eyes that are intriguing. Piercing dark blue ones that make you feel sort of insecure when looking at them. But if he chooses to smile, he looks rather friendly though the smile never quite reaches his eyes. Overall he is quite an attractive man but he puts up a haughty demeanour, something which makes me dislike him immensely.
But I must admit, we have one thing in common- he is pretending to read as well. Instead, he seems to be observing someone and I follow his gaze. Ah yes, so he is fascinated with the young and pretty waitress Jenny who is utterly oblivious of this. I know for a fact that he has been observing her as long as, perhaps even longer, I've been observing him. What irony. The hunter has become the hunted.
I take a sip and flip a page, all the while my eyes are on him. At first glance, he looks like any other businessman taking his daily cup of coffee at the Deli. And yes perhaps he is but I know there's more to him than meets the eye, in fact I know a lot about him. Every dirty little secret. It is part of my job... No, he is my job and one that finishes today so that I can move on to other projects. I smile to myself as I take another sip.
I glance at my watch, exactly 10.40am. I look up at him once more and I see that his eyes are roaming the Deli, as if suddenly taking an interest of his surroundings. Suddenly his eyes meet mine and I stiffen, would he somehow recognize me? But no, my fear proves to be uncalled for as he seems to be staring at someone behind me. Oh yes, it's the pretty Jenny who is serving drinks. Get a hold of yourself, you're a professional, I say to myself softly but angrily.
After a minute, I ask and pay the bill. I stuff the book back into my bag, stand up and start walking. Three minutes walk to the washroom again. I look at the man once more. It's showtime.
~.~.~.~
Carlos looks at his watch, a classic Rolex given to him on his birthday by his wife. It's 10.42am. I really should get going, he thinks. But he takes one more look at Jenny the waitress. She's the reason why he's always coming to the Deli, perfect eye candy. Oh no, it's not like he's having an affair or anything, he just likes Jenny. Maybe because she's a brunette. He always has a thing for brunettes. He remember the last brunette he met, Angela was it? Well it doesn't really matter, she's dead to him. Literally.
As Carlos pushes his chair backwards, a blonde accidentally knocks against his chair. She looks straight into his face, mutters an apology and hurries on like she's late for something. Blondes, they're all the same, acting all important for no reason. He says it loud enough for her to hear, but she doesn't even turn around. At least she apologized, not so dumb after all, he mutters to himself. Hmm, but her voice.. Sounds familiar. Where did I hear it? Ah well, doesn't matter. They all probably sound the same too. And Carlos leaves the Deli, walking to his private carpark.
He hums a tune while walking, his mind all the while thinking about Jenny. He wonders a lot about her, even having fantasies of her lying naked, looking at him with fear. Well that's how he treats all the girls he likes, well liked since they're all gone now. He loves the idea of them being powerless against him, of being so submissive to his every whim. He knows exactly what goes on in their heads, they think he will let them go once he's done. What an absurd notion, he chuckles.
The best part about it, he suppose is that so far, no one has managed to link him to the murders. Who would suspect wealthy and successful CEO of Griffs Ad who is always abroad on business trips? No, he has never even come close to being under suspicion. Carlos feels clever for he is very careful. His women never died the same way so the police assume that the acts are committed by different people and he never chooses women from the same place twice. Funny, he never thinks of them as victims but his women. After all, they did belong to him at one point. As he reaches his car, he smiles knowing that since he has been safe for three years, he will continue to be safe. He is sure of it.
Carlos is about to start the car engine when he notices a yellow envelope on his dashboard. He picks it up, opens it and his face turns white upon seeing the contents. The envelope contains photographs of the women he has abducted, raped then murdered. And he's in the pictures as well. With shaking hands, Carlos looks through all the pictures that he himself has taken then stored away in a safe at home. No one checks his personal safe at home, not even his wife. So how the hell did these get out? He empties the entire envelope and finds a note that reads “Gotcha” and some strands of blonde hair.
And then it hits him. The young man he bumped into is blonde, Carlos has seen some strands of hair jutting out under the cap. And the woman who bumped into his chair is blonde too! No wonder she sounded familiar! She, the young man.. They were the same person. And didn't the young man emerged from the carpark? She knows about me, she's been through my safe. And she must have done something to my car. Breathing heavily, Carlos slowly lifts his foot off the gas pedal and thanking God that he has not start the car yet. He needs to get out from this car and find her. Frantically, he opens the door.
~.~.~.~
As I untie my hair and let it loose, I hear an explosion. Then a dead silence and immediately after, a commotion. I apply a little make up, put on some dangling earrings and when I think I'm ready, head out of the washroom. The Deli looks deserted, several heads poke out from windows of nearby apartments and a crowd has formed outside the office of Griffs Ad, looking and pointing at the fire and smoke. Even the employees have rushed out to see what happened. Soon I hear shouts of “I've called the police” and “I saw someone walked in there”. I have to admit, I find the situation amusing.
Sirens can be heard and in no time, police cars, fire trucks and an ambulance arrive. I walk through the crowd and pretend to find it shocking. I grab hold of a man and ask “Oh gosh, like what happened? I see fire and all”. He takes one look at my hair colour and the way I dressed then replies slowly, enunciating every word “Something exploded. People are saying that it's Carlos Griffins' car.”. I feign shock and start to babble incoherently making the man to edge away from me muttering “Crazy dumb blonde”. I walk away from the crowd and take out my cell phone. Time to make the call.
“Oh my God! You wouldn't believe what just happened!” The job is done.
“What? Tell me.” Are you really sure?
“I can't even describe it to you! So many people!” Absolutely. No one saw.
“I see. Then tell me when you see me later.” Well done. Don't contact me, I'll contact you.
And so, the conversation is over. We speak in code, you never know who might be listening in. I shut off my cell phone and look at the scene unfolding ahead of me. The police setting up the yellow tape around the office, firemen putting out the fire, while everyone else just stands and looks. No one takes any notice of me, I'm just another curious bystander like them.
I feel satisfied, I know and my boss know that I've done my job well, as always. This one was rather fun I would say. Poor Griffins probably thinks that if he pressed the gas pedal, the car would explode when actually the bomb goes off if he closes, then opens the door again. Of course it wasn't easy reading up on car models, bomb making and all that but that's the best part of the job, I can be as creative as I want to.
People detest my job, saying it as immoral and against the law. But I believe they say it out of either fear or awe. Fear because they never know if they're the next target, awe because they have no guts to do it themselves. I haven't committed a murder, I've merely assisted in catching a criminal, one that the police have no idea about. I did what I had to do in the name of justice. And I've been paid for my work, just like any other job. Unlike my other colleagues, I choose my 'projects'. I do not simply kill off anyone, only those who deserve it. Scums like Griffins need to be disposed of.
Like everyone else, I watch in silence as the police start asking for eye-witnesses. No one has seen anything suspicious. One employee mentions that it so happens the surveillance camera in the carpark hasn't been functioning since yesterday and Mr Griffins was supposed to call the repairman today. Well, I can tell them what happened to the cameras, I think to myself. When the crowd begins to slowly disperse, I make my exit as well.
As usual, no one takes notice of me. Even the man whom I've talked to earlier sees me and quickly dodges behind a parked car as if afraid I would talk to him again. I smile to myself, Sometimes it is pretty fun being blonde I guess. I keep on walking down the street, one hand holding my cell phone and another on my big Louis Vuitton bag. The people who do see me assume me as another rich blonde woman. They'll find it odd if they know what's inside my bag- a dirty blue overall, a cap, some wires. But no, they take one look at me and think they know everything about me. Well, this just proves Henri Bergson quoted rightly.
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